"Not cannibals now," faltered Tessie, almost in tears to hear how unlike her dreams her kingdom was. "Uncle Pete civilized them and showed them how wrong it was to eat each other."
"Not all," corrected the tubular blond. "The last election showed that one out of every two inhabitants was a conservative—a cannibal."
"Elections!" Tessie did not know that elections were held in the Sunshine Islands, and she wondered vaguely if she were a democrat or a republican. She knew she was not a conservative! if conservatives were cannibals.
"The islands are really no place for a white woman, for a young and beautiful white woman," the man said bluntly. He gazed at Tessie with such open admiration that she moved impatiently and wished that he would stop looking at her and look at Granny. "You can't live there, Miss Gilfooly—is that the name? I know. It's out of the question. I've spent months on Ta-ri-ha, that's the largest island, and I know what I'm talking about when I say it is no place for a white woman. A white man might keep the natives in hand if he were——"
"Big and strong and brutal," suggested Granny thoughtfully.
He turned to her. "I see you knew King Pete, madam?"
"I was his mother." Granny sighed as if she could remember times when she had found her son big and strong and brutal. "But if you don't think my granddaughter should live on her islands what do you think she should do with them?" Granny believed in the straight line. She had absolutely no use for that beautiful curved line we are taught to admire. Straight lines are so much more direct. She looked at the stranger, but she could not find any straight lines about him; he was all curves.
"Granny!" exclaimed Tessie indignantly. The idea of Granny speaking as if there was even a possibility that she would not go to the Sunshine Islands. In imagination Tessie saw herself on a great white ship which was drawing near a shore that bore a marked resemblance to the pictures she had seen of New York harbor. And she saw great throngs of natives clothed in queer shapeless garments—but fully clothed—and she heard their joyous shouts of welcome. She liked the picture her imagination showed her far better than she liked the one drawn by this white-headed stranger. In the back of her mind there was a faint memory of something unpleasant in connection with a fat, white-headed man with a big nose and freckles, but she could not think what it was while this man regarded her with such bright blue eyes. She wished she could, it might be easier to talk to him if she could remember.
"Who are you?" she asked suddenly, oddly uncomfortable under his steady, unblinking stare.
"My name is Pracht," he said frankly. "Frederic Pracht. I have lived in the Sunshine Islands for months. I knew King Pete very well."