Sam Roberts was a roving sort of a fellow. Many were the girls who would have gladly married him “back East,” but he would have none of them. Tonight, as he sat on the floor, which formed Ah Pung’s dining table, by the side of pretty Kealoha, he thought he had never seen any Hawaiian or any other maiden look so lovely.
Around her head she had a lei of red carnations, and another of ilima hung around her neck. Lost in the contemplation of so lovely a vision, Roberts failed to do justice to the excellent meal which Ah Pung had provided.
When dinner was over, Ah Pung led his guest out to the lanai and together they planned their campaign.
“You help me, I help you,” said Ah Pung.
“Yes, I help you, but what do I get out of this business?”
Ah Pung had noticed the effect which Kealoha had produced upon Roberts and with a crafty smile he answered, “You help me, make me win, I give you Kealoha.”
“But suppose she won’t have me?”
“Kealoha have anybody I tell her have,” was the Chinaman’s response.
“The stake is well worth the risk,” Roberts muttered. “I make the old Chink win.”
Kealoha came out with her guitar and in the short twilight, she sang several plaintive Hawaiian melodies. Then she suddenly arose and went into the house.