"Mr. Trent he no back yet," replied the girl firmly. "He come bimeby. What for you want him?"
Taleile shrugged his shoulders, as though to indicate that the matter could wait.
"Plenty nigger lazy devil. Big Marster Trent he say clear um top patch. Um top patch plenty clear."
There was the subtle suggestion that in the absence of the planter, and definite instructions from him for the gang, they might as well loaf. Your South Sea islander seeks work neither for himself nor for those under him. When he is driven, by fear or by the magnetic power of a white man, he will just about earn the few dollars a month he is paid.
"Let plenty gang work on the one-year trees, savvy?" the girl replied without a second's hesitation. "Whole lot of work must be done there. Keep them at it, no stop, till Mr. Trent come back."
With a gesture she indicated that the interview was finished. Taleile, however, stood his ground, shifting awkwardly from one foot to the other, and grimacing after the fashion of an ape. The girl was on the point of ordering him to go when it struck her he might want to say something of importance.
"What you want now, Taleile?" she asked, half suspiciously.
