"What did he die of?" I inquired. "Some kind of sickness," says the
captain. "It appears it took him sudden. Seems he got up in the
night, and filled up on Pain Killer and Kennedy's Discovery. No go
-- he was booked beyond Kennedy. Then he had tried to open a case
of gin. No go again -- not strong enough. Then he must have turned
to and run out on the veranda, and capsized over the rail. When
they found him, the next day, he was clean crazy -- carried on all
the time about somebody watering his copra. Poor John!" "Was it
thought to be the island?" I asked. "Well, it was thought to be the
island, or the trouble, or something," he replied. . . .
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