he clothes he stood in.
Remarkable clothes, too, they were, for a coral island in the mid
Pacific, being invariably a stovepipe hat and a Prince Albert coat, with
trousers changing from pearl gray to lead color, with stripes, till
you'd think he'd melt!

He was a fine man to look at, about sixty years of age, very portly and
pleasant spoken, and everything he said sounded important, even if it
was only about the weather or why cocoanut milk always gave him cramps.
He said his name was Smith. People who change their names seem always
to change it to Smith, till you wonder sometimes they don't choose
Jones, or maybe Patterson, or Wilkins. But you'll notice it is Smith
every time, though we always called him Old Dibs, because of the money
that he had and threw around so regardless.

My first sight of him was on the front porch, mopping his forehead, and
asking whether he might have board and lodging by the week. I told him
that we hardly carried style enough for a gentleman like him, but all we
had he was welcome to--and if not too long--for nothing. He seemed
pleased at this, and more pleased still when he looked over our big
bedroom and noticed my wife's smiling, comely face. She's only a Kanaka
girl, but I wouldn't trade her for a million. And he laid down a shining
twenty-dollar gold piece and asked if that would do every Tuesday?

Now I am as fond of money as any man, but I'm not a pirate, and so I
said it was too much. But he wouldn't take no denial, and flung it down
on the trade-room counter again, saying he counted it settled. Then I
turned to with his trunks, told my wife to bundle out into the boatshed,
and opened beer.

"Making a long stay, sir?" said I.

"I hardly know, Bill," he said. (I had told him my name was Bill.) "I
hardly know, Bill," and with that he heaved a tremendous sigh.

"We don't often have visitors here," I said. "The last was eighteen men
of the British bark _Wolverine_, in boats, from French Frigate Shoals,
where they were cast away."

"I'm looking for a quiet place to end my days in," he says.

"Well, I guess you've found it," I says.

"It looks as though I had, Bill," he answers, gazing seaward where the
palms was bending in the trade breeze and there was nothing but the
speck of Captain Corker's schooner beating out. I could see he was
pretty downhearted, and though I set the music box going to cheer him
and asked if he fancied a nice mess of gulls' eggs for supper, it wasn't
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