Here she found Tom moodily talking with John. But the moment Polly touched him on the shoulder and said: “Are we going for a little walk on the beach?” he brightened up wonderfully.
Polly felt that she owed Tom this short time before he would have to return west on his mining work. Also she felt that she had treated him too sternly in punishment of his short-comings. Of course, Tom had no idea that Polly considered his slavish attentions as short-comings.
As the two sauntered away from the hotel and turned in the direction of the marvellous beach, Polly began the conversation by remarking, in a cool, mature manner: “Now don’t go and talk of bosh, Tom, just because I invited you for a stroll.”
“What do you mean by bosh?” demanded Tom, ready with a chip on his shoulder.
“Oh, pooh! You know what I mean—your soft talk of love. I just won’t listen to it morning, and night, and at every moment of the day. You are the dandiest pal with Nolla and Ruth and Nancy—why not with me?”
Tom wisely held his peace. He could have answered in his own way, but he knew that would call forth a new tirade against his ideas of possession. Not having a reply from her escort with which to continue the argument, Polly found herself shut up on the subject. And wisely she, too, launched out upon an entirely opposite topic.
“Some one told Dalky not to stop at Hayti because the natives were so treacherous to white folks,” remarked Polly. “I did so want to see the Island we hear so much about. I’ve read of the voodoo religion, and the way the sacred snake charmers strike terror into the souls of their congregations, and I’d love to see them.”
“I think Dalken is absolutely right in not taking chances with you girls in landing at Hayti. Morally the Haytians are not to be trusted. All the old superstitions of barbaric Africa prevail to such an extent that no right-minded person wishes to visit there. I am surprised, Polly, that you can entertain the least desire to see what every one knows to be a deplorable condition of affairs.” Tom spoke in a fatherly way that caused Polly to smile, but he did not see her face. Perhaps he would not have continued in the same strain had he thought she was amused instead of being advised.
“Yes, Hayti is an unsafe place for civilized women to go to; not only do the authorities ignore the rights of a people under their government, but they seem to have no regard for human lives. I recently read an article in a magazine in which it stated that one unfortunate circumstance about Kingston, the capital of Jamaica, was its convenience to Hayti—all the escaping criminals and refugees from justice jumped aboard a sailing craft and in a few hours were landed upon the shores of that beautiful isle whence they could not be taken except through extradition papers.”
“How intensely thrilling to me is all this political information. I’m sure I shall never wish to see a voodoo service after hearing you speak of government and politics,” laughed Polly.