“Will you not sing Kataafa’s praise?” the count asked, not heeding Klinger’s interruption.
Avao gave her answer readily and distinctly.
“I will lead the song for Kataafa as a great chief, loved and honored by his people.”
“Don’t bother with the cantankerous girl,” Klinger recommended brutally.
Commander Tazewell recognized the awkwardness of the situation. His admiration was for the girl who had drawn down upon her head the anger of most of her own race. Her loyalty to her father, Tuamana, and the rightful king could not be shaken. He turned to the count, a smile on his face.
“We are all greatly indebted,” he said, “for this delightful evening. I thank you for myself, officers and men.” Then after wringing the count’s hand, he turned gallantly to the silent Tapau.
“Will you take my arm?” he said.
To the surprise of everybody and the chagrin of the governor and Klinger, Avao passed her arm through the American commander’s and together they marched determinedly toward the gate. Phil, Sydney, and Alice fell in behind, while the sailors, seeing that the other dancers were not to be menaced by the crowd, the entire blame being placed on the shoulders of their leader, the Tapau, quietly dispersed, and withdrew from the grounds.
Having gained the road, Commander Tazewell relinquished his charge into Alice’s keeping.
“You must come home with me,” the young girl declared. “Oh, Avao! I could hug you, if it weren’t for all that smelly oil you have rubbed on yourself.”