Cupid and the law : a collection of short stories

By Rae Soares

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Title: Cupid and the law

Author: Rae Soares

Release date: August 9, 2024 [eBook #74214]

Language: English

Original publication: United States: The Hawaiian Gazette Co., Ltd, 1908

Credits: Carol Brown, Peter Becker and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive)

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CUPID AND THE LAW ***

_CUPID AND THE LAW_

A COLLECTION _of_ SHORT STORIES

_By RAE SOARES_

HONOLULU:
THE HAWAIIAN GAZETTE CO., LTD.
1908

PROFESSOR M. M. SCOTT

AND THE

CLASS _of_ 1908

CONTENTS

PAGE

A Deal in Opium 7

A Modern Evangeline 21

Cupid and The Law 35

The New Magnetic Healer 47

In the Valley of Teeth 57

The Raid at Punchbowl 67

A Change of Opinion 77

A Fatal Excursion 95

A DEAL IN OPIUM

Of course, the people which participated in things of this sort are
dead now, and so is nearly every one which ever knew anything about
the matter, but occasionally you will run across an old Hawaiian whose
memory you can always refresh by showing him a bit of silver, and then
you will hear tales of the days when smuggling opium into Honolulu was
a common practise.

There are some who will tell you that the blocks on the sidewalk on
the right hand side of Alakea street were taken from the holds of
smugglers. Nothing so very astonishing, only, in the middle of these
blocks the initiated found a can of opium. Parties would contract for a
load of Chinese stone and the unsuspecting Customs man would pass the
ship which brought it. But when the stones were safely carried away,
this same Customs man would have been astonished, could he have seen a
man remove a layer from a block and take out from the cavity a can.
He would have been further astounded could he have seen what the can
contained.

Ah Pung had contracted for such a load of stone and was anxiously
awaiting the arrival of the ship bearing it.

Smuggling opium was getting to be a risky proposition and in view of
the alarming number of captures which the government had made and
the large amount of fines which it had collected from those whom it
captured, Ah Pung made a mental resolve, as he walked down to the Pilot
House to ask if the _Fanny_ had been sighted, that with the sale of
this load, his part in this illegal business terminated.

The _Fanny_ was making an unusually slow passage, and many were the
conjectures placed upon her delay.

“Bet you she’s got a load of opium this trip,” said one old sea dog to
a group of his companions.

“Your bet is safe,” was the reply from the youngest of the number,
“she had a load of it last trip. My opinion on her delay is this: Her
captain’s got the wind that somethin’ is blowing wrong and he’s not
going to risk his cargo and his ship by coming in, unless the coast is
clear.

“Old Captain Mitchell is too crafty a sea dog to be caught napping.
He’s been engaged in this smuggling business for over twenty years.
Used to smuggle wines from Portugal into Boston Harbor at one time, and
then, when he found the job getting pretty hot, he took his ship when
no body was looking, and went into smuggling opium. I was first mate
under him two trips ago, and I know.

“I’ll bet you,” he said suddenly to the first speaker, “I’ll bet you
that this old Chink has got the cargo on board the _Fanny_ this time.”

The group fixed its eyes on Ah Pung who was nervously watching a
customs officer who, from time to time, was scanning the horizon with
his glass.

Hearing what the mate said, Ah Pung turned to them and said, “Yes, me
got calgo on boad the _Flanny_. Too muchee building stone this trip.
Got big contlact make floo’ for lice thleshing, up Waiau.”

A number of the sailors nodded as if they accepted the Chinaman’s
story, but the mate smiled. “That’s all right, John; don’t need to
worry about us, you pig-tailed heathen. I know very well what’s inside
them stones, but if you can land them without that chap nabbing you,
you’ll have my sincerest admiration. I tell you,” he said lowering
his voice, “you’d better get some kind of a signal out to the _Fanny_
telling her not to land those stones at the wharf.”

The Chinaman looked the mate over carefully and then, as if satisfied
with his examination, he said, “My lice schooner captain he sick. You
number one sailor; you take my boat to Waiau now.”

Roberts understood the ruse and got up smilingly from his box and went
over to Ah Pung’s rice schooner. The sails were hoisted and the little
schooner bounded out of the harbor. Instead of turning to his right,
to where Waiau lay, Roberts steered the schooner in the direction of
Diamond Head.

In response to the Chinaman’s inquiring look Roberts said, “That
government schooner is out somewhere. We’ll have to find out where
before we can do anything.”

The schooner was skimming along at a good clip when Ah Pung’s excited
eyes saw another schooner bearing down upon them.

“No,” Roberts said after looking the new comer over, “that’s not the
_Fanny_; that’s the customs’ schooner. Well, we’ll make for Waiau.”

Carefully swinging her around, he started back to town but was hailed
with the cry, “Ship ahoy!”

“The _Moi Wahine_,” was the reply.

“Haul hard until we come up to you,” was the order.

Roberts had the one sailor on board haul down the sails and awaited the
coming of the customs boat.

“What are you doing?” he was asked.

“Merely trying this boat.”

“What for?”

“Want to buy her.”

“What made you turn around when you saw us?”

“Didn’t see you until after I had started to come back.”

The officer seemed appeased and he ordered his own sail up. Roberts
followed suit and turning to the captain he said, “I’ll race you back
to the harbor for a drink all around.”

“That’s to find out who has the faster boat,” he muttered to himself.

“All right, let her go,” he shouted and both boats fairly flew, cutting
the water with clean, sharp strokes as they sped along.

Roberts put on all the sail he had; the customs man did the same and
gained rapidly.

“Whew,” muttered Roberts, “not much of a chance for us, Ah Pung, if
we were in a pinch now. But wait a moment, I’ll fix him.” He veered
slightly to the left and took advantage of a sudden puff of wind. That
was all the _Moi Wahine_ needed; her masts fairly groaned under the
spread of canvas and soon the customs man was out of sight.

“I understand her now,” Roberts said, “I’ll guarantee to beat anything
in these waters. But let’s go to Waiau. I want to see what kind of a
harbor they have there.”

“Nothing decent,” was his verdict. “Catch us here easy. I have it,” he
said finally, “there’s Ford’s Island off there,” jerking his thumb in
the direction of the island, “that’ll help us alright. Now let’s go
back to the harbor and get those drinks the captain owes us.”

The captain was found pouring a drink from a demijohn in his office.
“It’s on me,” he called as Roberts passed by. He entered and took the
mug which the captain filled for him.

“By the way,” he asked, “what were you doing out by Diamond Head this
afternoon?”

“Looking for the _Fanny_. I can’t imagine what’s become of the boat.”

“What’s so wonderful on the _Fanny_ that makes you so anxious to meet
her?”

“Opium.”

“What do you intend to do?”

“Do? Nothing now. Wait until she gets into the harbor and then nab the
man that her cargo is assigned to.”

“But supposing he manages to land the cargo before the boat reaches the
harbor, then what?”

“Take a mighty smart man to skin me, old fellow. Fill up your mug, I
see it’s empty.”

“Here’s to the _Fanny_; may she make port safely.”

The captain looked at Roberts in mild surprise but he drank the toast
and added, “May she make port safely and give her cargo up to the
government.”

Roberts left the room and found Ah Pung waiting for him.

“You come my house eat,” he said.

The invitation was accepted and Roberts was soon at Ah Pung’s home. It
was a pretentious dwelling, for Ah Pung had money. He had married a
Hawaiian woman who possessed a large quantity of land. A part of this
her husband had sold to enable him to buy opium, and after the second
trip, he was counted a rich man.

Ah Pung had a daughter. Though dark-skinned, Kealoha was fair to
behold. She had inherited her mother’s Hawaiian beauty, and her only
Chinese characteristic shown from her eyes.

Sam Roberts was a roving sort of a fellow. Many were the girls who
would have gladly married him “back East,” but he would have none of
them. Tonight, as he sat on the floor, which formed Ah Pung’s dining
table, by the side of pretty Kealoha, he thought he had never seen any
Hawaiian or any other maiden look so lovely.

Around her head she had a _lei_ of red carnations, and another of
_ilima_ hung around her neck. Lost in the contemplation of so lovely
a vision, Roberts failed to do justice to the excellent meal which Ah
Pung had provided.

When dinner was over, Ah Pung led his guest out to the lanai and
together they planned their campaign.

“You help me, I help you,” said Ah Pung.

“Yes, I help you, but what do I get out of this business?”

Ah Pung had noticed the effect which Kealoha had produced upon Roberts
and with a crafty smile he answered, “You help me, make me win, I give
you Kealoha.”

“But suppose she won’t have me?”

“Kealoha have anybody I tell her have,” was the Chinaman’s response.

“The stake is well worth the risk,” Roberts muttered. “I make the old
Chink win.”

Kealoha came out with her guitar and in the short twilight, she sang
several plaintive Hawaiian melodies. Then she suddenly arose and went
into the house.

Roberts got up from his chair and said, “Let’s go out to Diamond Head.
I have an idea that the _Fanny_ is somewhere around there.”

They went to the wharf and rousing the sailor aboard the _Moi Wahine_,
the sails were raised and in the calm moonlight they sped away to
Diamond Head. When they were in full sight of the light house, Roberts
saw a green light flash out over the water from a large black mass
which was blacker than the darkness around it. The green light was
followed by two red ones, and then by a white one. Roberts returned the
signal and sailed for the spot.

“Ship ahoy!” he called softly.

“The _Fanny_” was the response. “Who are you?”

“The _Moi Wahine_. Don’t attempt to land at Honolulu. Customs’ men are
on to you. They were looking for you yesterday.”

The _Fanny’s_ captain laughed. “What would you advise, Roberts?”

“Go to Pearl Harbor instead. Nobody has seen you. The old fellow up
there is asleep and we can get up to Pearl Harbor with this wind before
daybreak. Once there, you can remain in hiding ’til night. Then I’ll
come and transfer your cargo into the _Moi Wahine_.”

Capt. Mitchell favored the plan and with the _Moi Wahine_ in the
lead, the two schooners sailed to Pearl Harbor, where the _Fanny_ was
anchored. The _Moi Wahine_ was sailed back to town and moored at her
usual place.

“Nobody will be the wiser, old chap,” he said to Ah Pung. “We’ll stay
at home today and tonight the opium will be brought back. Let the
stones stay in the hold until the next night, then we’ll bring them to
your house, a few at a time. Then, Ah Pung, I’ll claim my reward.”

Ah Pung nodded and invited Sam in to spend the day at his house.

After breakfast he followed Kealoha into the yard, and watched her make
a _lei_.

They were silent for a while when Kealoha asked, “You’ll help my father
land his opium?”

“Yes,” he replied.

“How much money will you get for the job?”

“No money at all; my dear, I get _you_.”

“You get me?”

“Yes, your father has promised to let me marry you if I succeed in
landing the opium so that the customs men won’t know.”

“Can you do it?”

“Dead easy.”

“But if I don’t want to marry you?”

“But you will,” he said smilingly.

“But I won’t,” she returned firmly. “Do you think I sell myself or let
my father sell me for a load of opium. No, sir! What’s more, I am to
marry Kea.”

“Don’t you love your father?”

“Yes, very much.”

“Then do you want to see him go to jail?”

“No.”

“Well, if I say the word, I’ll get him into jail.”

Kealoha burst into tears. “You white men are so cruel,” she sobbed out
in Hawaiian. “Not content with defrauding us out of our lands, you
wish to keep us from marrying one another.”

Roberts bit his lips. He disliked to see woman in tears. He took her
hands in his and said gently, “Kealoha, listen to me.”

She raised her head and with brimming eyes looked him full in the face.

“Kealoha,” he said, “couldn’t you learn to love me?”

She shook her head.

“Do you love Kea?”

“Yes,” she said softly.

“Then, Kealoha, I am not the man to cross the love path of another
man.” He was silent for a moment then he continued: “I love you as I
have never loved before. You say you love your father. For your sake,
dear heart, I’ll not betray him. Go, tell your father that I have given
my permission for you to marry Kea tonight. Go.”

Kealoha threw her head upon his shoulder and sobbed out her thanks.
Then raising her pretty face to his, she pressed a kiss on his lips and
left him to himself.

A MODERN EVANGELINE

The sun was sinking behind the purple hills in a little village in
Madeira as a tall, swarthy Portuguese hurried to his little home.

“Ah, Manuel,” he cried as an older man came out of a little side
street, “have you heard the latest bit of news?”

“_Não_, Gabriel, what is it?”

“A man from the Sandwich Islands has come here, offering to give us
free passage to Honolulu provided we work for three years on the sugar
plantations. He promises us twenty-two dollars a month together with a
house and free water. I, for one, intend to go. Twenty-two dollars a
month! Why, fourteen is all I can make here, working from early morning
’til late at night. What say you; will you be one of the company?”

“That I will. I have a brother there and my wife has a sister. We shall
tell the man that we will go to his plantations, and then when we get
to the capital, I march up to my brother’s, while the rest of you can
go and till the soil. I am a carpenter, and none of that dirty work for
me. A free trip! ha, ha, ha; I’ll beat the American at his own game.”

“I do not consider that fair,” was Gabriel’s response. “The American
expects us to keep our word. Furthermore, he is offering a reduced
passage rate to those who want to pay their way.”

“That won’t do for me. Why, even at the smallest possible rate, it
would be an utter impossibility for me to take one child, let alone
fourteen!”

Gabriel laughed. “Well, I am going to those islands, but it is to work
on a plantation. Three years is but a short while, when you stop to
consider it, and by the end of that time, I will have saved enough to
get married on.”

“Do as you want to, boy, but I tell you frankly that you are a fool.
You are an excellent mason; why throw away the gift which the blessed
virgin gave you, to kill yourself on an old plantation for the sake
of sentiment. It is expected that there will be some that will take
advantage of this free trip idea, and you may as well be one of those
as not. But we’ll not quarrel over the matter.”

They walked on in silence for some moments until they came to a neatly
white-washed cottage. There were vines over the front and in the little
garden in the back, neat garlic patches shared the space with cabbages.

“Will you come in?” Manuel asked.

“No, I have much to do yet tonight. The ship leaves in two or three
days and I must leave my affairs in something like decency. _Boa
noite._”

“_Boa noite_, Gabriel, come over tomorrow and let us make our plans.”

“All right,” and Gabriel continued on his way, while Manuel turned into
the cottage. He was met at the door by his daughter, Maria da Cruzs.
He had eight daughters and all eight were named Maria--of something or
other. Of course they all had middle names and occasionally they were
called by their middle names to avoid confusion.

“Who was that you were just speaking to,” she asked him.

“What! Did you fail to recognize the voice? It was that of your own
Gabriel.”

Maria da Cruzs blushed violently as she said, “He is not my Gabriel.”

Her father laughed at his daughter’s discomfiture and added teasingly,
“He leaves for the Sandwich Islands very soon.”

“For the Sandwich Islands? Why, they are so many, many miles away. Has
he enough money to pay his passage?”

“No; an American has arrived offering us free passage to Honolulu,
provided we promise to work on the sugar plantations for three years.”

“Oh, father! Let us go.”

“I thought it was but yesterday that you said nothing could induce you
to leave Madeira.”

“Yes,” she said slowly, “but--”

“But you didn’t know then that Gabriel was going away,” her father
supplied. “Well, I have almost decided to go myself, but not to work on
an old plantation, mind you. I am a carpenter, and none of your dirty
work on a field for me.”

While they talked, Gabriel appeared in the doorway.

“I came back to tell you,” he said, after he had greeted Maria, “that
if you decide to go, you must send in your names tomorrow. The man has
been here for some time but in this out of the way place, news travels
slowly, so that I but heard it yesterday when I went to Senhor Marques’
house to repair his wall, which fell in the last wind storm.”

“Yes, I believe I shall send in my name tomorrow,” said Manuel slowly,
rising from his comfortable position on the floor and going out to the
kitchen where his wife was preparing the dinner for her hungry family,
leaving Gabriel and Maria da Cruzs together.

“Ah, Maria,” he said, “to think that we shall soon be able to get
married. In that blessed paradise, I can surely make enough money to
support both of us. Then, too, our house will be free of rent; and that
is quite a saving.”

Maria was silent, but Gabriel could read in her silence that she, too,
was pleased with the prospect which he was painting.

“Had we better get married before the boat sails, or shall we wait
until we get to Honolulu?” he asked.

“Oh, let us wait until we get to the Islands, and then we can tell
better what lies before us.”

“Let it be as you say,” Gabriel responded, inwardly well pleased that
Maria was as enthusiastic about the islands as he was.

“I must go now,” he said finally, “but I shall see you again in the
morning. _Boa noite minha querida_,” and he disappeared into the
darkness.

II.

The next morning, Manuel rose earlier than his usual early hour, and
waited for Gabriel.

“Ah, my boy,” he said walking toward the road as Gabriel finally made
an appearance, “if you are as slow as that on the plantation, your boss
will hurry you up with his big black whip.”

“The bosses do not use whips any more,” Gabriel responded.

“They do not? How do you know?”

“The American said so.”

“The American lies. I have a brother there who went over with the first
lot of Portuguese, which left on the _Priscilla_ nearly twenty-five
years ago, to Honolulu. The tales which he used to tell me, when he
came back, of how the bosses, lunas, they call them there, used to
treat them, would simply scare you. No, sir, no plantations for me,
sir; and if you knew what I know, you would say the same thing.”

“Yes, I know what you know; how the lunas used to take up the hoes
which the men were using, and bang them on the head with the handles
just because they felt like it. I know, too, that they used to tie the
men up to the fence and whip them with their snake whips just because
the men were a trifle slow, and I know, too, that things have changed
within the last years. With the coming of Annexation, the plantation
laborer does not suffer what he used to, so to the plantations for me.”

“Well, I am sure you have my permission, but let us hurry; the sun is
getting quite high and we have a number of miles to go yet.”

They quickened their pace and were soon in town where they found a
crowd of men and women gathered around a large building.

“That is where the American has his office,” said Gabriel, “he is now
receiving the names of those who want to go. Come, let us enter.”

They walked in together and awaited their turn to book.

“Your name,” asked the clerk finally of Manuel.

“Manuel Gomes da Silva.”

“How many children have you?”

“_Quartorze._”

“How many is that?” asked the “Americano.”

“Fourteen.”

“Fourteen! Good! That means fourteen families some day to make
their homes in Hawaii. Fourteen different families to work on the
plantations. Good!”

Manuel did not understand what the American was saying, but he made a
very good guess and smiled knowingly at Gabriel as he walked up to the
registrar.

“Married or single?” he was asked.

“Single. I intend to marry Manuel’s eldest daughter as soon as we get
in Honolulu.”

His remark was translated to the American, who rubbed his hands
gleefully. “Better and better,” he said. “There goes a man who will
make Hawaii his permanent home. In years to come he will be able
to vote and for all we know, some of his children may serve in our
legislature.”

The interpreter laughed. The idea of a son of a plantation hand being a
Senator or even a Representative appeared ludicrous to him, and he said
so.

“It has been done before,” he was told, “so why can’t it be done again.”

“Done before?” asked the interpreter, “do you mean to tell me that any
of your public men have had parents who worked on the plantations?”

“Sure,” was the response.

The interpreter shook his head. “It is unheard of here.”

“Here, yes; but in America and in Hawaii, no. Our school system
accounts for that--but here comes another man.”

All day the men booked, and when night came, word was given to get
ready immediately as the boat sailed in three days.

Manuel and Gabriel stayed in town that night and were taken to the
wharf to see the _Suveric_, the boat which was to take them to the
Paradise of the Pacific.

The remaining days were ones of excitement and bustle. For the two
friends, however, there was not much to do. No furniture was brought as
they could get furniture cheaply in Honolulu.

“I am going to look at the old house once more before I go,” said
Gabriel on the day the ship was to leave.

“Better not,” advised Manuel; “you might miss the boat.”

“There is no danger of that. The boat sails at five this evening and it
is now three in the morning. All of my things are on board, so I shall
have nothing to do when I come back.”

“Oh, don’t go,” said Maria; “the ship might go earlier than they say,
and what would I do without you!”

“Don’t worry,” he said, “I want to put some fresh flowers on my
parents’ graves, before I leave this island, never to return.”

She respected his sentiment and let him go without a murmur, but not
without misgivings on both her and her father’s part.

“If he misses this boat, it will be a terrible thing for him. All his
clothes are aboard and I have his money in my note,” Manuel said.

“Oh, he will have time to go and return,” spoke up João Mello, who was
Gabriel’s friend. “Gabriel is a fast walker and could go much further
than that in the same time.”

“It isn’t that,” returned Maria, “suppose the boat should leave earlier
than we were told it would?”

“I hadn’t thought of that. If I had,” he added thoughtfully, “I
wouldn’t have let him go. But let us hope for the best,” he added
cheerfully, seeing that Maria was about to cry.

III.

“Captain,” said the first mate of the _Suveric_ to his superior officer
a few hours later, “the tide is going out. Hadn’t we better take
advantage of it, and leave this morning instead of tonight?”

“What do you say?” asked the captain of the Americano.

“Well, the people are all here, so I don’t see any objection to sailing
now, if you want to. I’ll pass along the word. Here, Francisco, tell
these people to get on board. We leave pretty soon.”

“Pretty soon?” cried Maria as she heard the order, “why, Gabriel will
not be here until night. Oh, why did I let him go!” And the unhappy
girl indulged her grief in shrieks of the most heart-rending nature.

“Oh, never mind,” said the _Americano_, when he heard the reason for
her shrieks. “He can come later. She will have learned some English
words by that time, and will have an advantage over him in that she
will be able to teach him what she knows.”

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

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 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

“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.

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

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

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?”

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.

Somehow, Harris had not met the young lady since her arrival at
Mulford. He avoided all parties and gatherings which he knew she was
to attend and once he had gone away just as he reached the door of a
friend’s house, because he caught a glimpse of her as she talked to
Walter Andrews.

Harris stopped at the door. Should he go in or should he meet her and
denounce her and her works? He decided on the latter and knocked at the
office. A low voice bade him enter. Closing the door he turned and saw
the beautiful woman reading a book. Looking her full in the face he
said, “Diana.”

“John!” she exclaimed.

“Yes, it is John. Diana, have you changed your mind?” Somehow the
dreadful words which he had planned to utter failed to come and instead
he realized that he loved her, and loved with his whole heart.

Diana was silent. “Then you still do not love me?” he asked.

“I really do not know,” she replied softly.

Harris started for the door.

“John,” she called.

He left the door and flung himself beside her chair.

“I love you,” she said; “I love, love you.”

It was the same old story, the telling of which has never made it grow
out of fashion. He caught her up and kissed her again and again.

“Won’t Andrews be glad that I am at last to settle down and marry the
most beautiful woman on earth?” he asked playfully.

“I think not,” she answered.

“You think not? Why?”

“Because yesterday he asked me to marry him.”

“What did you tell him?”

“To call this afternoon.”

“Send for him now; don’t keep the poor fellow in suspense.”

A messager was dispatched and Andrews came looking haggard and wan.

“Your answer?” he asked.

“Mr. Andrews, I sent for you to tell you that I can not marry you. I
love another man. Can’t we just be friends?”

Andrews sank into a chair. “He was right,” Andrews muttered, “Harris
was right. No beautiful woman is good.” Then springing up he shouted,
“‘Let’s be friends,’ did you say? Never! Henceforth my greatest enemy
shall be a beautiful woman.”

A FATAL EXCURSION

There is a large school in Honolulu, called the Royal School. It is so
named because at one time only children of royal blood were allowed to
attend it. But that is another story.

Business with the principal took me up there one day, and, while
waiting for him, I sat and talked with the janitor.

The school is on a small hill and the road near it is quite steep.
Trolley cars run up that road and come down with the speed of lightning.

“Whew!” I could not help exclaiming as one car in particular shot past
us, “if some day an axle should break, more than one person would get
hurt, and badly too.”

“You bet,” replied the janitor. There was a pause, and then he said,
“Anyhow, I never ride in them cars unless I can’t help it. I hate
anything with wheels.”

I smiled, sympathetically, I thought, but I suppose in his estimation
it was a smile of incredulity for he hastened to say, “I used to be a
locomotive fireman, but since the day that Jim got killed, I’ve had but
little use for anything but my legs.”

Scenting a story, I asked, “How was that?”

He bit off a fresh bite of tobacco and then began:

“As I said before, I used to be a locomotive fireman over on Hawaii.
Good job alright, but I couldn’t stand it after Jim died. Jim was my
friend, and a right good fellow he was. His job was night watchman on
the docks, but his health gave way and the doctor told him the best
thing he could do was to go to ’Frisco.

“My run included Kohala--ever been there?”

I shook my head.

“Well, you don’t know what you have missed then. The scenery is
magnificent. I had often talked with Jim concerning the place, and
he was just crazy to go and see for himself. He never had a chance,
though, because he used to sleep all day and work all night. But when
the doctor ordered him to throw up his job, he came to me and asked
me to try and get him a permit to ride on my train. We were on a
freighter, and didn’t carry passengers, so I went up to the manager,
and told him the circumstances. But the manager was cross that day
and of course he said ‘no’; said he’d quit giving passes to people. I
told that to Jim and he was dreadfully disappointed; told me he wanted
to see the place before he went back to the States. So I went to my
engineer and asked him to take Jim as a brakeman. At first he refused,
but I insisted, and while we were talking, a kanaka woman came up and
said that her Joe wouldn’t be able to work that trip, as he was sick.

“I jumped up and made the engineer promise to take Jim in his stead.
He said ‘yes,’ and I went to tell Jim that he might go, and to explain
his duties to him. We were to leave at six o’clock Sunday morning, and
I left Jim’s house early so as to let him sleep enough to get up early
the next morning.

“Sunday morning came, and, by Jove! I never saw a more beautiful
morning again. The birds were singing most glorious, and the sun
shining through the heavy dew drops, made them look like so many
diamonds.

“Before you get to Kohala, you have to come to a steep, curved incline.
We always whistled for ‘brakes’ when we got there and I had explained
to Jim that when we’d blow three whistles, he was to apply the brakes.
He said he understood and took his seat on a brake, one of them
circular kind that you turn with your hand, you know. He sat on the
last box car, but there were a whole lot of flat cars back of him.

“We started off; Jim enjoying the air, and I, happy in thinking that I
had been able to give the poor fellow such pleasure. By and by we came
near that curve and the engineer blew the whistle for brakes. Before we
started, Jim seemed to understand the signals, but now the cars were
coming down that hill faster than I had ever seen them before.

“‘What’s the matter with that brakeman?’ the engineer asked me.

“‘I dunno,’ I said, ‘unless he’s fallen off.’

“‘Maybe that’s it,’ the engineer told me, ‘when we get to the bottom
of this, we’d better see.’ So when we got to the foot of the hill, he
stopped the engine and we walked back.

“It was at the beginning of the curve that we found Jim. Yes, he had
fallen off. Poor fellow; ten flat cars had gone over him, and there was
mighty little left of him. He had been cutting up some tobacco for his
pipe, and we found his pipe and a plug of tobacco and his knife lying
near him. I’ve got the knife at home now.

“When we got back from Kohala, I packed up and came to Honolulu. I
couldn’t stand any more railroading.

“That’s why, I can’t bear cars of any sort. Do you blame me?”

I couldn’t say that I did.

Transcriber’s Note:

Words and phrases in italics are surrounded by underscores, _like
this_. Jargon, dialect, obsolete and alternative spellings were
left unchanged. Misspelled words were corrected. Obvious printing
errors, such as backwards, upside down, or partially printed letters
and punctuation, were corrected. Final stops missing at the end of
sentences and abbreviations were added.

“Mary” changed to “Maria” ... don’t go,” said [Mary] Maria;... line 627

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