“What’s your Hawaii girl’s name?” asked Pete, softly thrumming on his ukulele. “Tell us something about her. What does she look like?”
“Her name is Lucretia Lee. She is quite pretty with soft brown curly hair and bright blue eyes. Her father has a pineapple plantation; I believe he raises sugar cane, too. I wish you could see Lulu dashing about in the surf; she swims like a duck. They call her Lulu for short. Her grandfather was a naval officer, and was a great friend of my grandfather’s.”
Pete listened to this description and then sat still fingering his ukulele with his eyes fixed on the Maryland shore. Presently he struck a wailing chord and began to sing:
“In Honolulu-lulu-lulu
Where the kindly natives generally behave,
Lives a girlie, hair so curly,
Eyes as bright as sparkling sunlight on the wave.
She’s my pineapple, Hawaiian pineapple,
My little Lala, Lila, Lula Lee,
She’s the Girl Scout for this Boy Scout,