10-Story Book, February 1928 — page 53: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

THE SOUTH SEA ISLAND NUMBER 51 tries to meddle with the contract. “That,” I said—more to gain time than anything else— “was a cute idea of yours, young lady. But I’m not going to hold you to it.” She looked puzzled, like a kiddy that doesn’t properly understand something you are trying to explain. “You my man—always,” she said sim- ply, waved her hand, and vanished. Sebastien gave that barking laugh of his. “Quick work, hey!” “T’ve known ’em to wait longer—and make worse bargains!’ I snapped. Huis own wife was dead, and, if half the stories were to be believed, she’d been mighty glad to die. He shot a sidelong glance at me, and went off whistling. We didn’t speak again till Jake, the cook, came up to say that the meal was ready. It was a surprising feed, but it wasn’t a bigger surprise than Halcyon herself. She’d dried her original outfit, and put it on again, with all her gewgaws. And she had done her hair very elaborate and wonderful, and her cheeks were flushed, and her eyes brighter than any eyes I’ve seen before or since. She might have gone to any ball in London with the cer- tainty of taking the shine out of every blessed female present. “You sit here,” she says, with a smile and the gracefulest wave of her hand, and I dropped on to a bench beside her. “You there,’ she goes on, and Sebastien sat down, facing her. Jake, solemn as a bishop, came in with some special sort of soup she’d brewed for the occasion, and she explained that it was etiquette for her and me to make a start by eating out of the same plate. Which we did, Sebastien watching us pretty scornful out of the tail of his eye. After that there were less ceremonial courses, and we wound up by some pretty poor whisky that Sebastien brought out. But I wouldn’t take more than a mouth- ful, and as for Halcyon, she sniffed at it, dainty as a kitten, and shook her pret- ty head. } After that Sebastien made a speech. It seemed to me in poor taste, even for a chap of his class. He pointed out that, whatever sort of rank she’d held on her own island, or on Talua’s, on board the schooner, which was two-thirds his and one-third mine, she was just a common- or-garden half-caste, and that any extra consideration she got would be due sim- ply to his kindness of heart and weakness for a pretty face. Likewise that, legally, she wasn’t married to any one, and that if she was a sensible girl, she’d think things over, and make jolly well sure which side her bread was buttered be- fore she spoiled her chances. Finally he didn’t propose calling at any other islands worth mentioning for several weeks, and that in the meantime, she was welcome to the job of supernumerary female cook, and to the little storeroom, at present chock full of odds and ends, situated be- tween his cabin and mine. Halcyon heard him to the end without a word. When he finished I jumped up, tingling, to speak, but she stood up, too, and squeezed my hand to keep silence, and made the next speech on her own ac- count, in that gentle, rippling voice of hers that always reminded me of a stream trickling over a pebbly bottom in the old country. She told him plainly that he might mean well, but that he didn’t know what he was talking about. That she and I were properly and ever- lastingly married. That she was mine and I was hers. That she was satisfied and— Here she gave me a look that went to my head quicker than the strongest dope in Sebastien’s locker. “Oh, I’m not grumbling,” I said. “Ah-h!” breathed Halcyon, and drop- CONMMICOOOKS. CO mn