A nice girl, Ethel; but, by Jove, it’s queer
The way a fellow’s stubborn mind will turn
To something that he should forget. That face—
I saw once on a San Francisco street,
How well I do recall the time and place.
‘A girl from Honolulu,’ some one said.
I wonder where she is now! Married? Dead?
[_A silent reverie for a moment_. _Then speaks again_.]
I planned this trip with just one crazy thought—
To look upon that strange girl’s face once more.
That is the luny project which has brought
The four of us to this idyllic shore.
[_Laughs and lights a cigar_.]
My scheme was worked with such consummate care
That mother thinks _she_ planned the whole affair.
Then she invited Ethel as her guest.
[_Silence for a moment_.]
Well, sometimes mothers know just what is best
For wayward sons.
And yet, and yet, and yet,
Why is it one girl’s face I can’t forget?
Why is it that I feel despondent hearted
In missing that fool hope for which I started?
Four thousand miles is something of a chase
To run to cover one elusive face
And then to _fail_.
[_Reverie_. _A chant is heard outside_. _The man listens_. _The chant
ceases and then a maiden slowly approaches calling out her flower wares_,
_which she carries in a basket_; _she wears several lais herself_, _on
hat and neck_. _She does not observe the man at first_.]