Читать книгу The Dark River онлайн

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"I wouldn't venture even a guess," McLeod replied.

"You'd never believe that it came from the U.S.A., would you? Nevertheless, it did. It was a Buick originally. Now it's a peréoo uira and more Polynesian than the natives themselves."

The bus was furnished with half a dozen seats, each of them capable of holding seven or eight passengers, at a pinch. The roof, enclosed with a kind of pig wire, had been made into extra cargo space. On its wabbling supports it sagged from one side to the other when the car was in motion. It was now loaded with crates of live fowls, some lumber and sheets of corrugated iron, two or three bicycles, a sewing machine, and a disorderly heap of battered household furniture. Festooned along the sides of the bus were strings of fish, bunches of bananas, green bamboos filled with taioro and other island delicacies from the market, and bundles belonging to the various passengers, tied up in faded pareu cloth. All the seats were filled with the exception of a small space on the front seat which the consul had reserved in advance for his two guests. Observing how small the space was, Tyson went forward to speak to the driver.