toward yonder plain. I never credited myself with possessing the only
enterprising brain in the world, and some of our Honolulu friends might
think of the scheme themselves if they saw those teeth lying around. So
you had better visit somebody in town for a while.”
“Just as you say. But how are these Hawaiians treating you?”
“As if I were Kamehameha himself.”
“Grub good?”
“A sick man is not particular and seldom wants much grub. They’ve got
a sticky substance they call _poi_, which they use in place of bread
that’s great. Try some,” and Rothwell pushed over toward Wilbur a
highly polished calabash containing a greyish substance.
“Got a spoon handy?” that worthy asked.
“Spoon? you’re a green one for sure. _Poi_, my dear sir, is eaten this
way,” and Rothwell stuck two fingers into the calabash, gave a quick
twist and placed what adhered to them into his mouth and made a grimace
of delight. “_Ono_,” he said.
“Oh, no, indeed! Thank you; nothing of that sort for me,” and nothing
could induce Wilbur to taste poi.
He soon left, and Violetta, who had seen Wilbur’s expression of disgust
while Rothwell was initiating him into the mysteries of poi-eating,
laughed softly. “Your friend is very particular,” she said.
“Very.”
“Why did you come to Hawaii?”
“Well,--er--for business.”
“You want to buy a sugar plantation?”
“No, I am a dentist and my friend is a lawyer.”
“What is a dentist?”
“A man who tends to your teeth.”
“There are plenty of teeth out on the plain.”
“Yes, that is what my friend and I are here for; to take those teeth
back to New York where we came from, and sell them to the other
dentists.”
“You must not take those teeth away.” The black eyes flashed. “That
plain is sacred; you must not touch anything there.”
“But think of the money there is in this proposition.”
“The teeth must always remain here,” she said firmly as she left the
room.
“Here’s a rum go,” said Rothwell. “I hadn’t figured on the Hawaiians
caring.”
Nothing more was said on the subject until Rothwell was able to walk
about. Wilbur came up to see him and plans were made to carry off as
large an amount of teeth as was possible.
“Say, Wilbur, these Hawaiians object to us taking the teeth.”
“They do?”
“Yes, and quite strenuously. However, we’ll take our chances.” They
left the hut and started in the direction of the plain.
The old Hawaiian saw them and knew what they were after. His daughter
had told him of the plans and, like her, he objected to having them put
to the use which the two strangers planned.
“They shall not do it!” he exclaimed, “they shall not take away the
teeth of those brave men.” He followed Rothwell and Wilbur and appeared
among them as they were filling their bags with teeth.
“Up higher,” he said, pointing to a smaller precipice, “was where
the men of Maui fell. They were noted for their beautiful teeth. My
daughter tells me that the haoles are making a collection of teeth.
They must not fail to secure at least a few of these to take back home.”
Unsuspecting in the slightest the two men followed. They climbed the
high precipice, their guide in advance. Wilbur followed with Rothwell
close after them. As they neared the top the guide held on to a little
bush which grew near by and suddenly kicked backwards. The force of
the blow was sufficient to throw Wilbur off his balance, and he fell
against Rothwell. Clutching vainly in the air, both men went tumbling
down the precipice, and fell on the plain beneath, mangled beyond
recognition.
The old Hawaiian gazed in silence at what had been two men, then he
muttered softly, “The valley is safe.” He slowly climbed down the
height and went back to his hut. Violetta met him at the door, a look
of enquiry on her face.
The guide said nothing for a moment, then he repeated, “The valley is
safe.”
THE RAID AT PUNCHBOWL
THE RAID AT PUNCHBOWL
There were ten grocery stores within a radius of half a mile from
where Manuel Jacinto lived, and all catered to the Portuguese trade.
Not enough people lived around there to keep more than two grocery
stores in comfortable circumstances, yet the owners of the eight others
managed to pay their bills, their yearly license fees, and to put money
in the bank.
And Manuel Jacinto was thinking of adding another store to the long
string. Others made money so why couldn’t he? The same way by which the
others managed to subsist would put him on the road to being a rich man
provided he was careful and escaped being _apanhado_, as the term was
for those upon whom the heavy hand of the law descended.
He was telling his friend José all this one bright Sunday morning as
they quietly sipped their Madeira which Manuel had brought from the
old country with him on the _Suveric_ when he, and over a thousand
of his compatriots, decided to cast their lot in the Paradise of the
Pacific.
“But why do you have to fear the law?” José asked, “What law can you be
breaking by keeping a grocery store?”
Manuel laughed. “When you have been here as long as I have,” he said,
“you’ll understand that the laws here are a bit different from those
in old Villa Nova. How do you suppose that ten grocery stores exist in
such close proximity? Hardly any of them sell enough groceries to pay
the rent. ’Tis the little back room, my friend, the little back room
which makes us want to start more stores.”
“The little back room? What do you mean?”
José was a recent arrival and had as yet not become acquainted with the
ins and outs of a Portuguese grocery store.
“All these stores have a little back room where men may come together
for a good time,” replied Manuel with the superiority born of a year’s
stay in Honolulu. “The store keepers want to make money (and who does
not?) so they put in a barrel of wine in one corner of this little back
room, and a table in another. They propose that a game be played and
that the loser treat the crowd to wine. With a chance to get a number
of glasses of _vinho_ for nothing the men begin to play and the store
keepers make money, for some one always loses. And there is money in
this business for me. The other stores add a little water to their wine
to increase the profits. I shall sell only pure wine. You know that
I brought a large number of casks of the best with me when I came.
My place will be eagerly sought after and, provided the law does not
interfere, I shall be rich.”
José nodded in acquiescence. There was much to learn that was different
in Honolulu.
Shortly after his talk with José, Manuel opened up a store and as a
special inducement, he offered a glass of three-year-old Madeira to all
visitors on his opening day. It was not long before card games were
in progress at Manuel’s and the attendance daily increased. His wine
was purer, it was older, and it was stronger than the kind the other
stores supplied. The players got drunk faster at Manuel’s than they did
elsewhere, and more than one fight was fought in that little back room.
Finally a man was seriously injured in one of these fights and then the
police began to sit up and take notice.
“We’ll raid that place tomorrow night,” said the Sheriff to a friend
who brought him news of the latest escapade for which the wine in
Manuel’s place was responsible.
“By the way,” asked the friend, “how do you raid?”
“Easy. We send in a man with a marked coin to purchase a drink. We
usually have him buy a bottle of wine which he brings out to us. Then
we go in and arrest the store keeper. We nab the cash drawer, get the
marked coin and bring it to court with the bottle for testimony. It’s
easy to convict in this way.”
João Pinto, known to the rest of the force as “Long John,” overheard
this conversation. Long John was in love with Maria, and Maria was
Manuel’s daughter. Supposing that her father should send Maria to sell
the wine on the morrow? He loved her, but his duty would compel him to
arrest her just the same. If he did though, he would have to give up
all hope of marrying her. If Maria was not selling wine at the time of
the raid, her father would, and that was almost the same, for Maria
fairly worshiped her father, and, were he arrested, she would never
forgive the _policia_ who had a hand in the affair. Ah! he had a plan.
He would drop a note to Maria hinting at the proposed raid on the
morrow. He would plead sick the next day and so escape being sent out.
John chuckled at the plan. Writing the note he dispatched it by a small
boy who lived near Manuel’s store. He went back to the office and met
the chief, who said: “John, that new store on Punchbowl is raising hell
with the Portuguese. We’ll raid that place tonight.”
“Tonight?” burst involuntarily from John’s lips.
“Yes, tonight. Things are worse than I thought. We can’t put it off for
another day. Here’s the marked coin. Go in and have a game of cards;
lose; treat the crowd. We’ll be there about seven. So long.” And the
chief went out to dinner.
Tonight! and he had told Manuel in his letter to have a good time that
evening as on the morrow the store would have to be quiet.
But it would soon be seven and his duty had to be performed even at the
cost of Maria.
He entered the store and was greeted heartily by Manuel who took him
aside and whispered, “Thanks for the warning. I’ll give my consent for
any day which you may choose to marry Maria.”
John nodded mechanically as he turned to go to the card table. “Let’s
have a game of cards,” he said. “The loser pays, of course.”
All turned their attention to the game. The well thumbed pack was
brought out and given to John to cut. The game progressed merrily
enough for the others, but John was silent. Finally he lost the game.
“Wine all around,” he muttered hoarsely.
“Here, Maria,” shouted her father to the daughter in the store proper,
“come and give these gentlemen some wine.” They drank the wine and John
flung the marked coin on the counter and started for the door.
Oh, this raiding business was awful!
But before he had reached the door he heard Manuel shout to his
daughter, “_Ajoga o dinheiro._” (Throw away the money.) “The police are
upon us!”
Maria had the coin, which John had paid, in her hand. Just outside the
little back room was a pit covered with boards over which her father’s
horse and wagon were washed. Maria ran out quickly, dropped the coin
between the cracks, and heard the splash which it made as it touched
the water.
She returned and saw an officer examining the cash drawer for the
marked coin.
“_Eu digo a verdade_,” her father said, “Me no sell wine; me give mans.”
“You’re a liar,” said the officer testily, for he hated to be beaten
in a raid, “but just the same I’ll have to let you go this time. Look
out for us, however.” And the police left the store amid the jeers and
gibes of the hangers-on at Manuel’s.
“The rascal,” said Manuel to his daughter when all was quiet, “to try
and catch us in a trap like that.”
“Never mind him,” said Maria with a toss of her pretty head. “I fooled
him once tonight and I’ll fool him again. I just promised Antonio that
I’d marry him after the _Festa do Espirito Santo_.”
A CHANGE OF OPINION
A CHANGE OF OPINION
I.
Of course it happened at the club. Things of this kind always happen
at a club, either because the members feel freer to discuss the weaker
sex when they are not around, or because some men think a club the only
place for such speeches.
John Harris made the remark, and Walter Andrews, the pet of half the
ladies in the town, was its bitterest opposer.
“I do not believe it,” he said vehemently. “You can not make me believe
it.”
“Nevertheless, my boy, I repeat; no one ever saw or heard of a really
beautiful woman who was good. Mark you, I’m not saying anything against
the merely ‘very pretty girl.’ I’ll admit that there are some very
pretty women who, in addition to their loveliness, are really good. But
these are merely pretty, not beautiful,” Harris replied.
“What is your standard of ‘goodness’ in a woman, anyway?”
“Well, I’ll admit that my ideal woman would be hard to find. Even the
‘goodness’ part would be largely above par in a plain, ugly woman, let
alone in a beautiful one. So I’ll take off a few requirements, and if
you can find me a woman who is not a flirt even in the strictest sense
of the word, and who never has been accused of trying to make a man
love her, and, when she has him in that fix, declare that she only
‘likes him,’ and ‘hopes that they’ll always be friends’; if you can
find such a woman, I’ll--but you can’t.”
The subject was dropped, and shortly after Andrews left the club.
He went home early and to bed, but sleep did not come as it was
wont to. All night long he tossed thinking of what Harris had said,
and wondering where he could find a woman who could come up to the
requirements.
II.
It was a very preoccupied Andrews which entered the office of “Roberts
and Andrews” the next morning, and more than once his partner asked,
“What is the matter with you?”
“Nothing much,” was the invariable response.
Toward afternoon, Mr. Roberts came to him and said, “Andrews, my niece
is coming here to visit us for a while. Can you suggest anything which
would be nice for a young lady of twenty or twenty-one to do?”
“How’s yachting?”
“The very thing. Funny that we did not think about that. Diana is very
fond of it, she writes. You have a yacht, haven’t you?”
“Yes.”
“What do you call her?”
“The yacht’s name is _Diana_,” said Andrews, digging his paper-cutter
into the blotter on his desk.
“Queer name that, for a yacht. If I wasn’t positive that I had not
mentioned my niece’s name to you, I would swear that you christened
your boat since I began talking to you. However, I will have to go back
to the house for a while, as I left Diana’s picture at home and Jones
wants to make a cut of it for tomorrow’s _Leader_. I’ll be back soon
and will show it to you before I take it down.”
The senior partner left the office and Andrews laughed loud and
long. “Positive that he hadn’t mentioned the young lady’s name to
me, was he? Oh, that reminds me that I’ll have to get the name on
the yacht changed.” He reached for the ’phone and after getting into
communication with the man that took care of the boat for him, he said,
“Say, strike off the name and put on _Diana_.”
Andrews had barely resumed work when Harris came in. “Hello, old man,”
he said in response to Andrews’ greeting, “I dreamed about you last
night.”
“The dickens you did,” replied Andrews, “I dreamed about _you_.”
“This is getting interesting. What did you dream?”
“I dreamed that I saw the most beautiful woman imaginable coming
toward me with outstretched arms. Just as I was about to touch her she
disappeared, and in her stead, I saw you. You had a hard, cynical sneer
upon your face and you said to me, ‘She is beautiful, but is she good?’
Yes, she is beautiful, but she is not good.”
“By Jove, Andrews, my dream was almost exactly like yours. What can it
mean?”
Walter shook his head. “I don’t know,” he said; “but I wish you hadn’t
made such a fool statement.”
Roberts came in just then, and excusing himself, Harris left the office.
Walter went over to the old man’s desk and watched him as he slowly
took out a large photograph from a mailing envelope. Andrews gave one
glance at it, then with a shriek he flung the picture to the floor and
sank into a chair pale as a sheet. Mr. Roberts looked at him in blank
amazement.
“I am not feeling well,” he explained as he picked up his hat to go
home.
The picture which his partner had shown him was a duplicate of the face
he had seen in his dreams, and which, without doubt, was the same which
his friend had seen.
III.
The train to Mulford slowed down at the station of the little seaport
town and from one of the parlor cars a young woman stepped out to the
platform.
“She was beautiful.” There was no denying the fact. Even the most
unemotional man would have stared long and hard at the retreating
figure once he caught sight of her face.
Anthony Roberts stepped out from the interior of the station and kissed
his niece impulsively.
* * * * *
“Now then, Harris,” said a voice at his ear, “dare you say that that
beautiful woman is not good?”
Harris turned and saw a young member of the club who had been present
when his challenge had been made. “Hello, George, what woman do you
mean?”
“The one walking with old man Roberts.”
Harris looked in the direction which his friend pointed, then gripped
his arm convulsively.
“What the mischief are you gripping me that way for? If all women
affect you this way no wonder you say that no beautiful woman is good.
But, man, you are pale as a ghost. Are you ill?”
“I am not well. Let’s go to the club.”
When they reached their destination, Harris sought a secluded corner.
“Has she come to follow me up and torment me again?” he thought.
“Poor Walter, if he sees her he’ll try to prove that although she is
beautiful, this--” he swallowed hard--“is a good woman. By God! I’ll
let him alone, let him get severely punished and see if he won’t change
his mind a bit. They said that I was to marry her.” Silently one by one
there came to him scenes of what had seemed like a year in heaven, and
following them, came what he had thought a miniature Hell on earth.
As if from the throat of some unseen person there came the word, “I
can’t marry you John, let us just be friends.”
“I hate you,” he shouted at the top of his voice.
A waiter ran up to the room. “Did you call, sir?”
“Yes, bring me a whiskey.”
Tossing the glass off at one gulp, Harris left the room.
IV.
As Walter was about to open the door to his private office the sound of
girlish laughter floated over the open transom.
“It must be Diana,” he said. Opening the door he stepped into his
office.
“Good morning, Andrews,” said his partner, “allow me.” He took Andrews’
arm and led him up to the sofa where the young lady of his dreams was
seated.
Andrews bowed his acknowledgment of the introduction. He could not
trust himself to speak. The room was swimming about him and he seemed
to be enveloped in a hazy mist, out of which a woman’s voice was
saying, “I made bold, Mr. Andrews, to come in and arrange your office;
freshen it up a bit, you understand.”
Andrews pulled himself together and looked about him. The usual staid
office was transformed into a flower garden. Flowers were banked upon
each other in a way which bespoke a practised hand.
Roberts and his niece left Andrews’ office and went to the firm’s
waiting rooms.
“What is the matter with your partner?” Diana asked, “he has such a far
away look in his eyes and he seems to be miles away from the office.”
“Only lately, my dear, only lately. I believe you have had some thing
to do with it.”
“I, Uncle?” Diana gasped in astonishment, “what do you mean? I never
saw him before.”
“Until I showed him your photograph, Andrews was all that one could
ask, but when he saw your picture, he dropped it as suddenly as if he
were holding a hot coal, gave a shriek, and skipped out of the office.
I had intended to ask him what made him act the way he did, but it
passed my mind.”
“I am going to ask him myself.” And Diana started for Andrew’s office.
“Diana,” called her uncle. But that young lady kept on until she had
reached Andrews’ room. She knocked twice and receiving no answer,
opened the door and walked in. She found Andrews with his head down
upon his arms on his desk. Gently touching him on the shoulder she
said, “Mr. Andrews!”
Walter started up suddenly. “I beg pardon,” he stammered, “but I did
not sleep at all well last night and now I was almost gone. Can I, and
may I, be of any assistance to you?” His old manner had returned and he
was now the Walter Andrews which his partner had known all his life.
Diana was astonished at the sudden transition which had taken place and
it was her turn to be at a loss for something to say.
“Uncle said you had a yacht,” she finally began.
“Yes,” he replied, “will you be ready to go out with me this afternoon?”
“I should be delighted to go.”
They were silent for a moment, then Diana said, “Mr. Andrews, I heard
that when you saw my picture you dropped it and gave a scream of
terror. May I ask why?”
Andrews dropped back into the manner which Diana had first seen him. In
a strained tone of voice he said, “Miss Langdon, someday, but not now,
I hope to be able to tell you the reason for my astonishing behavior.”
“‘Some day, but not now,’” she quoted; “When will that be?”
“When I have known you better,” he said bluntly. “When may I call for
you?”
“I have changed my mind; I am not going.”
“But you promised,” reminded Andrews.
“I do not care if I did,” she returned with some heat as she rose and
left the room.
“‘She is beautiful, but is she good?’” Andrews unconsciously murmured.
“Oh, confound it, will I never forget that dream?”
V.
Towards afternoon Andrews heard a gentle knock on his door.
“Come in,” he said.
Miss Langdon entered dressed in a sailor suit. “You see,” she
explained, “I just realized that a promise is a promise and so I’ve
come to go yachting with you. Can you go now?”
“Can I go?” asked Andrews. “Just watch me.” And giving his desk cover a
pull, he reached for his hat and said, “I’m ready now.”
“It took you less time to get ready than it took me,” she smiled.
Andrews looked admiringly at her costume but said nothing. The distance
to the pier was not long, and today Andrews found it much shorter than
usual. Given, a bright vivacious girl and a man who appreciates that
kind, and it needs no mathematician to prove that they will make a
congenial couple.
The day was delightful. Just the right amount of wind was blowing for
a sail. They talked pleasantly for some time as the big yacht skimmed
over the water like a great white bird. Then Andrews said, “Miss
Langdon, I have a friend who says that all women are flirts. Is he
right?”
“Really Mr. Andrews, you take me at a disadvantage.”
“How so?”
“Why, you ask me either to laud or condemn myself, and you know that no
man can, on trial, be compelled to give testimony against himself.”
Andrews laughed. “Let’s change the subject. See that school of red
fish?”
“Yes.”
“Well, if we were in Hawaii and these fish came into the harbor we
might expect to hear of the death of a member of the royal family. The
Hawaiians have a superstition that these fish come to announce the
death of a chief. Are you at all superstitious?”
“Well, I believe that thirteen is an unlucky number.”
“Yes?”
“There were thirteen of us in our club and all but five got married
before the club was a year old.”
“What kind of a club; Browning or Shakespeare?”
“Neither. We had vowed solemn vows that we would not marry until--” she
stopped short.
“Why do you stop?” Andrews asked.
“You men say that women can not keep a secret. I guess that you are
right. I came near giving our club secret away.”
They soon landed, and giving Diana in charge of her uncle, who was at
the dock waiting for them, Andrews went to the club.
“Diana,” said her uncle, “what made you go with Andrews after you said
that you would not?”
“Because,” said that young lady, “because I love--sailing.”
VI.
Andrews met Diana quite frequently during the following days. Their
meeting always awoke in Andrews the question, “Will she stand the test?”
“I can stand this no longer,” he said one day; “I shall have to settle
the matter at once.” He turned to his telephone and calling up Miss
Langdon, asked her if she cared for a sail.
“I’ll be down directly,” she replied, and she soon appeared. They
boarded the yacht in silence. Neither spoke for a while, then Andrews
broke the silence saying, bluntly, “Diana, I love you; I have always
loved you. Will you be my wife?”
Miss Langdon was silent for a moment, then she asked, “Why did you act
the way you did when you saw my picture?”
“Your answer first,” groaned Andrews.
“I cannot give you my answer today. Come to my uncle’s tomorrow and I
will answer then and there. Let’s go back.”
Knowing that it would be useless to argue with her and make her give
him her answer immediately, Andrews turned the yacht and started for
home.
After landing, he took her to her uncle’s and left her at the gate. She
had not asked him to come in, but he had not noticed the omission.
“One who has never been accused of trying to make a man love her, and
when she has him in that fix, declare that she only likes him and hopes
that they will always be friends,” kept ringing in his ears. Certain it
was that since she had met him Diana had tried to make him love her.
Would she stand the test?
VII.
Andrews did not come to work the day after. “He ’phoned me that he
would not be down until afternoon,” said Roberts, when Harris called
to see his friend. “He is not feeling well. But, Harris, you have not
met my niece. Come this way.” An urgent message intercepted him as they
went to Andrews’ room, and hearing that his niece and Harris were old
acquaintances, Harris was left to renew his friendship.