CUPID AND THE LAW

A COLLECTION of SHORT STORIES

By RAE SOARES

HONOLULU:
The Hawaiian Gazette Co., Ltd.
1908

TO
PROFESSOR M. M. SCOTT
AND THE
CLASS of 1908

Copyright, 1908, by Rae Soares

CONTENTS

A DEAL IN OPIUM

A DEAL IN OPIUM

f course, the people which participated in things of this sort are dead now, and so is nearly every one which ever knew anything about the matter, but occasionally you will run across an old Hawaiian whose memory you can always refresh by showing him a bit of silver, and then you will hear tales of the days when smuggling opium into Honolulu was a common practise.

There are some who will tell you that the blocks on the sidewalk on the right hand side of Alakea street were taken from the holds of smugglers. Nothing so very astonishing, only, in the middle of these blocks the initiated found a can of opium. Parties would contract for a load of Chinese stone and the unsuspecting Customs man would pass the ship which brought it. But when the stones were safely carried away, this same Customs man would have been astonished, could he have seen a man remove a layer from a block and take out from the cavity a can. He would have been further astounded could he have seen what the can contained.

Ah Pung had contracted for such a load of stone and was anxiously awaiting the arrival of the ship bearing it.

Smuggling opium was getting to be a risky proposition and in view of the alarming number of captures which the government had made and the large amount of fines which it had collected from those whom it captured, Ah Pung made a mental resolve, as he walked down to the Pilot House to ask if the Fanny had been sighted, that with the sale of this load, his part in this illegal business terminated.

The Fanny was making an unusually slow passage, and many were the conjectures placed upon her delay.

“Bet you she’s got a load of opium this trip,” said one old sea dog to a group of his companions.

“Your bet is safe,” was the reply from the youngest of the number, “she had a load of it last trip. My opinion on her delay is this: Her captain’s got the wind that somethin’ is blowing wrong and he’s not going to risk his cargo and his ship by coming in, unless the coast is clear.

“Old Captain Mitchell is too crafty a sea dog to be caught napping. He’s been engaged in this smuggling business for over twenty years. Used to smuggle wines from Portugal into Boston Harbor at one time, and then, when he found the job getting pretty hot, he took his ship when no body was looking, and went into smuggling opium. I was first mate under him two trips ago, and I know.

“I’ll bet you,” he said suddenly to the first speaker, “I’ll bet you that this old Chink has got the cargo on board the Fanny this time.”

The group fixed its eyes on Ah Pung who was nervously watching a customs officer who, from time to time, was scanning the horizon with his glass.

Hearing what the mate said, Ah Pung turned to them and said, “Yes, me got calgo on boad the Flanny. Too muchee building stone this trip. Got big contlact make floo’ for lice thleshing, up Waiau.”

A number of the sailors nodded as if they accepted the Chinaman’s story, but the mate smiled. “That’s all right, John; don’t need to worry about us, you pig-tailed heathen. I know very well what’s inside them stones, but if you can land them without that chap nabbing you, you’ll have my sincerest admiration. I tell you,” he said lowering his voice, “you’d better get some kind of a signal out to the Fanny telling her not to land those stones at the wharf.”

The Chinaman looked the mate over carefully and then, as if satisfied with his examination, he said, “My lice schooner captain he sick. You number one sailor; you take my boat to Waiau now.”

Roberts understood the ruse and got up smilingly from his box and went over to Ah Pung’s rice schooner. The sails were hoisted and the little schooner bounded out of the harbor. Instead of turning to his right, to where Waiau lay, Roberts steered the schooner in the direction of Diamond Head.

In response to the Chinaman’s inquiring look Roberts said, “That government schooner is out somewhere. We’ll have to find out where before we can do anything.”

The schooner was skimming along at a good clip when Ah Pung’s excited eyes saw another schooner bearing down upon them.

“No,” Roberts said after looking the new comer over, “that’s not the Fanny; that’s the customs’ schooner. Well, we’ll make for Waiau.”

Carefully swinging her around, he started back to town but was hailed with the cry, “Ship ahoy!”

“The Moi Wahine,” was the reply.

“Haul hard until we come up to you,” was the order.

Roberts had the one sailor on board haul down the sails and awaited the coming of the customs boat.

“What are you doing?” he was asked.

“Merely trying this boat.”

“What for?”

“Want to buy her.”

“What made you turn around when you saw us?”

“Didn’t see you until after I had started to come back.”

The officer seemed appeased and he ordered his own sail up. Roberts followed suit and turning to the captain he said, “I’ll race you back to the harbor for a drink all around.”

“That’s to find out who has the faster boat,” he muttered to himself.

“All right, let her go,” he shouted and both boats fairly flew, cutting the water with clean, sharp strokes as they sped along.

Roberts put on all the sail he had; the customs man did the same and gained rapidly.

“Whew,” muttered Roberts, “not much of a chance for us, Ah Pung, if we were in a pinch now. But wait a moment, I’ll fix him.” He veered slightly to the left and took advantage of a sudden puff of wind. That was all the Moi Wahine needed; her masts fairly groaned under the spread of canvas and soon the customs man was out of sight.

“I understand her now,” Roberts said, “I’ll guarantee to beat anything in these waters. But let’s go to Waiau. I want to see what kind of a harbor they have there.”

“Nothing decent,” was his verdict. “Catch us here easy. I have it,” he said finally, “there’s Ford’s Island off there,” jerking his thumb in the direction of the island, “that’ll help us alright. Now let’s go back to the harbor and get those drinks the captain owes us.”

The captain was found pouring a drink from a demijohn in his office. “It’s on me,” he called as Roberts passed by. He entered and took the mug which the captain filled for him.

“By the way,” he asked, “what were you doing out by Diamond Head this afternoon?”

“Looking for the Fanny. I can’t imagine what’s become of the boat.”

“What’s so wonderful on the Fanny that makes you so anxious to meet her?”

“Opium.”

“What do you intend to do?”

“Do? Nothing now. Wait until she gets into the harbor and then nab the man that her cargo is assigned to.”

“But supposing he manages to land the cargo before the boat reaches the harbor, then what?”

“Take a mighty smart man to skin me, old fellow. Fill up your mug, I see it’s empty.”

“Here’s to the Fanny; may she make port safely.”

The captain looked at Roberts in mild surprise but he drank the toast and added, “May she make port safely and give her cargo up to the government.”

Roberts left the room and found Ah Pung waiting for him.

“You come my house eat,” he said.

The invitation was accepted and Roberts was soon at Ah Pung’s home. It was a pretentious dwelling, for Ah Pung had money. He had married a Hawaiian woman who possessed a large quantity of land. A part of this her husband had sold to enable him to buy opium, and after the second trip, he was counted a rich man.

Ah Pung had a daughter. Though dark-skinned, Kealoha was fair to behold. She had inherited her mother’s Hawaiian beauty, and her only Chinese characteristic shown from her eyes.

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.

Roberts got up from his chair and said, “Let’s go out to Diamond Head. I have an idea that the Fanny is somewhere around there.”

They went to the wharf and rousing the sailor aboard the Moi Wahine, the sails were raised and in the calm moonlight they sped away to Diamond Head. When they were in full sight of the light house, Roberts saw a green light flash out over the water from a large black mass which was blacker than the darkness around it. The green light was followed by two red ones, and then by a white one. Roberts returned the signal and sailed for the spot.

“Ship ahoy!” he called softly.

“The Fanny” was the response. “Who are you?”

“The Moi Wahine. Don’t attempt to land at Honolulu. Customs’ men are on to you. They were looking for you yesterday.”

The Fanny’s captain laughed. “What would you advise, Roberts?”

“Go to Pearl Harbor instead. Nobody has seen you. The old fellow up there is asleep and we can get up to Pearl Harbor with this wind before daybreak. Once there, you can remain in hiding ’til night. Then I’ll come and transfer your cargo into the Moi Wahine.”

Capt. Mitchell favored the plan and with the Moi Wahine in the lead, the two schooners sailed to Pearl Harbor, where the Fanny was anchored. The Moi Wahine was sailed back to town and moored at her usual place.

“Nobody will be the wiser, old chap,” he said to Ah Pung. “We’ll stay at home today and tonight the opium will be brought back. Let the stones stay in the hold until the next night, then we’ll bring them to your house, a few at a time. Then, Ah Pung, I’ll claim my reward.”

Ah Pung nodded and invited Sam in to spend the day at his house.

After breakfast he followed Kealoha into the yard, and watched her make a lei.

They were silent for a while when Kealoha asked, “You’ll help my father land his opium?”

“Yes,” he replied.

“How much money will you get for the job?”

“No money at all; my dear, I get you.”

“You get me?”

“Yes, your father has promised to let me marry you if I succeed in landing the opium so that the customs men won’t know.”

“Can you do it?”

“Dead easy.”

“But if I don’t want to marry you?”

“But you will,” he said smilingly.

“But I won’t,” she returned firmly. “Do you think I sell myself or let my father sell me for a load of opium. No, sir! What’s more, I am to marry Kea.”

“Don’t you love your father?”

“Yes, very much.”

“Then do you want to see him go to jail?”

“No.”

“Well, if I say the word, I’ll get him into jail.”

Kealoha burst into tears. “You white men are so cruel,” she sobbed out in Hawaiian. “Not content with defrauding us out of our lands, you wish to keep us from marrying one another.”

Roberts bit his lips. He disliked to see woman in tears. He took her hands in his and said gently, “Kealoha, listen to me.”

She raised her head and with brimming eyes looked him full in the face.

“Kealoha,” he said, “couldn’t you learn to love me?”

She shook her head.

“Do you love Kea?”

“Yes,” she said softly.

“Then, Kealoha, I am not the man to cross the love path of another man.” He was silent for a moment then he continued: “I love you as I have never loved before. You say you love your father. For your sake, dear heart, I’ll not betray him. Go, tell your father that I have given my permission for you to marry Kea tonight. Go.”

Kealoha threw her head upon his shoulder and sobbed out her thanks. Then raising her pretty face to his, she pressed a kiss on his lips and left him to himself.

A MODERN
EVANGELINE

A MODERN EVANGELINE

he sun was sinking behind the purple hills in a little village in Madeira as a tall, swarthy Portuguese hurried to his little home.

“Ah, Manuel,” he cried as an older man came out of a little side street, “have you heard the latest bit of news?”

“Não, Gabriel, what is it?”

“A man from the Sandwich Islands has come here, offering to give us free passage to Honolulu provided we work for three years on the sugar plantations. He promises us twenty-two dollars a month together with a house and free water. I, for one, intend to go. Twenty-two dollars a month! Why, fourteen is all I can make here, working from early morning ’til late at night. What say you; will you be one of the company?”

“That I will. I have a brother there and my wife has a sister. We shall tell the man that we will go to his plantations, and then when we get to the capital, I march up to my brother’s, while the rest of you can go and till the soil. I am a carpenter, and none of that dirty work for me. A free trip! ha, ha, ha; I’ll beat the American at his own game.”

“I do not consider that fair,” was Gabriel’s response. “The American expects us to keep our word. Furthermore, he is offering a reduced passage rate to those who want to pay their way.”

“That won’t do for me. Why, even at the smallest possible rate, it would be an utter impossibility for me to take one child, let alone fourteen!”

Gabriel laughed. “Well, I am going to those islands, but it is to work on a plantation. Three years is but a short while, when you stop to consider it, and by the end of that time, I will have saved enough to get married on.”

“Do as you want to, boy, but I tell you frankly that you are a fool. You are an excellent mason; why throw away the gift which the blessed virgin gave you, to kill yourself on an old plantation for the sake of sentiment. It is expected that there will be some that will take advantage of this free trip idea, and you may as well be one of those as not. But we’ll not quarrel over the matter.”

They walked on in silence for some moments until they came to a neatly white-washed cottage. There were vines over the front and in the little garden in the back, neat garlic patches shared the space with cabbages.

“Will you come in?” Manuel asked.

“No, I have much to do yet tonight. The ship leaves in two or three days and I must leave my affairs in something like decency. Boa noite.”

“Boa noite, Gabriel, come over tomorrow and let us make our plans.”

“All right,” and Gabriel continued on his way, while Manuel turned into the cottage. He was met at the door by his daughter, Maria da Cruzs. He had eight daughters and all eight were named Maria—of something or other. Of course they all had middle names and occasionally they were called by their middle names to avoid confusion.

“Who was that you were just speaking to,” she asked him.

“What! Did you fail to recognize the voice? It was that of your own Gabriel.”

Maria da Cruzs blushed violently as she said, “He is not my Gabriel.”

Her father laughed at his daughter’s discomfiture and added teasingly, “He leaves for the Sandwich Islands very soon.”

“For the Sandwich Islands? Why, they are so many, many miles away. Has he enough money to pay his passage?”

“No; an American has arrived offering us free passage to Honolulu, provided we promise to work on the sugar plantations for three years.”

“Oh, father! Let us go.”

“I thought it was but yesterday that you said nothing could induce you to leave Madeira.”

“Yes,” she said slowly, “but—”

“But you didn’t know then that Gabriel was going away,” her father supplied. “Well, I have almost decided to go myself, but not to work on an old plantation, mind you. I am a carpenter, and none of your dirty work on a field for me.”

While they talked, Gabriel appeared in the doorway.

“I came back to tell you,” he said, after he had greeted Maria, “that if you decide to go, you must send in your names tomorrow. The man has been here for some time but in this out of the way place, news travels slowly, so that I but heard it yesterday when I went to Senhor Marques’ house to repair his wall, which fell in the last wind storm.”

“Yes, I believe I shall send in my name tomorrow,” said Manuel slowly, rising from his comfortable position on the floor and going out to the kitchen where his wife was preparing the dinner for her hungry family, leaving Gabriel and Maria da Cruzs together.

“Ah, Maria,” he said, “to think that we shall soon be able to get married. In that blessed paradise, I can surely make enough money to support both of us. Then, too, our house will be free of rent; and that is quite a saving.”

Maria was silent, but Gabriel could read in her silence that she, too, was pleased with the prospect which he was painting.

“Had we better get married before the boat sails, or shall we wait until we get to Honolulu?” he asked.

“Oh, let us wait until we get to the Islands, and then we can tell better what lies before us.”

“Let it be as you say,” Gabriel responded, inwardly well pleased that Maria was as enthusiastic about the islands as he was.

“I must go now,” he said finally, “but I shall see you again in the morning. Boa noite minha querida,” and he disappeared into the darkness.

II.

The next morning, Manuel rose earlier than his usual early hour, and waited for Gabriel.

“Ah, my boy,” he said walking toward the road as Gabriel finally made an appearance, “if you are as slow as that on the plantation, your boss will hurry you up with his big black whip.”

“The bosses do not use whips any more,” Gabriel responded.

“They do not? How do you know?”

“The American said so.”

“The American lies. I have a brother there who went over with the first lot of Portuguese, which left on the Priscilla nearly twenty-five years ago, to Honolulu. The tales which he used to tell me, when he came back, of how the bosses, lunas, they call them there, used to treat them, would simply scare you. No, sir, no plantations for me, sir; and if you knew what I know, you would say the same thing.”

“Yes, I know what you know; how the lunas used to take up the hoes which the men were using, and bang them on the head with the handles just because they felt like it. I know, too, that they used to tie the men up to the fence and whip them with their snake whips just because the men were a trifle slow, and I know, too, that things have changed within the last years. With the coming of Annexation, the plantation laborer does not suffer what he used to, so to the plantations for me.”

“Well, I am sure you have my permission, but let us hurry; the sun is getting quite high and we have a number of miles to go yet.”

They quickened their pace and were soon in town where they found a crowd of men and women gathered around a large building.

“That is where the American has his office,” said Gabriel, “he is now receiving the names of those who want to go. Come, let us enter.”

They walked in together and awaited their turn to book.

“Your name,” asked the clerk finally of Manuel.

“Manuel Gomes da Silva.”

“How many children have you?”

“Quartorze.”

“How many is that?” asked the “Americano.”

“Fourteen.”

“Fourteen! Good! That means fourteen families some day to make their homes in Hawaii. Fourteen different families to work on the plantations. Good!”

Manuel did not understand what the American was saying, but he made a very good guess and smiled knowingly at Gabriel as he walked up to the registrar.

“Married or single?” he was asked.

“Single. I intend to marry Manuel’s eldest daughter as soon as we get in Honolulu.”

His remark was translated to the American, who rubbed his hands gleefully. “Better and better,” he said. “There goes a man who will make Hawaii his permanent home. In years to come he will be able to vote and for all we know, some of his children may serve in our legislature.”

The interpreter laughed. The idea of a son of a plantation hand being a Senator or even a Representative appeared ludicrous to him, and he said so.

“It has been done before,” he was told, “so why can’t it be done again.”

“Done before?” asked the interpreter, “do you mean to tell me that any of your public men have had parents who worked on the plantations?”

“Sure,” was the response.

The interpreter shook his head. “It is unheard of here.”

“Here, yes; but in America and in Hawaii, no. Our school system accounts for that—but here comes another man.”

All day the men booked, and when night came, word was given to get ready immediately as the boat sailed in three days.

Manuel and Gabriel stayed in town that night and were taken to the wharf to see the Suveric, the boat which was to take them to the Paradise of the Pacific.

The remaining days were ones of excitement and bustle. For the two friends, however, there was not much to do. No furniture was brought as they could get furniture cheaply in Honolulu.

“I am going to look at the old house once more before I go,” said Gabriel on the day the ship was to leave.

“Better not,” advised Manuel; “you might miss the boat.”

“There is no danger of that. The boat sails at five this evening and it is now three in the morning. All of my things are on board, so I shall have nothing to do when I come back.”

“Oh, don’t go,” said Maria; “the ship might go earlier than they say, and what would I do without you!”

“Don’t worry,” he said, “I want to put some fresh flowers on my parents’ graves, before I leave this island, never to return.”

She respected his sentiment and let him go without a murmur, but not without misgivings on both her and her father’s part.

“If he misses this boat, it will be a terrible thing for him. All his clothes are aboard and I have his money in my note,” Manuel said.

“Oh, he will have time to go and return,” spoke up João Mello, who was Gabriel’s friend. “Gabriel is a fast walker and could go much further than that in the same time.”

“It isn’t that,” returned Maria, “suppose the boat should leave earlier than we were told it would?”

“I hadn’t thought of that. If I had,” he added thoughtfully, “I wouldn’t have let him go. But let us hope for the best,” he added cheerfully, seeing that Maria was about to cry.

III.

“Captain,” said the first mate of the Suveric to his superior officer a few hours later, “the tide is going out. Hadn’t we better take advantage of it, and leave this morning instead of tonight?”

“What do you say?” asked the captain of the Americano.

“Well, the people are all here, so I don’t see any objection to sailing now, if you want to. I’ll pass along the word. Here, Francisco, tell these people to get on board. We leave pretty soon.”

“Pretty soon?” cried Maria as she heard the order, “why, Gabriel will not be here until night. Oh, why did I let him go!” And the unhappy girl indulged her grief in shrieks of the most heart-rending nature.

“Oh, never mind,” said the Americano, when he heard the reason for her shrieks. “He can come later. She will have learned some English words by that time, and will have an advantage over him in that she will be able to teach him what she knows.”

But Maria was inconsolable. “I want my Gabriel,” she moaned; “Ou meu Gabriel.”

But crying and wishing for him did not bring Gabriel to her, and the long, hard voyage to Honolulu was endured without him.

True to the plans which he had made in Madeira, Manuel did not go on a plantation, but remained in the city, where he soon obtained employment at a much better wage than he had been accustomed.

Maria was fairly good looking, and the young men of Honolulu were not slow in finding that fact out, and many a suitor she had had before she was in town many months. But she met them all with the same answer, “I am waiting for Gabriel.”

One day, news arrived that the Kumeric, with another load of Portuguese, was coming, and Maria was overjoyed.

“My Gabriel will surely come,” she told her father.

“Your Gabriel?” he replied, “why, when you were in Madeira, you said that he was not your Gabriel.”

“That was in Madeira,” she said.

While they talked on the subject one morning, three loud blasts from a whistle interrupted their conversation, and soon they heard that the Kumeric had been sighted.

“Oh, let us hurry to the wharf,” Maria said.

“No hurry at all. It will take her two hours to come in, so we will have plenty of time.”

But Maria was impatient and finally persuaded her father to “go immediately.”

The wait was long, but finally the vessel was tied to the wharf. No one was allowed aboard her, and no one was allowed to leave her, so those on the wharf had to content themselves with picking out from the mass of humanity huddled along the side of the ship, faces which they recognized.

Maria peered anxiously at the people on board, but she saw no Gabriel.

Disappointed, she was almost ready to give up and go home, when her attention was attracted by a tall man violently waving his cap at her.

It was Gabriel, and with a cry of delight, she rushed up closer to the side of the ship.

“Maria minha,” Gabriel shouted.

“Good morning my dear,” she replied in English.

CUPID AND THE
LAW

CUPID AND THE LAW

here has been great rejoicing in the little village of Hingyan, when Ito and Hatsu were married. Ito had money, and he spent it lavishly on his feast. No one could honestly say that the host had been niggardly with his sweetmeats or that there had not been enough sake to go around. On the contrary, the villagers declared that never before had they attended such a sumptuous feast.

Ito was a rice planter. He owned the largest rice plantation in the village and had the largest stock of buffaloes in the entire district. But one day he did not come to his noonday meal, and when he arrived at evening he seemed very much depressed in spirit.

“What is troubling my beloved one?” asked his wife, who had never, since she had been married, sat down to such a solemn meal. Usually Ito was jovial and meal time was an event to which Hatsu looked forward with eagerness.

Ito tried to look pleasant as his wife spoke, but failed, as he replied, “I fear that we are to have a terrible drought this season. It has not rained even in the mountains, and the water supply is very, very low.”

“I will go to the temple tomorrow and offer up a sacrifice to the Rain God. Perhaps he will hear my prayers and send us an abundance of rain.”

“I fear that he will not,” replied her husband; “I have been daily to the temple this week, and as yet there are no signs of rain.”

“Without rain the crops will fail?”

“Most assuredly. The rice is now in the stage where it requires a large supply of water. Unless we have rains this week or next week at the latest, we shall have no rice until next year;” and Ito sadly shook his head.

“Shall you lose so very much money if the crops fail?”

“Yes. I have been buying up all the available lands owing to the fact that I needed more to cultivate rice to supply the Maji contract. Unless it rain, I shall become a poor man, as there is a heavy bond connected with this contract.”

“A heavy bond?”

“Yes. If at the end of the season I fail to produce the required number of bags, I shall be obliged to forfeit more than two thousand yen. Besides, I mortgaged my lands when we got married. Things look very dark for us. I am afraid we shall be poor; very poor indeed.”

“I care not for the luxuries of life. The necessities with my husband, are enough for me.”

Ito kissed his wife fondly and was silent.

True to her promise, Hatsu went to the temple and offered a bowl of rice to the Rain God. Muttering a little prayer for rain, she left the temple. “It will surely rain this week,” she said; “the rice was of the best.”

But it did not rain that week, neither did it in the next. And the rice crops became a failure, and, true to his prophecy, Ito became a poor man. The change of fortune left him a small house and lot which had been formerly used by his head planter. Ito barely eked out a living by raising soy beans.

Finally, Ito called his wife and said, “We cannot live in this miserable condition any longer. I have decided to go to America and see what I can do. They tell me that America is a land wherein the poor man may become rich. Raising the soy bean is not hard. I will leave you here to tend to it. In three years or, maybe, two, I shall send for you, and together we shall live in what will resemble former days. If I fail, I shall return.”

In vain did Hatsu protest that she was just as happy now in the days of want as she had been in the days of plenty. Ito had decided to go to America, and he went.

It was a sad leave-taking, but Ito cheered his wife saying, “It is only for a few years. I shall soon be able to send money for you to come to me.”

Arriving in San Francisco, Ito found work on a railroad, digging a tunnel which the company had ordered made. He lived in a large apartment house which the company furnished its working men—all Japanese, who, like himself, had come to the promised land to make their fortunes.

Accustomed to low wages in their own country, they live accordingly. Coming to America, with its higher wages, they keep their old methods of living and save money. It was not surprising, then, that at the end of two years Ito had nearly a thousand dollars in the bank. By careful investments at the end of the third he was the owner of a sum which would accredit him a rich man should he go back to Japan. Should he go back to Japan, or should he remain in America and have his wife come to him? Letters had been but few between them, as Hatsu could neither read nor write. When he “turned in” at night, the last question which flashed through his brain was, “Shall I go back to Japan?” and the first question which greeted him on his awakening was, “Shall I send for my wife?”

When he had decided finally to do the former, go back to Japan, his foreman came to him and said: “Ito, my boss section man sick; go back to Japan. I give you the job; raise you five dollars.”

After hearing this he resolved to stay, and wrote a letter to his wife that night, telling her to come to him. He would mail her a bank note in the morning. Then they would be together, and the old times and scenes would be reacted.

Bright and early did he rise the next morning, for he had important work to do. As he walked to the bank where he had his savings, a countrywoman of his passed, and, bowing, asked to be directed to a certain street. Ito directed her. Long did he gaze after her, and not until a policeman had told him to “move on” did he leave the spot.

“What a beautiful woman,” he muttered. By the way which the young woman arranged her hair Ito knew that she was unmarried. A wild thought flashed through his brain; why not try to get this young woman for his wife? He had forgotten the faithful and patient Hatsu, forgotten the little baby which he had never seen, forgotten everything connected with his past life, save that he had fallen in love with this beauty. So the money remained in the bank, and the letter was destroyed.

By degrees Ito became acquainted with the beauty. Soon, from a mere acquaintance, a warm friendship sprang up between the two, and finally this friendship ripened into love, and one day Ito announced to his comrades that he was to be married. They congratulated him warmly when they saw his wife, and Ito thought himself a fortunate man.

“It is strange, my pet,” said Hatsu one morning, “it is strange that your father has not written to us. It has been nearly two years since we last heard from him. He said that three years at the most would be enough to earn money to send for us. And now it is nearly five. I wonder if—no, I will not think such a thing of the most noble Ito.”

But she did think, and the more she thought the more she became convinced.

At last she could bear the suspense no longer; she would go to America and seek her husband. So, selling the little house to enable her to get passage money, all she brought from the old home was Ito’s few but precious letters.

Eventually she, too, arrived at San Francisco, but was refused admission.

“But my husband is here,” she told the interpreter.

“If that is the case,” the official replied, “you may come in, but first you will have to have your husband come to the station to prove that you are his wife.”

By some mere chance Ito was passing the Immigration Station. “There he is now,” cried Hatsu, and she rushed forward to greet her husband.

Ito was called inside and was asked, “Who is this woman?”

Ito looked and saw Hatsu trembling with suppressed emotion. Surely, oh surely, he would say the word that would cease all troubles and end all separation.

For an instant Ito paled. Like a flash there came before him the view of a woman toiling patiently among the soy vines, waiting daily for a letter telling her to come to America.

He had been in the States long enough to know that Uncle Sam laid a heavy hand on people who had offended in the way that he had, so he answered, “I do not know her.”

With a cry of anguish, Hatsu sprang forward. “Ito,” she cried. But Ito was deaf.

“Are you sure that you do not know this woman?” asked one of the officials. He had seen many shams, but this looked to him to be the real thing.

“My wife live with me on Fillmore street,” was the answer.

“Yes,” said a bystander, “I sabe her. Her number one pretty woman. Ito too much lucky.”

Ito left the room, but the officials were far from satisfied.

“I believe that he is this woman’s husband,” said one of the commissioners who was present.

“So do I,” was the interpreter’s response.

“Tell her that I am taking a special interest in her case. Ask her if she can prove that he is her husband.”

Taking from her finger a small circlet of gold, she said: “This ring was his great grandmother’s. There is none like it anywhere. When he sees it, watch his face. That in itself will be sufficient proof.”

The interpreter took the ring, and the next morning Ito received a warrant, ordering his appearance in court immediately.

The prosecuting attorney handed him a ring, saying: “Have you ever seen anything like this before?”

Ito took the ring and sank sobbing into a chair.

“I gave it to Hatsu the day we were married in Japan,” he confessed. He was sentenced on his own evidence and was led away to jail.

Poor Hatsu was broken-hearted. She dearly loved Ito, and to think that he had played her false was more than she could believe.

“Take me back to Dai Nippon,” she said; “take me back. I go to die in the land of my fathers.”

THE NEW MAGNETIC
HEALER

THE NEW MAGNETIC HEALER

he town had been literally flooded that year with quacks and fakers in the shape of men who either claimed to be able to cure disease in any form, or professed to have some scheme by which men and women could get rich in two weeks. It always happened, however, that all those who fell victims to the wiles of the last-named gentlemen, were poorer, when the time expired, by a few, and sometimes a good many, dollars.

Bollinger, however, eclipsed them all, both in his remunerations and in his methods. He came towards the close of the year, and when he went away, he had enraged the people so, that they shut the city’s gates to all magnetic healers who tried in the future to locate in that town.

Almost all of his class wore long, flowing gowns and beards; but not so with Bollinger. He wore a suit of the latest style and cut, and was clean-shaven. Before he had been in the town three days all the girls had fallen in love with him. But Bollinger was an extremely modest young man who had no intention of falling in love with any of the enamored young ladies—at least not during the first week.

Miss Camilla Knight was away when Bollinger arrived in the town, and did not return until he had been there nearly a week. It was when she returned that Bollinger discovered that being single had its disadvantages. He made enquiries, and found out that Camilla lived alone with her father, who, besides being a widower, was a rough and austere man; one who would brook no insult, intentional or otherwise, and woe betide the man who dared to insult Papa Knight by asking him for his daughter. There were many young men in the town who could show you the exact spot that they landed upon after having been kicked off the veranda of the Knight home, simply because they had had the audacity to ask for Camilla’s hand, and, incidentally, the rest of her.

Camilla had come home ill, and the doctors had given up hope of saving her life. When Bollinger heard this he hung up a sign which read, “Doctor John Bollinger, Magnetic Healer.” The town smiled. So this young man who had been the cause of so much speculation as to what his business was, had proven to be a mere magnetic healer. With one accord they resolved not to patronize him. Camilla’s father saw “Dr.” Bollinger’s advertisement in one of the town papers, and also an editorial in another, urging the people not to go to him. He showed the paper to Camilla, who urged her father to try him.

“He can’t do any harm, and he may do some good,” soliloquized Papa Knight; “and I’ll be hanged if I’ll not do anything because an old editor tells me not to.” So he sent for Bollinger.

Mr. Knight was a little old-fashioned, and his ideas of magnetic healers were somewhat behind the time. It was no wonder, therefore, that he was surprised when an up-to-date young man handed him a card which read, “John Bollinger, Magnetic Healer.”

“Be you the doctor?” he asked, in surprise.

“I be,” the other replied, with assumed gravity.

“Humph! You don’t look like you had enough magnetic power to cure a fly.”

“Nevertheless I have enough to heal your daughter.”

“How did you know that it was my daughter who was ill?” the astonished father asked. “You have only just arrived, haven’t you?”

“I found out it was your daughter who was ill, by my magnetic power,” Bollinger answered, evading the last question.

“If that don’t beat all!” ejaculated the old man.

“Allow me to see your daughter,” asked the healer.

The old man led the way to Camilla’s room and said to his daughter, “Here’s that young healer you were so anxious to have come and see you.” He asked her a few simple questions as to where she felt the pain, and the like, and was told that the pain was in her heart. Taking a small pad from his pocket he turned to the old man and said, “Do you read?”

“Printing, but not writing,” was the answer.

“Does your daughter read?”

“Of course she does; do you think you are the only one who has had an edication? Why don’t you make use of your magnetic power and quit asking so many questions?”

Bollinger did not answer his question, but continued to write on the pad. Tearing off the sheet, he handed it to Camilla and said, “Read this to yourself twenty times an hour. But remember! yourself. If you read it aloud, the spell will be broken and I shall be unable to do anything for you. I will come tomorrow and see if you are any better. Good morning.” And he picked up his hat and left the room. Papa Knight followed him to the front door and said, “How much do I owe you for today’s work?”

“I prefer to collect my fee all at once,” the doctor replied.

“How much will that be?”

“It is impossible for me to tell at present. If the cure fails, I do not want a cent; if it works—but we will talk of the pay later.”

“Queer fellow that,” said the old man to himself as the healer left the house. “He’s different from all the other magnetic healers I’ve heard of before. Most of them want their money before they begin to work, but this one wants to cure before he gets his pay.”

Meanwhile Camilla was reading her cure not twenty times an hour, but sixty: “Dear Camilla, I love you. Won’t you be mine? Answer me when I come tomorrow,” she read, and she did not wait to say “Yes” the first time to Bollinger himself, but said “Yes” every time she read it.

Dr. Bollinger went to visit his patient very early the next morning to see how the “cure” had worked. Papa Knight met him at the door, his face all aglow with smiles. “By George!” he said, “but you are a wonder. Why! Camilla is as pert as a cricket this morning. She wanted to get up and dress, but I wouldn’t let her. I was afraid it might harm her.”

“Why didn’t you? It would not have done her any harm.”

“I’ll tell her now, if you want me to.”

“Never mind. I am anxious to complete the cure. It is just begun. Let us go to Cam—to Miss Knight.”

They went to the room and the first question Bollinger asked was, “If anyone was to ask you if the cure was a success, what would you say?”

“I would say, ‘Yes’,” she replied.

“And do you say ‘Yes’ to the question the cure asked?”