Part 2

But Maria was inconsolable. “I want my Gabriel,” she moaned; “_Ou meu Gabriel_.”

But crying and wishing for him did not bring Gabriel to her, and the long, hard voyage to Honolulu was endured without him.

True to the plans which he had made in Madeira, Manuel did not go on a plantation, but remained in the city, where he soon obtained employment at a much better wage than he had been accustomed.

Maria was fairly good looking, and the young men of Honolulu were not slow in finding that fact out, and many a suitor she had had before she was in town many months. But she met them all with the same answer, “I am waiting for Gabriel.”

One day, news arrived that the _Kumeric_, with another load of Portuguese, was coming, and Maria was overjoyed.

“My Gabriel will surely come,” she told her father.

“Your Gabriel?” he replied, “why, when you were in Madeira, you said that he was _not_ your Gabriel.”

“That was in Madeira,” she said.

While they talked on the subject one morning, three loud blasts from a whistle interrupted their conversation, and soon they heard that the _Kumeric_ had been sighted.

“Oh, let us hurry to the wharf,” Maria said.

“No hurry at all. It will take her two hours to come in, so we will have plenty of time.”

But Maria was impatient and finally persuaded her father to “go immediately.”

The wait was long, but finally the vessel was tied to the wharf. No one was allowed aboard her, and no one was allowed to leave her, so those on the wharf had to content themselves with picking out from the mass of humanity huddled along the side of the ship, faces which they recognized.

Maria peered anxiously at the people on board, but she saw no Gabriel.

Disappointed, she was almost ready to give up and go home, when her attention was attracted by a tall man violently waving his cap at her.

It was Gabriel, and with a cry of delight, she rushed up closer to the side of the ship.

“_Maria minha_,” Gabriel shouted.

“Good morning my dear,” she replied in English.

CUPID AND THE LAW

CUPID AND THE LAW

There has been great rejoicing in the little village of Hingyan, when Ito and Hatsu were married. Ito had money, and he spent it lavishly on his feast. No one could honestly say that the host had been niggardly with his sweetmeats or that there had not been enough sake to go around. On the contrary, the villagers declared that never before had they attended such a sumptuous feast.

Ito was a rice planter. He owned the largest rice plantation in the village and had the largest stock of buffaloes in the entire district. But one day he did not come to his noonday meal, and when he arrived at evening he seemed very much depressed in spirit.

“What is troubling my beloved one?” asked his wife, who had never, since she had been married, sat down to such a solemn meal. Usually Ito was jovial and meal time was an event to which Hatsu looked forward with eagerness.

Ito tried to look pleasant as his wife spoke, but failed, as he replied, “I fear that we are to have a terrible drought this season. It has not rained even in the mountains, and the water supply is very, very low.”

“I will go to the temple tomorrow and offer up a sacrifice to the Rain God. Perhaps he will hear my prayers and send us an abundance of rain.”

“I fear that he will not,” replied her husband; “I have been daily to the temple this week, and as yet there are no signs of rain.”

“Without rain the crops will fail?”

“Most assuredly. The rice is now in the stage where it requires a large supply of water. Unless we have rains this week or next week at the latest, we shall have no rice until next year;” and Ito sadly shook his head.

“Shall you lose so very much money if the crops fail?”

“Yes. I have been buying up all the available lands owing to the fact that I needed more to cultivate rice to supply the Maji contract. Unless it rain, I shall become a poor man, as there is a heavy bond connected with this contract.”

“A heavy bond?”

“Yes. If at the end of the season I fail to produce the required number of bags, I shall be obliged to forfeit more than two thousand yen. Besides, I mortgaged my lands when we got married. Things look very dark for us. I am afraid we shall be poor; very poor indeed.”

“I care not for the luxuries of life. The necessities with my husband, are enough for me.”

Ito kissed his wife fondly and was silent.

True to her promise, Hatsu went to the temple and offered a bowl of rice to the Rain God. Muttering a little prayer for rain, she left the temple. “It will surely rain this week,” she said; “the rice was of the best.”

But it did not rain that week, neither did it in the next. And the rice crops became a failure, and, true to his prophecy, Ito became a poor man. The change of fortune left him a small house and lot which had been formerly used by his head planter. Ito barely eked out a living by raising soy beans.

Finally, Ito called his wife and said, “We cannot live in this miserable condition any longer. I have decided to go to America and see what I can do. They tell me that America is a land wherein the poor man may become rich. Raising the soy bean is not hard. I will leave you here to tend to it. In three years or, maybe, two, I shall send for you, and together we shall live in what will resemble former days. If I fail, I shall return.”

In vain did Hatsu protest that she was just as happy now in the days of want as she had been in the days of plenty. Ito had decided to go to America, and he went.

It was a sad leave-taking, but Ito cheered his wife saying, “It is only for a few years. I shall soon be able to send money for you to come to me.”

Arriving in San Francisco, Ito found work on a railroad, digging a tunnel which the company had ordered made. He lived in a large apartment house which the company furnished its working men--all Japanese, who, like himself, had come to the promised land to make their fortunes.

* * * * *

Accustomed to low wages in their own country, they live accordingly. Coming to America, with its higher wages, they keep their old methods of living and save money. It was not surprising, then, that at the end of two years Ito had nearly a thousand dollars in the bank. By careful investments at the end of the third he was the owner of a sum which would accredit him a rich man should he go back to Japan. Should he go back to Japan, or should he remain in America and have his wife come to him? Letters had been but few between them, as Hatsu could neither read nor write. When he “turned in” at night, the last question which flashed through his brain was, “Shall I go back to Japan?” and the first question which greeted him on his awakening was, “Shall I send for my wife?”

When he had decided finally to do the former, go back to Japan, his foreman came to him and said: “Ito, my boss section man sick; go back to Japan. I give you the job; raise you five dollars.”

After hearing this he resolved to stay, and wrote a letter to his wife that night, telling her to come to him. He would mail her a bank note in the morning. Then they would be together, and the old times and scenes would be reacted.

Bright and early did he rise the next morning, for he had important work to do. As he walked to the bank where he had his savings, a countrywoman of his passed, and, bowing, asked to be directed to a certain street. Ito directed her. Long did he gaze after her, and not until a policeman had told him to “move on” did he leave the spot.

“What a beautiful woman,” he muttered. By the way which the young woman arranged her hair Ito knew that she was unmarried. A wild thought flashed through his brain; why not try to get this young woman for his wife? He had forgotten the faithful and patient Hatsu, forgotten the little baby which he had never seen, forgotten everything connected with his past life, save that he had fallen in love with this beauty. So the money remained in the bank, and the letter was destroyed.

By degrees Ito became acquainted with the beauty. Soon, from a mere acquaintance, a warm friendship sprang up between the two, and finally this friendship ripened into love, and one day Ito announced to his comrades that he was to be married. They congratulated him warmly when they saw his wife, and Ito thought himself a fortunate man.

* * * * *

“It is strange, my pet,” said Hatsu one morning, “it is strange that your father has not written to us. It has been nearly two years since we last heard from him. He said that three years at the most would be enough to earn money to send for us. And now it is nearly five. I wonder if--no, I will not think such a thing of the most noble Ito.”

But she did think, and the more she thought the more she became convinced.

At last she could bear the suspense no longer; she would go to America and seek her husband. So, selling the little house to enable her to get passage money, all she brought from the old home was Ito’s few but precious letters.

Eventually she, too, arrived at San Francisco, but was refused admission.

“But my husband is here,” she told the interpreter.

“If that is the case,” the official replied, “you may come in, but first you will have to have your husband come to the station to prove that you are his wife.”

By some mere chance Ito was passing the Immigration Station. “There he is now,” cried Hatsu, and she rushed forward to greet her husband.

Ito was called inside and was asked, “Who is this woman?”

Ito looked and saw Hatsu trembling with suppressed emotion. Surely, oh surely, he would say the word that would cease all troubles and end all separation.

For an instant Ito paled. Like a flash there came before him the view of a woman toiling patiently among the soy vines, waiting daily for a letter telling her to come to America.

He had been in the States long enough to know that Uncle Sam laid a heavy hand on people who had offended in the way that he had, so he answered, “I do not know her.”

With a cry of anguish, Hatsu sprang forward. “Ito,” she cried. But Ito was deaf.

“Are you sure that you do not know this woman?” asked one of the officials. He had seen many shams, but this looked to him to be the real thing.

“My wife live with me on Fillmore street,” was the answer.

“Yes,” said a bystander, “I sabe her. Her number one pretty woman. Ito too much lucky.”

Ito left the room, but the officials were far from satisfied.

“I believe that he is this woman’s husband,” said one of the commissioners who was present.

“So do I,” was the interpreter’s response.

“Tell her that I am taking a special interest in her case. Ask her if she can prove that he is her husband.”

Taking from her finger a small circlet of gold, she said: “This ring was his great grandmother’s. There is none like it anywhere. When he sees it, watch his face. That in itself will be sufficient proof.”

The interpreter took the ring, and the next morning Ito received a warrant, ordering his appearance in court immediately.

The prosecuting attorney handed him a ring, saying: “Have you ever seen anything like this before?”

Ito took the ring and sank sobbing into a chair.

“I gave it to Hatsu the day we were married in Japan,” he confessed. He was sentenced on his own evidence and was led away to jail.

Poor Hatsu was broken-hearted. She dearly loved Ito, and to think that he had played her false was more than she could believe.

“Take me back to Dai Nippon,” she said; “take me back. I go to die in the land of my fathers.”

THE NEW MAGNETIC HEALER

THE NEW MAGNETIC HEALER

The town had been literally flooded that year with quacks and fakers in the shape of men who either claimed to be able to cure disease in any form, or professed to have some scheme by which men and women could get rich in two weeks. It always happened, however, that all those who fell victims to the wiles of the last-named gentlemen, were poorer, when the time expired, by a few, and sometimes a good many, dollars.

Bollinger, however, eclipsed them all, both in his remunerations and in his methods. He came towards the close of the year, and when he went away, he had enraged the people so, that they shut the city’s gates to all magnetic healers who tried in the future to locate in that town.

Almost all of his class wore long, flowing gowns and beards; but not so with Bollinger. He wore a suit of the latest style and cut, and was clean-shaven. Before he had been in the town three days all the girls had fallen in love with him. But Bollinger was an extremely modest young man who had no intention of falling in love with any of the enamored young ladies--at least not during the first week.

Miss Camilla Knight was away when Bollinger arrived in the town, and did not return until he had been there nearly a week. It was when she returned that Bollinger discovered that being single had its disadvantages. He made enquiries, and found out that Camilla lived alone with her father, who, besides being a widower, was a rough and austere man; one who would brook no insult, intentional or otherwise, and woe betide the man who dared to insult Papa Knight by asking him for his daughter. There were many young men in the town who could show you the exact spot that they landed upon after having been kicked off the veranda of the Knight home, simply because they had had the audacity to ask for Camilla’s hand, and, incidentally, the rest of her.

Camilla had come home ill, and the doctors had given up hope of saving her life. When Bollinger heard this he hung up a sign which read, “Doctor John Bollinger, Magnetic Healer.” The town smiled. So this young man who had been the cause of so much speculation as to what his business was, had proven to be a mere magnetic healer. With one accord they resolved not to patronize him. Camilla’s father saw “Dr.” Bollinger’s advertisement in one of the town papers, and also an editorial in another, urging the people not to go to him. He showed the paper to Camilla, who urged her father to try him.

“He can’t do any harm, and he may do some good,” soliloquized Papa Knight; “and I’ll be hanged if I’ll not do anything because an old editor tells me not to.” So he sent for Bollinger.

Mr. Knight was a little old-fashioned, and his ideas of magnetic healers were somewhat behind the time. It was no wonder, therefore, that he was surprised when an up-to-date young man handed him a card which read, “John Bollinger, Magnetic Healer.”

“Be you the doctor?” he asked, in surprise.

“I be,” the other replied, with assumed gravity.

“Humph! You don’t look like you had enough magnetic power to cure a fly.”

“Nevertheless I have enough to heal your daughter.”

“How did you know that it was my daughter who was ill?” the astonished father asked. “You have only just arrived, haven’t you?”

“I found out it was your daughter who was ill, by my magnetic power,” Bollinger answered, evading the last question.

“If that don’t beat all!” ejaculated the old man.

“Allow me to see your daughter,” asked the healer.

The old man led the way to Camilla’s room and said to his daughter, “Here’s that young healer you were so anxious to have come and see you.” He asked her a few simple questions as to where she felt the pain, and the like, and was told that the pain was in her heart. Taking a small pad from his pocket he turned to the old man and said, “Do you read?”

“Printing, but not writing,” was the answer.

“Does your daughter read?”

“Of course she does; do you think you are the only one who has had an edication? Why don’t you make use of your magnetic power and quit asking so many questions?”

Bollinger did not answer _his_ question, but continued to write on the pad. Tearing off the sheet, he handed it to Camilla and said, “Read this to yourself twenty times an hour. But remember! yourself. If you read it aloud, the spell will be broken and I shall be unable to do anything for you. I will come tomorrow and see if you are any better. Good morning.” And he picked up his hat and left the room. Papa Knight followed him to the front door and said, “How much do I owe you for today’s work?”

“I prefer to collect my fee all at once,” the doctor replied.

“How much will that be?”

“It is impossible for me to tell at present. If the cure fails, I do not want a cent; if it works--but we will talk of the pay later.”

“Queer fellow that,” said the old man to himself as the healer left the house. “He’s different from all the other magnetic healers I’ve heard of before. Most of them want their money before they begin to work, but this one wants to cure before he gets his pay.”

Meanwhile Camilla was reading her cure not twenty times an hour, but sixty: “Dear Camilla, I love you. Won’t you be mine? Answer me when I come tomorrow,” she read, and she did not wait to say “Yes” the first time to Bollinger himself, but said “Yes” every time she read it.

Dr. Bollinger went to visit his patient very early the next morning to see how the “cure” had worked. Papa Knight met him at the door, his face all aglow with smiles. “By George!” he said, “but you are a wonder. Why! Camilla is as pert as a cricket this morning. She wanted to get up and dress, but I wouldn’t let her. I was afraid it might harm her.”

“Why didn’t you? It would not have done her any harm.”

“I’ll tell her now, if you want me to.”

“Never mind. I am anxious to complete the cure. It is just begun. Let us go to Cam--to Miss Knight.”

They went to the room and the first question Bollinger asked was, “If anyone was to ask you if the cure was a success, what would you say?”

“I would say, ‘Yes’,” she replied.

“And do you say ‘Yes’ to the question the cure asked?”

“Yes,” was the response.

Bollinger must have forgotten where he was, and who was present with him, for he lifted Camilla from her bed, and kissed her again and again.

“See here, young man,” said Papa Knight when he had recovered from his astonishment. “What in thunder do you mean?”

“This is a part of the cure,” Bollinger answered, “and you must not interrupt.”

“Take those kinds of cures somewhere else, you rascal; I don’t want any of them.”

“Neither do I want to give any of them to you,” Bollinger answered.

“Git out of my house!” roared the old man. “Git!”

“Before I go, allow me to tell you something which will no doubt surprise you. I love your daughter; she, in turn, loves me. Have we your permission to get married?”

Force of habit is strong, and, for answer, Papa Knight opened the door leading to the veranda, and prepared to treat Bollinger as he had treated many others who had asked him a similar question. But Bollinger was too quick for him. He caught the old man up as if he were a child, and placed him upon a chair.

“I’m determined to have your daughter, Mr. Knight, cost what it may. Will you give her to me, or shall I have to take recourse to my magnetic power to get what I want?”

“Do you want to go with this young upstart, Camilla?” her father asked.

“He is not an upstart,” she said, stoutly.

“Don’t contradict! Answer my question: Do you want to go with this young fellow?”

“Yes.”

“Then go; I wash my hands clean of you. Git!” he shouted.

And they “got.”

* * * * *

“Bollinger,” said a young man to the magnetic healer-of-a-day as they were seated in the former’s comfortable rooms in a hotel, “I heard today that you at one time practiced magnetic healing. Is that true?”

Bollinger glanced at his wife and both broke out into peals of laughter. When they finally calmed down, Bollinger asked, “And did your informer tell you who my first patient was?”

“Your wife,” was the laconic answer. Mr. and Mrs. Bollinger laughed again.

“I think you might tell me what the joke is,” the young man said.

“Well,” began Bollinger, “I was spending my vacation in Logansport one summer, where I met Mrs. Bollinger. She had come to see an aunt who lived near my hotel, and we saw a good deal of each other. By dint of many enquiries, I found out that her father was a tough customer, so I laid my plans accordingly. You see, I had fallen in love with the fair Camilla, and I could not rest until she was mine. Upon reaching home, Miss Knight was to pretend that she was ill. I was to bribe the old country doctor to declare that Camilla was beyond all hope of recovery. Then I was to step in, and, with my magnetic power, cure her, and, out of sheer gratitude, Papa Knight would give her to me. But when I did cure his daughter’s malady, like old Pharaoh, he hardened his heart, and instead of giving me his daughter he wanted to give me a kick. I threatened him with my magnetic power, and he finally gave her to me. There’s the story of the time when I practiced magnetic healing. Are you satisfied?” and, looking at Mrs. Bollinger, he burst into another roar of laughter, but this time his guest joined him, for he was thinking that the little ruse would bear repeating.

IN THE VALLEY OF TEETH

IN THE VALLEY OF TEETH

“By Jove, I’ve an idea!” Doctor Rothwell brought down his tilted chair with a resounding whack.

“An idea?” said Rodger Wilbur, throwing down the paper which he was reading, “really, let’s have it.”

“I was reading an account in a paper Frank sent me from Honolulu of a battle which took place there a number of years ago. They celebrated the anniversary or did something the other day worthy of the account occupying preferred position on the front page.”

“Well, what’s so interesting in that? Lots of celebrations here in New York have the report of their doings on the front page.”

“The account went on to say,” continued Rothwell, ignoring his friend’s remark, “of how a large number of men were sent to their death by some chief driving them over a huge precipice. That was a pretty long time ago; now the plain is covered with the skeletons of the warriors and it is visited by the Hawaiians occasionally, who have a secret trail to the place.”

Rothwell paused for breath and Wilbur languidly remarked, “Anything more connected with this idea of yours?”

“Rodger Wilbur, you are a man who does not deserve the luck which Dame Fortune is laying at your door. You don’t deserve to hear anything about a plan that will pull more in a day than your measly law gives you in a month.”

“Come Rothwell, don’t get angry. Explain yourself a bit.”

“Well, my plan is this; let us go to Honolulu, get the teeth in that valley, bring them back to New York, and sell them as artificial teeth. We’ll open up a wholesale “false tooth” shop and, my boy, our fortunes are made. The expense will be practically nothing as we were both planning to spend the summer in London. The cost of living there would be more than we would spend in Honolulu. What do you say?”

“Let’s go; and I say old chap, just sort of forgive me for showing a lack of interest in your plan at the beginning, will you?”

“I will this time, but I don’t promise to always. This is not the only occasion in which you have showed a lack of appreciation for the schemes of my fertile brain. But when shall we start?”

“Tomorrow.”

* * * * *

The trip was uneventful and when the _Priscilla_ landed at Honolulu, she had on board two very impatient passengers in the shape of Dr. Rothwell and Rodger Wilbur. That very day they hired a hack and rode out to the _pali_, where they saw for themselves the plain of which they had read.

“Any way to get down there?” Rothwell asked to the driver, on their way homeward.

“Sure; want to go?”

“Yes.”

“Alright, I’ll find you a man that will take you there. I’ll come to your hotel, say at nine, and he’ll be waiting up there for us.”

The enterprising tourists were ready promptly the next morning and were taken in tow by the Hawaiian guide. They noted the landmarks carefully for their plans were to make many visits to this El Dorado.