In some mysterious way my mother, Pauline and Waylao became mixed up, became one personality. I looked into those eyes for the last time.
“Will you remember me?” I sobbed, as I clasped some figure of infinite beauty in my arms. Then I gazed at the rising sun, for with the first sight of its rim on the horizon I must die.
God Almighty! the signal came—the day was born. They clutched me. I gave a terrible yell. “Mon dieu! Merci! Merci!” It was my last appeal to man on earth, my last yell—in vain.
Crash went my foot, bang went my fist as I struck out. Then I heard the Knut’s eyeglass clink on his little bed-rail as he stuck it on and tried to peer at me through the gloom. Ah! What music was in the sound of that little clink of the eyeglass.
“It’s nothing, dear old pal,” said I, as I felt an intense affection for his presence. “I was only dreaming of those native girls in the lagoon.” As I said this, I heard him yawn and snuggle down in the sheet again, to sleep. Then he drawled out sleepily: “What figures they had, what virginal curves, dear bhoy; no wonder that you dream of them. I hope the plates will turn out well.” Then he murmured “Good-night.”
“Good-night,” I responded, then I too fell asleep.
I see by my diary that my tourist friend’s heart belied his cold-looking monocle considerably, for here’s the entry of that date:
“R—— gave me £5. Feel very wealthy. Left French ex-official’s homestead and started on our tramp towards Suva. Came across several groups of huts under the bread-fruit trees by place called Na Nda. The inhabitants worked on the sugar plantations some distance away. They were a very cheerful community and greeted my comrade and I with loud cheers of ‘Vinaka!’ and other joyous Fijian salutations. I suppose they guessed that my pal had plenty of cash. He’s dressed like a nabob: grey, fluffy suit, tremendous white collar and a pink tie. Also wears yellow boots. I think it was the eyeglass that inspired respect even more than the neck-tie.
“We stopped at these little native villages for the rest of the day and all night. Had wonderful experiences with the camera; caught more girls bathing—little mites about three or four years of age. We stood the camera up on its tripod and told them to stand in a row. They thought that the camera was some terrible three-legged cannon—all suddenly rushed away with fright, screaming. Took a splendid photograph of them in flight, ere they disappeared under the forest palms.