Mee. [Laughing to herself.] Don’ know. She got no eyes in de back of her head!
Tiki. But show me, Mee-Mee, show me!
Mee. Ugh! [Relenting and turning to sweet flattery.] Ah! say, isn’ dat pletty—what?
Tiki. Pretty! Mee-Mee, don’t you ever dare to call anything that I paint pretty! It’s only quite silly things that are pretty:—coloured toys, and wax dolls, and paper kites, and fat babies, so long as they don’t cry,—and foolish little girls who sit and chatter, but know nothing about Art!... Oh! they are all as pretty as you like ... but they are all littler than the littlest thing I ever mean to do ... so there!
Mee. M’m? ... say dat?... Den you know not’ing, not’ing! You not never be big till you been little first—littler dan me—littler dan de littlest baby dat ever cly fo’ its mammy to come! Yes! ‘Foolish chattling little gels what don’ know not’ing ’bout Art’—dey’s bigger inside dan you know! Dey’s bigger pains—dey’s bigger hearts—dey’s bigger upside-down inside-out altogedder dan anyt’ing you know ’bout. So dere! What you bin done drawn dere have got no eyes in de back of its head,—dat’s what de matter wid dat! It’s too busy ’bout itself!... So’s Mee-Mee,—too busy.... Me goin’ now.... Goo’-night!
[Exit.
Tiki. She’s right! She’s right! That chattering little idiot is right!... Yes, it’s too busy! It’s all too flat, too tight! O Wiowani, if only I had you, here at my hand, to teach me what to do!
[Sighs.
[Procession passes, with lights, music, song—‘China’s burning, etc.,’ and the multitudinous babble of a festive crowd. The popping of fireworks is heard, sticks are rattled along the wall. Tikipu paints on, absorbed in his art. The crowd and its noises trickle away.
Tiki.