animals. They wore no clothes, no silk shirts (here he peered and blinked
significantly at the king), and they ate one another.
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The queer paper of the Feathers of the Sun was not money. The traders
knew what money was, and they would not receive it. If Fitu-Iva persisted
in trying to make them receive it they would go away and never come
back. And then the Fitu-Ivans, who had forgotten how to make tapa,
would run around naked and eat one another.
Much more he said, talking a solid hour, and always coming back to what
their dire condition would be when the traders came no more. “And in that
day,” he perorated, “how will the Fitu-lvan be known in the great world?
Kai-kanak [ed.note: Man-eater.] will men call him. ‘Kai-kanak! Kaikanak!'”
Tui Tulifau spoke briefly. The case had been presented, he said, for the
people, the army, and the traders. It was now time for Feathers of the Sun
to present his side. It could not be denied that he had wrought wonders
with his financial system. “Many times has he explained to me the
working of his system,” Tui Tulifau concluded. “It is very simple. And
now he will explain it to you.”
It was a conspiracy of the white traders, Cornelius contended. leremia was
right so far as concerned the manifold blessings of white flour and
kerosene oil. Fitu-Iva did not want to become kai-kanak. Fitu-Iva wanted
civilization; it wanted more and more civilization. Now that was the very
point, and they must follow him closely. Paper money was an ear-mark of
higher civilization. That was why he, the Feathers of the Sun, had
introduced it. And that was why the traders opposed it. They did not want
to see Fitu-Iva civilized. Why did they come across the far ocean stretches
with their goods to Fitu-Iva? He, the Feathers of the Sun, would tell them
why, to their faces, in grand council assembled. In their own countries
men were too civilized to let the traders make the immense profits that
they made out of the Fitu-Ivans. If the Fitu-Ivans became properly
civilized, the trade of the traders would be gone. In that day every Fitu-
Ivan could become a trader if he pleased.
That was why the white traders fought the system of paper money, that he,
the Feathers of the Sun, had brought. Why was he called the Feathers of
the Sun? Because he was the Light-Bringer from the World Beyond the
Sky. The paper money was the light. The robbing white traders could not
flourish in the light. Therefore they fought the light.
He would prove it to the good people of Fitu-Iva, and he would prove it
out of the mouths of his enemies. It was a well-known fact that all highly
civilized countries had paper-money systems. He would ask Ieremia if this
was not so.
Ieremia did not answer.
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“You see,” Cornelius went on, “he makes no answer. He cannot deny what
is true. England, France, Germany, America, all the great Papalangi
countries, have the paper-money system. It works. From century to
century it works. I challenge you, Ieremia, as an honest man, as one who
was once a zealous worker in the Lord’s vineyard, I challenge you to deny
that in the great Papalangi countries the system works.”
Ieremia could not deny, and his fingers played nervously with the
fastening of the basket on his knees.
“You see, it is as I have said,” Cornelius continued. “Ieremia agrees that it
is so. Therefore, I ask you, all good people of Fitu-Iva, if a system is good
for the Papalangi countries, why is it not good for Fitu- Iva?”
“It is not the same!” Ieremia cried. “The paper of the Feathers of the Sun is
different from the paper of the great countries.”
That Cornelius had been prepared for this was evident. He held up a Fitu-
Ivan note that was recognized by all.
“What is that?” he demanded.
“Paper, mere paper,” was Ieremia’s reply.
“And that?”
This time Cornelius held up a Bank of England note.
“It is the paper money of the English,” he explained to the Council, at the
same time extending it for Ieremia to examine. “Is it not true, Ieremia, that
it is paper money of the English?”
Ieremia nodded reluctantly.
“You have said that the paper money of Fitu-Iva was paper, now how
about this of the English? What is it? . . . You must answer like a true
man. . . All wait for your answer, Ieremia.”
“It is—it is—”the puzzled Ieremia began, then spluttered helplessly, the
fallacy beyond his penetration.
“Paper, mere paper,” Cornelius concluded for him, imitating his halting
utterance.
Conviction sat on the faces of all. The king clapped his hands admiringly
and murmured, “It is most clear, very clear.”
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“You see, he himself acknowledges it.” Assured triumph was in Deasy’s
voice and bearing. “He knows of no difference. There is no difference. ‘Tis
the very image of money. ‘Tis money itself.”
In the meantime Grief was whispering in Ieremia’s ear, who nodded and
began to speak.
“But it is well known to all the Papalangi that the English Government
will pay coin money for the paper.”
Deasy’s victory was now absolute. He held aloft a Fitu-Ivan note.
“Is it not so written on this paper as well?”
Again Grief whispered.
“That Fitu-Iva will pay coin money?” asked Ieremia.
“It is so written.”
A third time Grief prompted.
“On demand?” asked Ieremia.
“On demand,” Cornelius assured him.
“Then I demand coin money now,” said Ieremia, drawing a small package
of notes from the pouch at his girdle.
Cornelius scanned the package with a quick, estimating eye.
“Very well,” he agreed. “I shall give you the coin money now. How
much?”
“And we will see the system work,” the king proclaimed, partaking in his
Chancellor’s triumph.
“You have heard!—He will give coin money now!” Ieremia cried in a loud
voice to the assemblage.
At the same time he plunged both hands in the basket and drew forth many
packages of Fitu-Ivan notes. It was noticed that a peculiar odour was adrift
about the council.
“I have here,” Ieremia announced, “one thousand and twenty-eight pounds
twelve shillings and sixpence. Here is a sack to put the coin money in.”
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Cornelius recoiled. He had not expected such a sum, and everywhere
about the council his uneasy eyes showed him chiefs and talking men
drawing out bundles of notes. The army, its two months’ pay in its hands,
pressed forward to the edge of the council, while behind it the populace,
with more money, invaded the compound.
“‘Tis a run on the bank you’ve precipitated,” he said reproachfully to Grief.
“Here is the sack to put the coin money in,” Ieremia urged.
“It must be postponed,” Cornelius said desperately. “‘Tis not in banking
hours.”
Ieremia flourished a package of money. “Nothing of banking hours is
written here. It says on demand, and I now demand.”
“Let them come to-morrow, O Tui Tulifau,” Cornelius appealed to the
king. “They shall be paid to-morrow.”
Tui Tulifau hesitated, but his spouse glared at him, her brawny arm
tensing as the fist doubled into a redoubtable knot. Tui Tulifau tried to
look away, but failed. He cleared his throat nervously.
“We will see the system work,” he decreed. “The people have come far.”
“‘Tis good money you’re asking me to pay out,” Deasy muttered in a low
voice to the king.
Sepeli caught what he said, and grunted so savagely as to startle the king,
who involuntarily shrank away from her.
“Forget not the pig,” Grief whispered to Ieremia, who immediately stood
up.
With a sweeping gesture he stilled the babel of voices that was beginning
to rise.
“It was an ancient and honourable custom of Fitu-Iva,” he said, “that when
a man was proved a notorious evildoer his joints were broken with a club
and he was staked out at low water to be fed upon alive by the sharks.
Unfortunately, that day is past. Nevertheless another ancient and
honourable custom remains with us. You all know what it is. When a man
is a proven thief and liar he shall be struck with a dead pig.”
His right hand went into the basket, and, despite the lack of his spectacles,
the dead pig that came into view landed accurately on Deasy’s neck. With
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such force was it thrown that the
Chancellor, in his sitting position,
toppled over sidewise. Before he
could recover, Sepeli, with an
agility unexpected of a woman who
weighed two hundred and sixty
pounds, had sprung across to him.
One hand clutched his shirt collar,
the other hand brandished the pig,
and amid the vast uproar of a
delighted kingdom she royally
swatted him.
There remained nothing for Tui