'd remember
their faces if he saw them, but he never could remember names.

"Another passenger--a Jew--was trying to buy some pearls cheap from the
captains, but the more the captains drank the less anxious they became
to talk about pearls.

"The night wore on, and still the drinks circulated. Young MacTavish
slept profoundly.

"One passenger gave his steward a sovereign as he was leaving the
ship, and in half an hour the steward was carried to his berth in
a fit--alcoholic in its origin. Another steward was observed openly
drinking the passengers' whisky. When accused, he didn't even attempt
to defend himself; the great Thursday Island thirst seemed to have
communicated itself to everyone on board, and he simply _had_ to drink.

"About three in the morning a tour of the ship disclosed the following
state of affairs: Captain's room full of captains solemnly tight;
smoking-room empty, except for the inanimate form of the captain who had
been boozed all the week, and was now sleeping peacefully with his feet
on the sofa and his head on the floor. The saloon was full of captains
and passengers--the latter mostly in a state of collapse or laughing and
singing deliriously; the rails lined with firemen who had business over
the side; stewards ditto.

"At last the Thursday Islanders departed, unsteadily, but still on their
feet, leaving a demoralized ship behind them. And young MacTavish,
who has seen a thing or two in his brief span, staggered to his berth,
saying, 'My God! Is _all_ Australia like this place?'"

* * * * *

When no ships arrive, the Islanders just drop into the pubs, as a
matter of routine, for their usual evening soak. They drink weird
compounds--horehound beer, known as "lady dog", and things like that.
About two in the morning they go home speechless, but still able to
travel. It is very rarely that an Islander gets helplessly drunk, but
strangers generally have to be put to bed.

The Japanese on the island are a strong faction. They have a club of
their own, and once gave a dinner to mark the death of one of their
members. He was shrewdly suspected of having tried to drown another
member by cutting his airpipe, so, when he died, the club celebrated
the event. The Japanese are not looked upon with favor by the white
islanders. They send their money to Japan--thousands of pounds a year go
through the little office in money-orders--and so they are not "good for
trade".

The Manilamen and Ka