FullReads

[Silence for a moment.]

Well, sometimes mothers know just what is best
For wayward sons.

And yet, and yet, and yet,
Why is it one girl’s face I can’t forget?
Why is it that I feel despondent hearted
In missing that fool hope for which I started?
Four thousand miles is something of a chase
To run to cover one elusive face
And then to FAIL.

[Reverie. A chant is heard outside. The man listens. The chant ceases and then a maiden slowly approaches calling out her flower wares, which she carries in a basket; she wears several lais herself, on hat and neck. She does not observe the man at first.]

FLOWER GIRL (calls in a musical voice)

Lais, lais, royal lais, beautiful flowers in bloom;
Colours of splendour, fragrance so tender,
Blossoms to brighten your room;
Lais, lais, royal lais, who buys –

RALPH (leans forward and says aside)

(Eve and the serpent meet in Paradise.)

[He moves forward as the maid enters the doorway. Recognition shows in both faces. Then the maiden recovers her self-possession and starts to go.]

RALPH (with sudden boldness and excitement)

I’ll buy you out, in case you then are free
To stay awhile, beneath this banyan tree,
And tell me all about your lovely land.

FLOWER GIRL (with dignity)

Your pardon, sir, I do not understand.

RALPH (who seems drunk with exhilaration)

Oh well, ’tis plain enough; from realms of snow
I landed here, some little time ago,
A lonely orphan, without kith or kin.
I need a friend.

[FLOWER GIRL gives him an indignant, surprised glance. Then speaks with quiet sarcasm.]

Sir, they will take you in
On Hotel Street. The Y.M.C.A. there
Shelters all homeless youths within its pale.

RALPH (shaking his head sadly)

They wouldn’t take ME in. I am from Yale.

GIRL (with mock sympathy)

Oh, that IS sad. Because no skill or tact
You might employ could ever hide the fact
From all the world, wherever you might be.
Now Harvard, Princeton, Stanford men, we see
And never know, until they speak the name;
But Yale,–it bears its brand.

RALPH (reproachfully)

You’re making game
Of me, and of my College, cruel girl.

[Approaches her excitedly.]

Come, drop those flowers, and let us have a whirl.
I’ll give you both the Yale Yell and the Boola,
If you will dance for me your famous Hula.

GIRL (drawing back haughtily)

I dance the Hula? You mistake, my friend;
You heard my chant, but did not comprehend
The meaning of it. Hark, while I repeat it.

[Repeats the chant.]

RALPH (puzzled)

I’m sure there’s nothing in the world can beat it;
But–er–the language is a little queer;
I did not quite catch all the words, I fear;
Besides, I’m so distracted by your face.

GIRL (proudly)

That chant relates the conquests of my race;
Though I am poor, and hawk about these lais
To earn my bread, yet in the olden days
There was no prouder family on earth
Than mine. But Polynesian pride of birth
Is quite beyond the white man’s scope of brain,
And so perchance I speak to you in vain.

[Takes her flowers and starts to go.]

RALPH (intercepts her)

Great Scott! but you are splendid when you’re mad
Now, please, don’t go; I’m really not so bad:
I don’t mean half I say.

GIRL (turns blazing eyes upon him)

Oh, all you men
Of pallid blood, again, and yet again
Have offered insults to our island races.
I own we once were savage; and the traces
Of those wild days remain; but, sir, go back
A little way, on YOUR ancestral track,
And see what you will find. A horde of bold
And lawless cut-throats, started many an old
And purse-proud race; and brutal strength became
The bloody groundwork for pretentious fame
When Might was Right. If every royal tree
Were dug up by the roots, the world would see
That common mud first mothered the poor sprout.
Your race is higher than my own, no doubt;
Then shame upon you, for the poor display
Of noble manhood that you make to-day,
Thinking each brown-faced girl your lawful prey.