Part 3

As he started to turn back for home, Rothwell slipped on a skull which was hidden in the grass and by some freak of pressure, the strong man’s leg snapped like a pipe stem.

“Here’s a pretty how-do-you-do,” said Wilbur, “how on earth are we to get you home?”

“No _pilikia_,” said the guide, “my house near. I take care of him till him get better. My _kekei wahine_ she _akamai_ fix sick people. One week--_pau_! No _pilikia_.”

“That’s the only thing we can do I guess,” said Wilbur. “If his daughter is anywhere as pretty as that flower girl we saw yesterday on the wharf, you have no kick coming. Besides I’ll be here every day gathering those teeth. Say, did you notice what a lot of them there are here?”

“More than even I dared hope. Our fortunes are made.”

Between them, the Hawaiian and Wilbur managed to carry Rothwell so that the motion caused but little pain to the wounded leg, and they soon arrived at the grass hut in which the guide and his daughter lived.

The father spoke a few words to his daughter who came out to greet them, and she turned into the hut. They followed her and found her busy preparing a bed of fresh grass over which she had laid a sheet of _tapa_. They place Rothwell on his new bed and Violetta deftly treated the wounded member.

“I think better we go now,” said the Hawaiian to Wilbur, “unless you like _moi moi_ in my house.”

“I thank you, but I’ve an engagement for tonight or I would. Good night, Rothwell. After seeing your pretty nurse, I almost wish that it was my leg and not yours that is out of commission.”

The sudden pain which darted through Rothwell’s leg caused him to smile grimly at his friend’s wish, but he bade him good night without another word.

When Wilbur went to see him the next morning Rothwell said, “Wilbur, you’d better quit coming here until I get better.”

“And why?”

“Because people might want to see me and might be tempted to stroll 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.”