And so the situation remained at deadlock, Abel Ah Yo demanding absolute allegiance to God, and Alice Akana flirting on the fringes of paradise.
“You bet it will be a big telling, if Alice ever begins,” the beach-combing and disreputable kamaainas (old-timers) gleefully told one another over their Palm Tree gin.
In the clubs the possibility of her telling was of more moment. The younger generation of men announced that they had applied for front seats at the telling, while many of the older generation of men joked hollowly about the conversion of Alice. Further, Alice found herself abruptly popular with friends who had forgotten her existence for twenty years.
One afternoon, as Alice, Bible in hand, was taking the electric street car at Hotel and Fort, Cyrus Hodge, sugar factor and magnate, ordered his chauffeur to stop beside her. Willy nilly, in excess of friendliness, he had her into his limousine beside him and went three-quarters of an hour out of his way and time personally to conduct her to her destination.
“Good for sore eyes to see you,” he burbled. “How the years fly! You’re looking fine. The secret of youth is yours.”
Alice smiled and complimented in return in the royal Polynesian way of friendliness.
“My, my,” Cyrus Hodge reminisced. “I was such a boy in those days!”
“Some boy,” she laughed acquiescence.
“But knowing no more than the foolishness of a boy in those long-ago days.”
“Remember the night your hack-driver got drunk and left you—”