The Knut refixed his eyeglass, thanking God as I helped him on with his coat, for he had prepared to dive after his victims.
The Knut, the girls and I became quite pally. I helped him arrange them in an artistic row. We placed hibiscus blossoms in their frizzy masses of hair, and extra girdles of flowers about their shoulders. One never saw a prettier sight than those girls as they stood there laughing and steaming in the sunlight. I often look in the South Sea novels and reminiscent books in hopes that I may see the photographs that we took of them. It was quite a trade in those days to travel the South Seas taking snapshots of maidens having their morning bath!
That Knut and I became very friendly after that little episode.
“Been this way long?” said I.
“Two weeks, deah bhoy,” he responded in the cheeriest manner.
I took to him like a shot. When he had told me of his history, explained in fullest detail his blue-blooded ancestry and close connection to Charles I. of England, I casually remarked that I never saw anyone who so resembled my great-great-great-grandfather, King James of Scotland, as he did.
“You’ve got his brow to a T. Blessed if you’re not the dead spit of his painting that hangs in my ancestral halls, the other side of the world, in Kent. It’s the eyes that I can’t quite place. You see, it’s like this. When Sir Cloudesley Shovel, the first Admiral of England, gave the painting to my aunt (who was related to the Guelphs, the present reigning family of the English throne) it had the eyes quite distinct, but, on being told that they resembled mine, I pointed to the canvas, and lo! my fingers went right through the eyes. I was a kiddie then, so I cannot recall what they were really like.”
I never saw a Knut stare through an eyeglass like he did as I gave him the foregoing information. He wasn’t a bad sort, for he took my hand in good comradeship, and, mutually satisfied with each other’s pedigree, we had fine times together.
On finding that he was going down to Suva, I at once accepted his invitation to accompany him. I must say he cheered me up; he seemed to find amusement in everything. We took several photographs on the way that first day. When he heard me inquiring from the natives if they had seen a half-caste girl, he fixed his eyeglass firmly and peered at me curiously—then nudged me in the ribs. I did not tell him all that worried me, but he too began to help me in my inquiries. In fact I saw that he was curious about the affair. One can imagine my astonishment when he suddenly said, “Heigho! Wait a minute,” then, opening his haversack, pulled out a photo of Waylao.
“Good heavens!” was all I could get out, as I stared in astonishment at the beautiful face.