There was a trader—a man who bought copra and pearls. He was the beachcomber, or the old sailor with the black pearl (Ruth's tales), or the wastrel musician McClintock had described to him. I did not know what God had in mind then. I was given no sword and shield and forced into the ring with a dozen armored warriors with full weaponry. "But I give no information gratis!" "Speak, then," said Rowland, placing money in his hand. "But, I say, that girl is a queer one. His face was downcast. The room was worse than pokey, it was shabby; and the view from the window, of chimney pots and slate roofs, wholly uninspiring. For this three weeks had been the hardest of her life.
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