V

STRANDED

When a man insists too strenuously upon his rights, the imps of perversity invariably combine to thwart him.  Percival was aware of their pursuing footsteps from the moment he went ashore and lost his umbrella, to the hour of his return to the dock, when he found himself face to face with a situation of baffling perplexity.

No sooner had he stepped from the launch that had started him on his double quest, which ostensibly had only the purser for its object, than he was surrounded by a noisy, gesticulating crowd.  Insistent requests that he should buy a string of shells, adopt a chameleon, wear a wreath of carnations, and take a drive, were proffered in broken English, and he made his escape by jumping into a motor-car and slamming the door.

“Where to, sir?” asked the gratified chauffeur.

“Take me where everybody goes,” directed Percival.

“The Pali?  Waikiki?  Punch-Bowl?  Aquarium?”

“Yes, yes.  Go on.  You see, as a matter of fact, I’m looking for some one.”

Percival’s first impression of Honolulu was that of a futurist sketch, a streak of green standing for the palm-shaded streets, a streak of scarlet representing the royal Poinciana, and various impressionistic dots indicating native Hawaiians.  The motor in which he found himself was very ancient, having evidently traveled from the center to the circumference of civilization by easy stages.  Its age and asthmatic condition should have made it an object of veneration to the chauffeur, but such was not the case.  Like a belated express, it was driven through the town and out into the open country.  Luxurious villas, jungles of cacti, Chinese tea-houses, taro patches, banana plantations—­all presented one mad panorama to Percival, who jolted from side to side on the back seat.

Presently there was a precipitous halt, and the chauffeur indicated that he was to get out.

“What for?” asked Percival, crossly.

“The Pali,” said the chauffeur, impressively.  “Eighteen hundred feet above the level of the sea, where the early inhabitants of Oahu made their last stand against the enemy.”

“I’m quite sure she isn’t here,” said Percival.  Then he caught himself, and went into a rather elaborate explanation to cover his confusion.  “You see, I’m looking for the purser.  The purser of the Saluria, you know.  He’s put a nasty Chinaman in my state-room, and I’ve got to find him before the ship sails.”

“Everybody comes first to the Pali,” said the man.

Percival glanced skeptically at the great granite cliff that seemed such an unpromising retreat for pursers, then he stepped out of the motor, and made his way around the sharp angle of stone wall.  As he did so, a gale struck him that sent his hat careening over the precipice.  He gazed after it in chagrin.  The fact that one of the great panoramic views of the world lay at his feet was quite obliterated by the unhappy knowledge that an English Bowler had landed in the fork of a distant tree, defying recovery.