pearls—!
Who could prove anything about pearls? If a pearler thought that the
man who had a mortgage on his lugger wasn't giving him a square deal
he was welcome to all pearl shell at a pound or two less per ton than
even Barney the cobbler might be willing to pay—and to choke himself on
the profit. But the pearls would go to the close-mouthed Chinese
ship-chandlers in the back street.
Pretty
good judges of values the Chink traders were too, and ever ready to
take a gamble on a price that was beyond their experience. But even if
the dealer who backed him gave him a square deal, it did not always
suit the pearler's book that people should know he had come in for some
cash, for then he would be called on to pay off a bit on his debt. The
pearler preferred the cash in hand to an unencumbered lugger, for he
did not consider himself in the business for good, and Pearltown was
not a place to settle in; for women were at a premium.
But
to my mind the shell-openers were better off than their bosses, though
the pearlers didn't often know it. No one called them "Cap'n," true,
but more pearls came their way than their employers', who carried no
eyes at the backs of their heads. They had no responsibilities or
cares; if the mortgagee seized the lugger and laid it up in the creek
for a time, another billet was easily to be had—and as like as not the
lugger would be offered to the shell-opener as the next in succession.
The crown-prince always has a better time than the king! But because
the shell-opener knew that his chances of getting hold of a lugger
depended upon the good opinion of the big buyers, he never went near
them with "snide." He went to the Chinks instead.
I
don't know how much the Chinese tell each other of their business, but
the white man can get little change out of them. An oyster is talkative
compared with a Chinaman. His bland "no savvy" is the despair of the
inquirer. But give me a Chinese every time to do business with. I had
my first experience with the race here in Broome and, strange as it
may seem
