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Planters' Punch


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Planters' Punch
Physical Description:
Herbert G. deLisser
Planters' Punch
Place of Publication:
Kingston: Jamaica
Publication Date:


Subjects / Keywords:
Periodicals - Jamaica   ( lcsh )
serial   ( sobekcm )
Spatial Coverage:


Scope and Content:
Content: 1. The Sins of the Children, Full Length Complete Novel. 2. Jamaica Entertains Royalty, - A Sketch of Our Royal Visitors From William IV to the Duke of York. 3. Yellow Magic, - A Wonderful Mystery Story. 4. The Shining Blade - A Heroic West Indian Peasant in Haiti. 5. Some Children of Jamaica. 6. The Lure of Montego Bay. 7. The Transformation of Bernard Lodge. 8. Other Sketches and Articles. 9. Numerous Striking Illustrations, Etc.

Record Information

Source Institution:
National Library of Jamaica ( SOBEK page | external link )
Holding Location:
National Library of Jamaica ( SOBEK page | external link )
Rights Management:
All rights reserved by the source institution.
Resource Identifier:
nlj - P57
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Full Text

Fi.. -



Visitors from William IV. to Ihe Duke of York. THE TRANSFORMATION OF BERNARD LODGE
YELLOW MAGIC,-A ondcilul mystery istry, by F. Britten Austin. OTHER SKETCHES AND ARTICLES
THE SHINING BLADE,-A her.oc West Indian peasant in Haii,





INLAND SWIMMING POOL 150 feet. long. 65 feet, wide. PROTECTED SEA BATH 185 feet long, "100 feet wide
Up-to-Date with Water Chutes. High and loi Diving Stages. etc.. Enclosed by toroedo netting which renders it entirely shark-
etc. Individual Dressing Rooms, Fresh Water Showers and proof. Fitted with spring boards and a 100-foot Sellner Water
Sanitary Conveniences. Toboggan Slide.

DANCING. Splended Dancing Hall overlooking the Pool with a sweeping
viev of the Harbour. Open on all sides, this Dance Hall is considered
the coolest in Jamaica. The very latest Dance Music is supplied.

* M '
d< B

~------- ._..._ -- -- ---I -- -- --~----- '~ 1~111:











Vol. 11. No. 2


THERE is an exclamation in
conmilon use amoner tile
"peasant and working cla-ses of
Jamaica: it is "My King'" Ir
is said tn have originated in the
defiance thrown by adher.:nts of
the Hou'c of Stuart in .amaria
at those vwho supported Willnian
of Oran-c. and, afterwards tili'
House of Hanover. The i~osry
ere- that when a gentlman v ho
adrlired to the cauts of the
exil-ld sovereigns of Enuland
\iLlillt meet somI- IIpport't-r of t
iti. new order anywulhiet in J.a-
mnaica. he would clau his hand,
i.. his sword and ex\rlaim. "My.
King!" But whatl happen l after
this gratuitou.u, di d'l pe'rfpclt
useless sho It loyalty. ha
ever been tohi
W1'hil.h causes one to doiihi
the stor)'s authenticity In lp- '
first place. while there ncle in
Jamaita. In the early duia of its
colonisation. nin v.who in Gireat
Britain and Ireland had stood
by and ft'l light for the Stuarts.
these had mainly come out to
The islands as serfs. And thouchl
here must have been in g.N .l
positions gentlemen who Mwer'- in
sympathy with the overthrown
dynasty, it would not have been
Swise for them to havri displayed
their sympathies op-nly. after
the Stuarts had left England for
ever, for the Goveruior. sent out
by William the Third and tihe
Georges were hardly mn-n i ho
would have permitted any open
manife-tation of disloyalty Yet.
of course, a man in the late
s-eventeenth and early eight-
eenth centuries could exclainm
".My Kin;'" if he were careful
not to add which h King he mntaut.
The words themselves were per-
f-ctly innocent and might even
be rezartied as laudable. How-
ever. no matter what the origin
of the expression may be. it is
c,.rtain that for decades and gen-
erations it has been u.sil in
Jamaica to express surprise. ail-
miration. even joy. And it is
employed sometimes by those
who no uiot wish to indulge in
profanity. but who nevertheless
feel that they must find a suffl- I'RH" A '4PE
cient exclamatory formula for
the vniiing of their emotion of the moment.
So from the earliest times My King. or The King.
has always signified much in Jamanla ant to Ja-
maica: the King and Crown of England. the Royal
Family. have from both the persona! and symbnlical
point of view stood for much in the minds and
hearts of the Jamaica people.
T is sometimes sug,'-isted that tile loyalty of the
mas-es of Jamaica dates from the ye-ar when
SEmancipation was proclaimed ani is entirely asso
ciated with the name. person and menmnry of Queen
Victoria. It is not so. Even the slave. if he happen-
ed to be a native of Jamaica. entertained a feeling of
reverence for whoever sat upon the Enclish Throne.
and was proud of victories achieved by the British
Army and Navy. It was illogical. no doubt, fur his
condition was not afft' tled hy the Monarchy or by any
Triumph of British .arms. but his feelings were not
ruled by logic and he was content 1o follow in this
matter the example of li master. Undoubtedly. the
Emancipation of nearly a century ago brought to the
minds and hearts of the people an access of intense
affection for the reigning monarch under whom ihe
Treat act of liberation was effected They understood
Nothing about Parliaments: they believed that the
;Queen herself had set them free. Their descendants
understand the matter differently, but their descend-


For the Year 1928


when he nas eighteen. he land-
ed in Jamaiii. and though he
ramn- as a midshipman only. and
in no official or formal capacity.
the Jamaica House of Asemnbly
courill not \llowv the o'..asion to
pa4- unnotitedl. Here was a sail-
it'' prince il a iu'lony proud of
it. lI'ally h.:. i ollkil he be re-
-eiv\ed as a simple p'-s'on" So
cn Februani Iith, 17i the
Houte tof Assmnihly presented to
thei; Governor iain arhir'es. con-
eratulaini lhini anrli the island
on the Prin:.e'3s arrival, and
.when Hi, Royal Highn-es .amne
again to Janlaila in 17>;.. in
coinmand of the frigiare "PI pa-
Su," lie was tiert in state Iby the
Gnvernor, t and iltl 'ri. 'vei- public
entu.rtainnients in the capital.
which then was St. Jaco de l.
Ve_-a. and it was dellided to
pre.-snt to him a sword to lion-
ou'r c tinlg I Iltree hundred
Tlhre was some dissension
ove-r hlle vote for this sword, but
at- th,-r is always sonie dlisen-
sion in Jamaica with regard to
all public anti political matters,
ttlhi was not surprising. It was
the Goov'rnnr's Council which
took the initiative in vrting the
sword of honour. The Houhe of
Ass.mhly, ithe elected body. hav-
ing coinniand of the purse,
promptly protested: it pointed
out that "all grants of money
should originate in the House."
Having thus made it quite cleai
that it was nor going to permit
any Council to deal with finance.
the Absembly proceeded to pass
all thvl nece~,~ary rotes t'or en-
terta.ining and honoring the
young prin..e, and he in his sub-
sequent adldres3s of appreciation
infirmedl the public mien oIf that
time that he would always b.?
"firmly and steadily devoted to
the interests of this island,
which from its riches. omn-
nierce. and present thriving
state and petuiiar situation, is
otf lin:h material consequence to
Great Britain."
Thus all went well. and
Prince William male himself
beloved among all class.s. For




ant- are -ulije.it of the King. enjoying equal rights
with a.ll hi: other subjects in Jamaii.a and feeling
priil in th .- fact that Jamaica is one of the oldest of
Il'riti h colonies and has~ always been considered one-
ot the most ly.ai. Tit them the King of Eneland is
King *,f Jamaita. the Royal Family i their Royal
Family: and rthe: and ev.ryi other class and order of
the pi-ople ,of Janmniica believe that King and Royal
Family take an Interest in the country's welfare. A
rihlir lilief. for thle present Sovereign not only knows
Jamaica but has again and azain expressed a kindly
feeling for it. H-e has visitell it twice And as late
as January. 1!27. his tet.nnd son. Prince Albert. Duke
of York. and the charming lady who is his wife,
tame to Jamaica on a royal visit and completely
won the hearts and revivified the loyalty of all
TWO Kings of England have been in the island
in the past while they were but princes of the
blood The first of these was Prince William. then a
lad and a midshipman on the "Barfleur." William
began life as a sailor, having been sent by his royal
father to join the navy at the early age of fourteen
and on the understanding, to quote his father's
words. that he was to be received "without the
smallest marks of parade" and with "no marks of
distinction." This was in 1779; four years later.

lie was a sociable youth, with
all the honhonmie and gallantry of the sailor; he
was what the Amernlane call "a coud mixer" and
he had a sailor's ey- for a pretty lass. Excessive
dignity was n-ver his strong point, whether as
priln ori king. and we lmay he certain that the
Jamaitans loved him none the less for being
so human and so wilful. The create Nelson inot yet
an Adm'iralil wrote of Prince William. when he was
in Antizua. that "Our young Prince is a gallant man;
he is. indeed, volatile, but always with great good
nature. There were two halls during his stay,
and some of the old ladies were mortified that His
IHu.al Hi-hness would not dance with them: but he
says he is determined to enjoy the privilege of all
other men-that of asking any lad) he pleased."
SHINCE William returned to Jamaica in Novem-
hb-r 17,'S. He was now a young man of twenty-
three years of age. the heir to the Throne, and
with a character well-marked with the distinctive
traits which were to be exhibited later on. In Ja-
maica he was regarded as an old friend. The island
welcomed hin on this third occasion with greater
state than ever before : the House of Assembly.
which always loved grandiloquent language, deter-
mined to send to the King an address in which
should be expressed the colony's "esteem and admira-,
tion of the virtues of a Prince who, by the most un-

A '5
4t 'cF

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remitting and exemplary attention to tie duties of
his profession, has already endeared himself to his
country." Naturally. all this was pleasing to the
Prince; lie must have felt that he deserted it and
that the planters and business lmen of Jamaica had
a proper sense of appreciation. There v.as alco an
address to the Prince hiniself. ant the Ass.embly
voted a thousand guineas for a diamond star to be
presented to his Royal Highness. N...r did it stop
there. A I couple of yr-ars later. when the Prince
was in England. tile Jamaica Assembly passed a vote-
of three thousand euineas for a serve of plate for
Prince \illianm "'aa a te-stintll of the high respect
and esteem indelibly iuiljie-.-td on the rmnin, sof lthe
loyal inhabitant- of Jaunisia for His Royal High-
ness." When it is reniembuert:i that the puri:hasinnp
power r value of mon-ll in thoie days was at leas
five times what it is to-day, ir ill at onat. he r-i-n that
these money votes for swords, star-; and plate for the
Prince represented a really (onsiidrable gift. But
in the late eicliteenth century and early nineteenth.
Jamaica was wealthy and the House ocf Assembly nwas
given to generous gestures. It voted pounds withl
a greater liberality than the present Legislative
Council is sometimes disposed to spend shillings.
but even in these days the Jamai.a Legislative ('oun-
cil would not hesitate to lay out money on providing
an adequate welcome for a niemhber of the English
Royal House.

JAMAICA had to vait for soniethine more than
sixty year-s for the n-xt visit of a prince of the
blood royal. Prince William became king. reigned.
had no offspring to succeed him. quarrElled openly
with his sister-in-law, the Duchess of Kent. on the
ground that she was keeping the Heir Apparent. the
little Princess Victoria away from hii-damningi
her quite frankly before the Court for this behaviour
on her part. Then he wa%- gathered tu his fathers
and Victoria reigned in liis steal. Janmaia followed
the fortunes of the Royal Family with interest. but
there arose a generation that knew not Prince Wil-
liam: he had become a tradition. Then. the sons of
the widowed Queei having grown up, the second
one was despatched on a visit to the West Indies.
and these colonies went wild with delight on learn-
ing that they were to ente tain Primie Alfred.
This Prince, afterwards created Duke of
Edinburgh, first visited Barbados inl 1561. With
his reception elsewhere our article has nothing to
do, but it will not be amis to mention an incident
which occurred while he was in the ever-faithful
and self-sufficient colony iif Barbados. It is quoted
by Mr. Frank Cundall i to whom for many of the
historical data relating to early royal visits the
writer is indebted i from a work published in Bar.
bados on royal visits to that island. and shows how
near always is the ridiculou-, to the impressive.
There was a review of the troops then in Barbados
and five thousand school children were drawn up
to greet the Prince with patriotic song. A verse had
been specially written by the Bishop with reference
to Prince Alfred, and everything was felt to be in
apple-pie order. The Prince stood there. smiling
graciously as we may well believe, and the good Bish-
op anxiously waited to hear the verse he had him-
self added to the National Anthem, ani which may
be here transcribed:--
And while from shore to shore,
Her wide dominions o'er.
Her -ons are seen:
As through ean.h lime they speed.
Nor toil nor danger heed.
Be Thou their help in need--
God save the Queen'

Unfortunately. "the effect of the spectacle was
somewhat marred. first by the collapse of a barrel
on which the Inspector of Schools was superintend-
ing the singing and his disappearance from view.
and. secondly. by the giving way of part of,the plat-
form on haic!l the children were seated No Iharm
seems to have tome to the children. but what the
Inspector of Si hools had to say about his sudden and
perpendicular disappearance from view is not re-
corded. Probably it was said in language not fit tor
publication. One feels hure that Prince Alfred did
not so much as smile. though his risibility must have
been much provoked by the curiouss fashion in which
the Inspector of Schools made his exit from the de-
monstration. But what could one expect from a bar-
rel? Was it right and proper to utilise a barrel as
platform at a royal welcome?
RINCE Alfre-d came to Jamaica in March 1SIl.
and here. of course, he received an enthusiastic
reception. Just before his arrival a wave of religious
fervour had been sweeping through the island. Two
well-known missionaries had arrived and had travel-
led through the island exhorting the people to re-
pent them of their sins. The people were always
ready to repent iso long as they should have an
opportunity of returning to their reprehensible but
cherished habits as soon as the season of repent-
ance was over. and the missionaries were having the
time of their lives making converts. There was a
wild outburst of excitement, the greatest of its kind
ever known in the country. Part of this excitement
found expression in an open recrudestence of weird
African superstitions; frenzied men and women


danced. clothed inl white and red. round roaring
fires. tonifesing their sins and prrophesyine in a
strange tongiie. and exosr i-ine the evil spirits which.
they held. were taking possessii-n of the faithful and
unfaithful alike. This wai indeed the Great Revival.
hiut it had assumed forms. that f'ihtri in-ier anti sho, k-
ed even somn-e of those vwho belit vrid imoilst firmly in
revivals as- a spiritual fore.. Then Princ-e Alfred
lanrdel. anil at mnce th,- pipuilation fi'r.got tieir sins
and their repenting in their eagerne-i, to eIirt the
Queen's son and to eujoy the festl\ iies of the occa-
Pi inie Alfrid -. ,l ,,m.s to have been a era:iouu-
youth. blit witholilt the outstanding personality of his
Slder brother, afrer\ anri- E -iarrl Seventh. H-e re.
mlained in Janiaica two aeeks and v.as entertained
.uamptuously: hi was welcomned wher- \er he appear.
ted. and his tlmine halid certainly had an ex ellent
effect in putting a -otop to a trmli-religious dlemonutra
ti'on that was fast be..omuing disgraceful and even
dangerous. He saw Jamaica. however, when her
fortune's were at a low ebb: there was distress every-
v. h-r.: alrc-ady \were to be- heard the muttering of
the storm that was nto hurst in (Otober, 1IS65. in the
roin of MlIrant Bay. wh,-re a bloody uprising was
staged. to be 'f.llioid -.hortly bv an even more bloody
repression. Prince Alfred saw the old Jamaiva. and
it waa dyine rapidly The new Jamaica came into
bring after S. It was growing when. in lSSO. thel
"*Barliainre" dropped ant-hor in Kingston Harbour.
with tlhe two Roy.-al Princes. Albert Victor and George
Fiederick. on board. This was the first visit of our
present Sovereign to the colony of Jamaica.
FOR ten days the young Princes remained in Ja-
maita. being looked after and entertained. They
w-re mere bho.,. the object of their tour was that
they should gain a tirst-hand knowledge of distant
tciintrics. and. not least of all. the countries of the
Enipire. They went about Jamaica. observing the
life and scenery around them. Not much formality
\ais oserrved in regard to their reception and move-
mnuts: the visit was intortnal. they were still min-
or-. Yet the people managed to manifest their aftec-
tion for the Royal House effectively whenever the
royal brothers were seen. There were many per-
sons in Janaica who remembered His Majesty as a
boy when he came back to Jamaica on January 24th.
lSl. to- open the Jamaica International Exhibition.
Prince George of Wales, as lie then was known.
was a quiet looking. reserved young man. full-beard-
ed. and of courteous, gracious manner. He was 25
years of age in 1,SI1 and had for many years been
a sailor. At that time he was in command of the
'Thrush." a unit of Admiral Watsou's squadron: but
the moment he steamed into Kingston Harbour he
assumed the statu- of special repre-entarive of his
father. Edward Prince of Wales. on whose behalf he
was to open the Jamai.a Exhibition. To this event
all Jamaica had been looking forward for some time.
The Governor of that day. Sir Henry Blake. was a
nlan of highly optimistic and sanguine tempera-
ment: he earnestly desired the colony's progress and
prosperity and he was convinced that an internation-
al expoitionn. formally opened by a prince of the blood
royal, would do a great deal to bring Jamaica prom-
inently before the world's eyes. To this end he
worked: money for the object in view was voted by
the Jamaica Legislative Council. and private persons
were asked to guarantee the amount not voted, the
confident assertion being that this guarantee would
he but a matter of form, since the Exhibition must
infallibly pay its way.

A CRITICAL person might have asked why, since
the Exhibition was certain to pay, there should
be any necessity for guarantors; but critical persons
thought it wisest to refrain from critical observa-
tions: they also refrained from guaranteeing any
part of the expenses contemplated. Others locked
forward to put their names down for sums. large or
small according to their means and to their abound-
ing faith. This Exhibition. it was said with that en-
thusiasm which Jamaica ever displays with regard to
something new. would inaugurate a new era in the
country and accomplish marvellous things in the
way of helping it to prosperity. Besides. a royal
prince would come to open it. and Jamaica had ever
loved the Royal Family So all went well, and on
an open space to the north of Kingston's racecourse
there rose a large oblong wooden building domed in
the centre, and there were lail out spacious ground-.
and from the other West Indian colonies, and
front many countries of the great outside world, came
exhibits: and then. on January 24th. 1S91. a vast
crowd lined the streets of Kineston. from the water-
front to the gates of the Exhibition building. The.
Prince had arrived and was to make a procession in
state through the island's capital. The enthusiasm
of the populace. worked up to fever heat, reached its
climax on that day A roar of welcoming voices
proclaimed to the skies that Jamaica was delighted
once more to greet Prince George. the Sailor Prince-
as he was called, and through himn the Queen of
England and his Royal Father. Edward Prince of
Every parish of the island sent representatives
to take part in the functions to be held in the
Prince's honour. The mounted guards who rode by
his carriage-proud of the privilege-came from Tre-


lawiuy. .Ie-ayinug -\ven then. but still able to furnishr
niii and hor--e that could make a fine show upon
such an occasion Arches spanned thle ditreeti. no
foot of sidewalk but accommodated a spectarori i while
on Ilhouetops and among the branlies of trees were
nitn and outhlis lieerinu the brilliant cortese as it
pa-sed. It wah loi ng procession. with sln.lw lately
IarriLiae-9. v.ith art[noiant martial mur-i.. ith below
of ,jiour and pomp r'f pageantry. and the i!illi but'
glorio usly golden -iin of a West Indian v.iiirll liaht-'
cl it up and niad of it a spectacle un'nrLt.r.ru t le
lih those who saw it Wearing the liluc riband
nf th.- garter and the dress of an officer of the Brit-
ikh Nauy. the Prince returned the ,alutarionS uf the
roliv \d irli a r-gular methodical touching of his
plumed lhat Hi.s fae .-xpressed no emotion save
that of ialmness. But now and then he turned his
head from -ide to ,ide. so as to acknowledge the
greetings he received from both sides tof the thorough-
fares through which he pas.sed. Those who saw him
on that day rt-uirmbl -r hln vividlyy still.
The Exhibition did not pay, the guarantor, were
called upon to make good the deficiency, and there
was much railing and cursing in the land. But
Prince George had Ibeen given an excellent reception.
and the island's population generally wer- proud anti
delighted that he had specially come to Jamaica in
a formal and representative, capacity. Perhaps. too.
the present era of Jamaica's history may be said toc
date from the opening of the Jamaica International
Exposition. for it was then that modern hotels were
first erected in Jamaica for the entertaining of vi,it-
ors from abroad, and it is since then that Jamaica
has deliberately) made an effort to attract tourists.
who. year by year, increase in numbers and bring
some breath of the English and American pleasure-
seeking world into the everyday life of these tropics.
Prince George. unlike his ancestor Prince Wil-
liam. never came back to Jamaica for a third
visit: hut now and then as King he has received emin-
ent persons connected with the island-Governors.
Bishops. members of the Legislative Council and the
like-and has asked in the kindliest terms about it
and its people. having retained a vivid memory of his
visit and his reception here.
PERHAPS it was more by accident than design hat.
his second son visited Jamaica in March. 19113.
Prince Albert was then a cadet in a warship cruising
from country to country, and the ship called here for
a few days. It was announced that there would be no
formal welcome to the Prince, but the day and hour
when he should visit the Governor at King's House
were published, and the populace was informed that
it might gather if it liked in the thoroughfare
through which the carriage conveying him to the
Governor's residence would pass. With a striking
regard for the expressed desire of the Sovereign and
his local representative, the people of Kingston did
exactly as was suggested. They assembled in thou-
sands from the Victoria Market Pier, where the
Prince would land. up to the Central Park. thus
forming a living avenue in the principal business
street of Kingston. As the Prince drove on, in a
carriage with the Captain of his warship. but unac-
companied by any regular escort, the people lifted
their hats in respectful salutation. There was no
shouting, no cheering; all marks of formal demon-
stration weie eschewed. What was equivalent, to a
command from His Majesty the King had gone forth.
and it was most scrupulously obeyed.
After that Prince Albert went about Kingston
and the adjacent parishes a good deal. He was seen
in bookshops buying books which dealt with Jamaica.
he was seen with cadets of about his own age at
various public places. He was present at the yacht
race given by the Jamaica Yacht Club in honour of
the Captain and officers of the ship on which he
served, and naturally he was there the cynosure
of all eyes. He was the observed of all the observers.
but always it was remembered that he must not be
treated as one travelling as a Royal Prince. His
was the first visit made by a member of the Royal
family since his father had come to Jamaica in 1l91.
He was but a boy then. He was to return in
January. 1927. a man and a father. to receive a
demonstration which has never been surpassed in
warmth. in genuine loyalty, and as a display of per-
sonal arffetion. in any part of the British Overseas
Empire in which he has been.
M EANTIME. in 1921. arrangements were made for
His Royal Highness the Prince of Wales to
visit Jamaica and the rest of the British West Indies.
It was scheduled that for three days the Prince of
Wales should remain in Jamaica, and as comprehen-
sive a programme as was possible to till this limited
time was carefully arranged. The Legislative Coun-
cil voted 5,000 for the expenses attendant on the
visit, the merchants and public men of Jamaica were
asked to subscribe another 5.000 and set about doing
so with the utmost cordiality. It is on record that
for months before the date of the expected visit
orders for dresses were being placed by the Jamaica
ladies, and anticipation of a gorgeous series of fest-
ivities filled the hearts of the lovelier sex with flut-
tering delight. And then. some time in July 1920,
there broke out in Jamaica a contagious disease call-
ed alastrim. and the Governor of Jamaica informed
the Colonial Office authorities that he did not like


to take the responsibility
of allowing any member of
the squadron accompany-
ing Hi, Royal Highness on
thi. tour to contract an un-
pleasaut disease in Ja-
njaica. The Prince him-
salf was ready enough to
.ome to Jamaica, but those
responsible for his com-
fort and health would nnt
face a possible risk. So
the visit was cancelled. Ja-
maica learnt with sorrow
and regret that w while
other West Indian colonies
would have the honour
and pleasure of formally
welcoming the Heir Ap-
parent to the Throne. Ja-
maica must forfeit that
privilege because her an.
itary house was not then
completely in order.
His Royal Highness
graciously promised to
come on a visit to Jamaic a
at another time. when
there should present itself
an opportunity of done so.
But no one could gue-s
when such an opportunity
might occur, and it was
felt to be quite probable
that it might never occur.
Thus, it seemed. Jamanwa
might never be able to x-
press in some sort of peir-
sonal manner, and with
.spectacular and proper
effect, its high regard. re.-s
pect and affection for one
who is. next to His Maies-
ty of England. the most
popular personality in the
British Epipire to-day.

T is. however, the unex-
pected which frequently
happens. In 1924 the great
Wembley Exhibition was
opened in London. It had
been decided that at that
Exhibition Jamaica should
be represented: a number-
of special delegates to look
after the colony's interests
at the Exhibition were ap-
pointed, and a very large
number of Jamaicans went
over to England to attend
the Exhibition. One of the
-special delegates was the
Hon. Horace Victor Myers
then a nominated mtnl--
ber of the Jamnni:a Legi.-.
lative Countili and he .on-

pi,., ,ti C,1r1 r ii ii, ,] l4 lli t.

ceived the happy idea of
formally entertaining His
Royal Highness the Prince
of Wales. in the name and
for the sake of Jamaica. at
a garden party in the Ja-
maica Court at Wembley.
This function. al-
though the idea of one
man, and entirely financed
by hint. was tto e repre-
sentatively Janiaican: its
intention was to bring His
Royal Highlness. in a way,
into personal touch with
this colony. Consequently
every Jamaican then in
England was asked to at-
tend it, upon the Prince's
gratlou'ly intimating his
acceptance of the invita-
tion. Mally \WeS Indians
w.-re also a'ked-everyone
n h.-.-s- name anid address
could b, obain.-d. To
Iho) an adequate appre-
ciation :ft' th.e Priiii of
\al-e. it d-mon-trate the
fet-ling3 oft tIli.' :o!uny to-
ward. lhini and the Royal
Family, it was neces-ary
tlit thlie arden party
shliould le I' n a ,ial I and in
a -tyl' thar v.'o.ull ibed ar
comparison \vith anything
of a -imnlar nature or-an-
isedi ian\ heree ft'r thil.- spe-
i.il uirpoe ft' entr-rtain-
iciL tile Prin.-e of Wales.
This de.in a- > arrived
through adniiral..li. That
is the verdii.t of all >:oni-
perent judges.
The Jamlaiq.a Garden
Party at We\nmhley opened
at. four o'(_ l[ :k on July
1-lth, 1924. Enelish weath-
er is notoriously uncer-
tain. but on that afternoon
thei htll shine out with
something like West In-
dian splendour At four
o'clock the Prince arrived
and was mn-t by hIis host
and hoste-s. Mr. and Mrs.
Myers. A-. embled to wel-
come him were men and
women w.vho were directly
or indirectly connected
with Jamaica iir the other
West Indian ic!onies. The
Liuk- of Drevin.~hire. ex-
Si.:retary uf State for the
Colonie%. %as pre-sent;
L.nrd lr.ihanilat. a great
friilld of lits'e ,il: oni .s


Ph io I I tf'lrqrli nndi Fllsotl.



I li. Ilt hl. 01 1.I11II I4.11.
'Queen Victoria's second son, who as Prince tAfred visited
Janlslica in 51861

and one who has done much for them, was there, with
Lady Burnham; Mr. Ormsby Gore, the Under-Secre-
tary of State for the Colonies, was present also, and
he knew Jamaica well; and there were Lord Olivier,
once Governor of Jamaica, and Sir Edward and Lady
Davson, who had long been connected with the West
Indies, and Sir Campbell Stuart, and .Sir Herbert and
Lady Barker, and Lord Kitchener, anid Si John and
Lady Lynn-Thomas, all of them having some conner.-
tion with Jamaica. There were many others, m..n,
bers of His Majesty's Government, men dil tliirllil. I
in England's public life. But it is rin:t ,sII phli....--.
to dwell upon details. It will suffice to say that il'.:
gathering was brilliant, and, representing the re- !.!.
ents of Jamaica, was a large number of persons pr.-m.*
inent in the island's social, professional, mercantl..
and political life. One man, describing the sc-i:.
afterwards, said that Ini felt that he was at a gi..tt
Jamaica gathering as he moved about and saw -...
many familiar faces. Most of the persons whom I i
Prince saw there, and those who had the honour o:f
meeting him, he would have met in Jamaica. Anil
the exhibits were Jamaican, the decorations Jar.i,.
can. iE -1:.i l LL possible had been done to give I.-
the grounds and building a characteristic Jamai.ari
appearance, and the success of the effort was oi"-
parent at a glance.

DRAWN up smartly, and arrayed in their pic- ui
esque uniforms of scarlet and faint yell.,-.
with laced flat turbans on their heads, was 0I,-
famous band of the equally famous West India R.- i
ment, since then disbanded. As they stood stiffly r.,
attention they were inspected by His i;.:r,.l H:mi.
ness, accompanied by his host; l-h- Trin.... iat-
paraded the grounds, conducting Mrs .1: ..-i and ,..
pressed himself pleased and gratified with the .i-.
maica court and this Jamaica reception of him. II,
remained for over an hour, had tea with his I..'-.
and hostess and a party specially invited, and t:-i
left. As it was put by someone at the time, His
Royal Highness could not go to Jamaica because of
an unfortunate circumstance, but Jamaica, in a man-

PRIN' l I-. II.I.I.1
afterwards King William IV, the first Royal visitor to
Jamaica. He first came here in 1783

ner of speaking, went to him. Jamaica, through the
initiative, loyalty and thoughtfulness of Mr. and
Mrs. Myers paid him a direct tribute and gave evi-
dence in a particular fashion of its devotion to his
royal father and himself. At that function the
Prince handed to Mr. Myers a message to be sent to

(now George V). When at the age of 25, he came to open
the Jamaica International Exhibition

(now King George V) as he was when, as a youth, he
came to Jamaica in the "Bacchante" in 1880

Jamaica, and in it he expressed the hope that one
day he should be able to pay a visit to this island, a
visit which he regarded as but postponed. All Ja-
maica trusts that an ,I.Tri: t.inli will be available
for the fulfilment of this promise of the Prince of
But even if he should not be able to fulfil it, Ja-
maica knows that its feeling and wishes respecting
the Prince of Wales were admirably interpreted and
demonstrated on July 14th, 1924. The hostess of
that occasion knew it also. She did her duty -inli'!i,
beautifully, completely, as a daughter of Jamaica.
T,.-i.:;.' she is no longer with us, but we think of her
as one who upheld the finest Jamaica traditions on
that English summer's day, and who was worthy to
offer this country's hospitality to thl Ir. 'r of a hun-
dred kings.
HE authorities in England were not unmindful
of the disappointment which Jamaica had suffer-
ed through the cancelling of the visit ot ti.. Prince of
Wales in 1924; so when it was being arranged that
the King's second son and his wife, the Duke and
Duchess of York, .-li.lIl go on a special tour of New
Z...ii.i) ani i l AiI-!lia Jamaica was included in the
irii w. Ia ai1 i ii .a n \:i'. i that, in January, 1927, their
Hi.. .ii HLiiin..-- -..ild spend three days in this
On Thursday, January 20th, the royal party land-
ed. Ti.-.ir ship the "Renown," a great battle-cruiser,
grey, elegant, formidable, lay at anchor in Kingston
Harbour, and during the earlier part of the day the
guns of warship and of fort had been thundering
forth salutes. For weeks before the preparations had
been taken in hand, committees had been formed and
entrusted with various t. I.iils of the work, and now
all was ready : nd rili i it,. if Kiilc.-r, ll [,r'-sented a
gala appearanm r 1 ith it. t'r-~I'lv-paiiiitl buildings,
its swept and garni-i.,idrl streEr-. it' fet-t',an- of flags,
its variegated .iluting m.. auiJ it, rihlit sunshine
flooding it all; v. nii ii i'nti l-. ,) ,i-at thl-iia.ti. peo-
ple dressed in their gayest and best annr nai.iii,-rne
a spirit of spontaneous joyousness and appreciation,

W- w w I. ,ow




1. His Royal Highness the Prince of H'ales, wilh his Hosts, Mr. and Mrs. Horace I'. Myers, going through the Ja-
maica Court at Wembley, July 11th, 1921. II. His Royal Highness, accompanied by ,Mr. and Mrs. Myers,
inspecting the Band of the II'est India Regiment.




a spirit that infected every class and made of all
classes one for the purposes of that hour and that
At two o'clock the Duke and his Duchess landed,
being received by the Governor of Jamaica, Sir
Reginald Edward Stubbs, Lady Stubbs, and the col-
ony's leading dignitaries. And as the royal party
stepped upon the shore, a deep-throated cheer went
up from the crowd that thronged the open space in
front of the Victoria Pier and the piers adjacent.
The noise of that shouting advised the people farther
on that the Duke and Duchess of York were on the
soil of Jamaica, and presently those who waited and
watched saw the cortege approaching; the line of cars
that slowly swept upwards; saw the fresh, youthful
faces of the King's children as they smiled and bow-
ed their appreciation of Jamaica's welcome; saw the
Prince they had once seen a boy now grown to man-
hood, and cheered again and again until the city was
filled with the sound of shouting and the air resound-
ed with the acclamations of a loyal and delighted

THERE were other receptions. These followed
fast upon one another. There were dinners
and garden parties, presentations and tours in the
country, and soon the people, the common people
whom Abraham Lincoln said that God must love,
because He had made so many of them, found their
own name for the Duchess of York. She was eu-
phoniously termed The Rose of York by writers, and
on the "Renown," in petals of white fire, the White
Rose of York blazed forth at night. But the citizens

of Kingsion found their own name for her, they call-
ed her The Sweet Lady, and as The Sweet Lady she
lives in their memories and hearts. Her smile was
sweet, and snwer-tly did she smile upon the crowds as
she passed them time and again during the many
processions the royal party made. The Duke was no
whit behind in his expression of cordiality. No one
seemed to escape the notice of the royal couple;
their eyes sought and saw men who clung precari-
ously to the roofs of buildings in order to catch a
glimpse of Their Royal Highnesses; there was human
warmth in the bow of the Duke, and true sweetness
in the Duchess' smile. Never had a royal visit been
a greater success. Never had a deeper, a more en-
during impression been made on Jamaica than that
made by the Duke and the Duchess of York.
And both the Duke and Duchess were touched
by the interest exhibited by Jamaicans in their little
daughter, the Princess Elizabeth. The Duke men-
tioned that to one Jamaican who had the honour
of a brief conversation with him on the "Renown."
Their Royal Highnesses had observed how much
there was in the newspapers about the Princess Eliza-
beth, and that concern, that attention, appealed to
their hearts. They had noticed too-they could not
but have noticed-the attitude and behaviour of the
crowd. It was remarkable. No harsh words, no
pushing or jostling, cheering without vulgarity, en-
thusiasm informed with deepest respect-it was won-
derful. And it is on record that during the days that
the royal party was here there were fewer crimes
committed than ordinarily by the criminal elements
of the population. That may have been but a coin-

cidence. But more probably it was because even the
criminals wished to celebrate the coming of the Duke
and the Duchess of York.

THIS last royal visit did more than can possibly
be estimated to touch into glowing life the love
of Jamaica for the Royal Family of England and all
that it stands for in symbolical relationship. The
Duke and his Sweet Lady charmed all those who
saw them and who came into contact with them.
and the news of their graciousness and simplicity
went through the colony like a fragrant soft wind
and fanned into fervent flame the loyal affection of
the humblest people. They came as strangers, they
departed with the love of Jamaica, and Jamaica will
never forget them. They may come again. The
value of such visits is known in the Mother Country:
the Royal Family itself appreciates the significance
of" them, and, arduous though they are and cannot
fail to be, members of the Royal Family undertake
them not only as a duty but out of a reciprocal feel-
ing of love for those who love them. When night fell
in Kingston on January 20th, 1927, and the great
Welcome Arch and Public Buildings and all the
structures in the main thoroughfare of Kingston
flamed forth in a splendour of light, with the sky
above shining an intense velvet blue, the city was
awake and many of its thousands were walking to
and fro celebrating the royal visit. And from one
to the other passed much the same word, and it was
a word of joy and blessing: joy that Jamaica had so
appropriately welcomed the young Duke and Duchess.
and a blessing on them and on theirs forevermore.


Some Characteristics of the Prince of Wales

Major F. E. Verney, M.C., who has travelled with
His Royal Highness the Prince of Wales, gives us in
his book on the Prince an interesting insight into
the latter's character. Major Verney remarks that
interest in the Prince of Wales is not only universal,
but curiously intimate, even domestic, and the popu-
lar question "what is the Prince like?" really means
what does he like, think and do in the personal
sense outside his official identity.
Of his position in a social sense he is only con-
scious in that it restricts his personal freedom, and
that it inspires in many people he meets an artifi-
ciality which he has always to be fighting. So far as
his official position is concerned, while he regards
his future as King Emperor with definite personal
diffidence and no small regret he nevertheless ac-
cepts the prospects because it is "the game," and he
has no thought of shirking his responsibilities.
H.R.H.'s personal reactions towards his spectacu-
lar duties are expressed by his habit of getting
through them as rapidly as possible, and reducing
pomp to the practicable zero. Full-dress ceremonials
which gallop the pulse of the on-looker leave him
cold. There are two things which give him real ex-
citement-riding to hounds and the close finish of a
race, for the Prince is exceedingly keen on horses and
a remarkably good rider. Polo is his favourite game,
but when his official duties prevent him from taking
part in this he turns to golf, though he is of opinion
that it is easier for a man to make an ass of himself
at golf than at any other game, and for this reason
he plays only with people he knows and usually with
pnen. The Prince also has another grievance against
this game. He likes to enjoy himself quietly, but it

seems impossible for him to do so on the links, for
no sooner has he done a couple of holes than the
grounds begin to fill in a most remarkable manner,
and once he was heard to remark with an impatience
which can be understood, "Wherever I go they smell
me out."
In the Prince's inveterate desire for hard exer-
cise there is a strong element of his temperamental
restlessness. But he is influenced also by the fear
of putting on weight, of which he has a horror, and is
determined to keep the tendency in check; so he is
careful in his diet, eats sparingly and keeps an eye on
the weighing machine and the feel of his uniforms.
In regard to music the Prince's taste is similar
to that of most other ordinary persons who have not
been specially trained in music, but he has a very
good ear, picks up a refrain with unusual ease and
can strum effectively on the ukalele-a fact which
should inspire our local jazz musicians with a great-
er respect for that instrument. The Prince is also
fond of jazz. Its tuneful jingle, gay syncopation and
completely irresponsible suggestion provide him with
the utmost measure of relaxation, being in absolute
contrast with all serious emotions.
One of the most wide-spread illusions about the
Prince is his supposed nervousness. When he was
very much younger he was diffident and retiring
and by no means at ease in some of his public state
duties, but this is no longer the case. He is now
complete master of himself in all circumstances, and
so far from being nervous has had to come to the
rescue of officials who at state functions have lost
their heads and been in imminent danger of bungling

matters by failing to carry out the parts allotted to
them. On one occasion, during the- presentation of
an Order to a Senior Administrative Official, the
Staff Officer who was responsible for the stage man-
aging discovered at the psychological moment that
he had mislaid the decoration. Completely demoral-
ized, he stammered to the Prince: "I had it in my
pocket, Sir. in a small box. The box is there all
right, but God knows where the decoration is." The
Staff was appalled by this contretemps, but the
Princ- came to the rescue. "Give him the box," he
said coolly. "That will do to go on with." and the
function was completed without a hitch. On another
occasion a certain Mayor came to a full -top in the
middle of a speech, in which a phrase something like
this occurred: "Not only do we welcome Ynur Royal
Highness as representative of His Majesty the King,
but we-we-." Here he began a frantic search for
the next word when the Prince again stepped into
the breach and prompted, "We welcome you for your-
self." Unfortunately. or fortunately for the enter-
tainment of the audience, the Prince's voice carried
further than the platform and the whole house howl-
ed with delight.
The tremendous popularity of His Royal High-
ness is accounted for by a combination of position
and personality. But it is not the position so much
as the personality, the simple and out-reaching hu-
manness, which inspires among the vastly differing
types or humanity with whom he has been in touch
the feeling which was epitomised by a Dutch M.P.
when he said: "There is not a burgher in this town
who would not be proud to let the Prince walk on



B', HERrII'rT (;. ri.:LISSER, Author of "JANE'S CAREER," "H':F\ l.I;:." ETC.


MRS. Primrose laughed openly at the dread so
vividly expressed in Mr. Proudleigh's face as
she passeel a feather civer the b,-iy of the
little yellow snake whi.h writhed and curved itsJlf
into loops at the hottom of the shallow box in -hllnch.
for the pre.entr. it lied.
The snake was quite harmnless. beine one of those
found sometimes in the rural parts tf Jamaica; but
Mr. Proudleigh was an urbati lweller. and as such
was not a'iquainted with serpents and their habits.
More. although a militant Christian in argument.
holding firnml that faith should be all-sufficient for
salvaliun. he had c liigh superstition in him to asso-
ciate all snake, with the Afritan within, raft known
as obeah He had always hbeard that obc-ahmen and
obeahwomen hald traffic with snakes, which were
their familiar spirits A snake could bring you lu(k.
It might make you a po\er and terror among your
fellow.-cratur'.s. But while it helped its owner, the
latter had to pay a pri-e for its services, for the
devil, it wa.- known, gave nothing for nothing, though
a timely death bed conversion might cheat him at
the last
Therefore. seeing that Mrs. Primrose had a snake
of which she w\ as not in the least afraid. Mr. Proud.
leigh wondered w whether Mrs. Primrose might not be
an obeahwoman. and was strongly inclined to *-u;.-!.,t
his suspicions to ill and sunday at the first con.
venient opportunity. He liked Mrs. Primrose. but a
snake w.as a snake, an opportunity for gossip was
an opportunity nor lightly to be lost. and it would
add to his happiness to be able to hint that Mrs.
Primrose was not all that shell ought to be as a
Christian person and a member if society. All of
which Mrs. Primruse divined. but being a strong-
minded woman., whom the old man amused. she
merely laughed as she watched the changing expres-
slons on his face.
"You 'fraid for it?" she enquired. "But why? It
isn't harmful."
"Well. I wouldn't say as I was really afraidd for
it, Mrs. P." replied Mr. Proudleigh; "but what I
always say is dat a toward man keep sound bones
And I are old an' not incline to fool wid any snake
I don't understand I remember when I was in
Panama wid my darter. Susan. nhich is now Mrs.
Jones ian' her husband' don't have no proper appre-
ciatnient of mei. dat one day I see a big .stiike as
long as from heie to the top of dis street. I was
bold an' foolish den, which is thI- sam- 'ing, and I
walk up to de snake an' kick it widl me foot. Me
dear lady. ef it wasn't for de 'elp of God, dat
kick would ha' been u.e last. For no sooner did me
toot fly out-" But Mrs. Prinrose would not allow
him any longer to add to the li.-t of the world's
famous fables.
"Tcha. rtha. old man." she cried, '.*ou forget that
I know all about Panama and Costa Riia and Nica-
ragua? I was here mu. h longer than you. No snake
so big was ever there, an' even if it was you wouldn't
see it in the Canal Zone "
"Y'u mean to say that y'u thinks I would tell you
a lie, Mistress Priniro;c '" demanded Mr Proudleigh
with a wonderful assumption of offended dignity and
injured innocence.
"No. not that." the woman good-naturedly ans-
wered. "but perhaps you forget"
"Well, it may lbe so." thoughtfully agreed Mr.
Proudleigh; "for now dat I are gotten old me mem-
ory play de devil wid me sometimes Howsoever-
doan't do dat. Mistress Primrose. don't do dat!"
His cry was elicited by a gesture 'if Mrs. Prim-
rose, who had made a movement as though to seize
the snake and lift it out of the box Mr. Proud-
leigh precipitately retreated about five .ards away,
prepared for instant further flight should Mrs. Prim-
rose make any serious effort to introduce him more
closely to the snake
"Don't be afraid." she assured him with a laugh;
and she covered the box with a perforated lid, tucked
It under her arm. and walked towards the door of
the little house outside of which they had been
standing. Seeing that the snake had been put away
for the time being. Mr. Proudleigh. though uninvited,
followed her.
He was a tall. angular tman. looking about sixty-
five years of age, brown of complexion. cunning of ex-
pression, and giving the observer an impression of
feebleness which was somewhat contradicted by his
general activity in petty ill-doing. Not that Mr.
Proudleigh had ever done much harm in his life, or
ever deliberately worked for the misfortune of others.
He was merely a talkative person who loved scandal,
a gentleman who weighed and measured everything by
the weights and measures of self-interest. He made
mischief, not by purposely intending it. but because
It might temporarily aid him and also because it

intrigued him to be in the arena of domestic trouble
so long as he felt that he himself was safe.
For many years now he had lived on the bounty
of his children, and this he ci:on-ilered as inn""wis?
derogatur\ to the accepted standards of manlalin s.,
for had hie not toiled for and brought up those same
children when they were your and lielpli-ss He had
not been a harsh or negle.-tfil parent. he had ei\en
them liberally of whatever he had hall. They were
adults now-the son ilhn as anay. une daughter. who
had also gone foreigngn" and Susan, his elder girl,
who had married some time before. Here, then, ac-
cording to Mr. Proudlci'h'i lilghii., were three banks
upon which he had every social, mural and r-liaiui.'
right to draw; but as two of thes.- "banks" functioned
in Central Ameri.:a. and would only honour cheques
occasionally, he now lived with and on Susan and
her husband, a source of cin-raut uneasiness to both.
for, as Mrs. Susan Jones very aptly put it. "papa
don't know when to haul in his tongue between his
And yet.most people liked old Proudleigh. He
was easy-tempered, very obliging, full of humorous
anecdotes, a perfect system for the transmission of
that kind of inforniatinn which sometime.-, leads ti
slander and lhJl actLions. information w hiih every
body ipruiedJ disgrateful aanl yet listened to with the
greatest avidity. Men .illudedt to him as an old scoun-
drel. hiut they al'lany- did so with a ontemptuous sort
of affei'tion. He was, three-fifths blaik. whichI is to
say that he was two-fifths white, and his Englihli
ancesto-r had been a man of some note in Janaiia.
Mr. Proudleigh sometimes mn-intiontd he had heard
that the said ancestor had been a duke. but he did
not allow himself to become snobbish and puffed up
on account of his alleged exalted ancestry. He never
was above taking a little drink from some quite
humble acquaintance, with not the slightest inten-
tion of offering another in return.
Mrs. Primrose was a tall, well-set-up w'omau of
about forty-eight, of much the same complexion as
Mr. Proudleigh. but with quite prominent features
which indicated plainly a larger strain of white
blood in her veins. As a girl she must have been
decidedly good-looking; even at her present a;ge- slhe
could be de.-.'riid as a handsome woman She had
a strong face, the ,.lightly hooked nose suggesting a
Jewish forebear. The thin lips firmly closed, and
well-developed chin, proclaimed to all who were any
judges of character that she knew well how to holdl
her own and assert her will in a combative and com-
petitive world, ard how to handle weaker people
also. She had for Mr. Proudleigh the liking which
the strong so i*einquently entertain for tho-e defliient
in strength: there was contempt in it, but it was
genuine enough, and the old man sensed this easily.
He was somewhat afraid of Mrs. Primrose, but he
admitted to himself that he had never known a more
generous acquaintance. Fired with admiration of
her open-handedness, he frequently levied contribu-
tions on her, never rising, it is true, to more than
sixpence at a time, but accepting all her other gifts
as part of the benevolence which, seeing that she was
rich, he felt she owed to him-for Mr. Proudleigh had
in him the makings of a perfect socialist. He had
known her for about a month now; since, indeed, she
had come to Kingston on a visit to some relatives. She
resided in the same suburb in which he lived,
and in the same street. She had become acquainted
with his daughter, Mrs. Jones, whose social position
enabled her to know even such an important per-
sonage as Mrs. Primrose, though not on anything
like a plane of equality. Hardly a day passed that
Mr. Proudleigh did not drop in to see Mrs. Primrose
and to regale her with stories about other people,
which, if not always strictly correct, had neverthe-
less a sufficient foundation of truth to be highly in-
teresting, and were always piquantly seasoned with
his own peculiar philosophy.
Mrs. Primrose was a widow, and childless. She
had never had a child. As a young woman she had
married and emigrated with her husband to Nicar-
agua; there, under the pressure of her will, and
helped immensely by her foresight. Primrose had
done very well indeed in planting bananas for one
of the great fruit companies. But the deadly fever
of those parts had had its way with him; when she
was thirty-seven years old he died, leaving to her
everything that he possessed. She sold a good deal of
her property, left one fairly large infertile farm
in the hands of an agent and returned to Jamaica. to
the parish of St. Catherine where her brother farmed
his own land. She was too independent a woman to
share her brother's home, especially as his wife was
still alive; so she purchased a small property and set
herself to cultivate it with hired help. Apart from
this she had an income from her capital of at least
two hundred pounds a year-a decent fortune for a
woman in her position. She knew the value of
money, and she knew how to keep it. though no one

A complete Jamaica novel, in which love,
the modern life, politics, the social conven-
tions, each play an interesting and familiar
part. A strong feminine character is the
pivot on which the story turns.

considered her stingy. And she made her cultivation
The one absorbing passion of her life was her
love for her niece, her brother's only child, and it
was currently understood that everything she posses-
sed would go to that niece when she died, and per-
haps some of it before. The girl, Vivian, was now
about twenty-two years of age; for ten years her
aunt had done for her more than even her father had,
though he too was a man in fairly good position, a
small landowner with much of his sister's ability,
but, unlike her, passionate, vehement and bellicose.
Everybo~dy considered that Vivian was a lucky girl,
with everything in life to look forward to. Those
who knew her, and were inclined to be compliment-
ary, said it was no wonder that Vivian thought so
much of herself. When Mrs. Primrose heard such re-
marks, as she sometimes did, she would observe that
Vivian could not pos-.-ibly think too much of herself,
since it was (inlhy Iy puittin; a hilhb value upon her-
self that a ,ulIne lady could make the most of her
life and position in this world.
Gertrude Primrose was, at hi-art, a very proud


A TALL girl, who sat in a rocking chair sewing,
glanced up as two persons paused before the
dooi.r of the room in which she sat. st.eing Mr. Proud-
leigh. she smiled.
Slightly darker than thi- oldi-r woman. but itll
straighter. more luxuriant hair. the close relation-
ship between them stood apparent at a glance. She
might have been a (laughter. Perhaps> almost exactly
like Vivian had Mrs. Primrose l,,ked when she was
twenty-two; but her staidlne-, and firmness of de-
neanuur. an indication of character and not merely
the result of middle ae-. the yinung girl lacked.
Vivian was more elf'-willed than .strong. passionate.
extremely vivacious. and patently vain.
Even her envious a'.uiaintances admitted reluct-
antly that she was ve-ry go:od.looking. The large
dark eyes and well-fo,-rniedl nuoe were among her chief
attractii.lus, her mlrouth a.as well formed. with pout-
in'-. laughing lips: hir figure slim. but hinting at de-
velupinent in after year Slte crre-sed carefully and
nell. aware of the advantacg- of a taking appearance
and loving rine garment- tfr themselves. It wan some
article of loathingg that she was finishing now. and
.he was in a happy mood. as her gay smile indi-
Mr. Proudleigh greeted her deferentially. Not
having been asked to enter the hou,- by Mrs. Prim-
rose, he paused at the front door. romnfortably lean-
ing against it, and respectfully addressed the girl.
Mrs. Primrose passed into an inner room, presum-
ably to put away her harmless pet.
"Miss Vi," said the old man, by way of opening
a conversation, and with intention to please, "I never
seen y'u look so pretty all me life"-he had only
known her since she had come to Kingston from
the country to join her aunt, and that was but a
week ago. "You get more beautiful every day, ma'am.
No wonder dat young white gentleman you meet in
King Street dis morning teck off his hat to you so
graceful like I see him do. You didn't see me, for
y'u had eye for nobody but him, but I was stand-
in' by de corner, waiting for de street car, when I
see him drive up. An' I feel proud to see a white
gentleman like dat greet y'u.-"
And then Mr. Proudleigh became aware that
Vivian was staring at him with menacing eyes and
that her hands were peremptorily motioning him to
be silent. Evidently he had blundered again, as he
did so often in the course of a life that seemed to
have been filled with angry looks and silencing ges-
tures. He ceased abruptly. but the bedroom in
which was Mrs. Primrose was too near for her not
to have heard every word he had uttered. When he
paused Mrs. Primrose's voice was heard, asking
casually but with a note of insistence in it:
"Who was the gentleman. Vi?"
"I don't know. Aunt Gertrude." replied Vivian
shortly, while her eyes held and warned Mr. Proud-
leigh. "He just bowed. He didn't stop to speak
to me."
"Not a minute." broke in the old man rapidly.
taking his cue and resolved to remedy his error, as
far as that was possible. "Him drive up an' bow.
and drive away again. But him was a nice-lookin'
gentleman an' quite young. Him look as if him come
fram de country."
"From the country?" queried Mrs. Primrose.
"You sure it wasn't Mr. Gus. Vi?"



'I tell you already I don't know who it was.
Aunt Gertrude." and now the irritation in the girl's
voice was unrestrained. "He had no right to bow
to me. and Mr. Proudleigh here will tell you that
I didn't even answer him. It was forwardness on his
Mr. Proudleigh knew that he had seen Vivian
bow. More, he knew that a whispered word or t\o
had passed between the girl and the young man.
though the latter had lingered but a moment. But
he saw also that he was expected to be ignorant of
these things and that if he mentioned them a pas-
sionate denial would be
his only reward. There-
after he would not be wel-
comed at the little house.
for Mrs. Primrose would
hardly encourage there
anyone whom her niece
would denounce as a liar
and to whom she would
shew op e n hospitality
Again he took his cue, hot-
ing that Providence would
now guide him aright andi
prevent any further blund
rings on his part.
"An' y'u was quite right.
Miss Vi," he protested vir.
tuously. "Dat young man
had no business to bow to
you for you don't intr.-
juce. An' him bow too
quick, too; I notice that
itself. atn' I say to meself.
hin I w(oulrd L bow to a
\ white lady so."
"Nu, he would'nt,"
agreed Mrs. Prinro es, comr
ing out of the room and
-randing in the doorway
e.twoen it and the apart-
ment in which her niec'
was now sewing n ith
-:it't. angry stitches. "H,
couldn'tt Mr. Pioudletigl.
but, you see, he didn't
want anybody to take pa-.
ticular notice that lie was
speaking to liss V' That
is the way with the.ei kind .
.f gentleman, and I am nut
blaming them. I blamni
the girls who haven't suf-
n.ient pride to ui)je:it to
that sort of speaking, antr
v. ho go out of their way'.
to mn-et young in-n thr-ir
family don't lik,-."
"I am not '.i."n, out of
nme way to meet any man,"
retorted V'iviai sharply.
"and I didn't answer thi
one to-day, as Mir Proud.
leigh himself just te:l
"You didn't see Mr
Proudleigh?" queried her
aunt, who strove to put th.-
question as one who spoke
merely in order to carry
-on a neutral conversation.
"Ask him!"
"No, Mrs. Prin'rne."
volunteered Mr. Proud-
leigh. "she didn't see me
at all. For ef she did see
me, Miss Vi would ha' told
me good morning, for she
not one of dose young lady
who pass y'u like a dawg
when she meet y'u in de
street. I go down town
all times, an' I see a lot Lady Barrett-Lennai
of people. I see yourself this island in the Summ
soomntimes, ma'am, an' y'u distinguished and leading
dosen't see me. I makes This was not due chiefly
meself inconspiguous an' ladies" even who have I
keep' meself to- mne-lf. for where conceived for Lad
I don't want n..b,.dy to ship, was due to her ch
say I are a forward man." tactfulness which is not
"You're right," briefly It has been said of c
commented Mr, Primirose. it to yourself: it is birtl
"Well. I am g.a.i that Vi our picture speaks for it
treat that stran',... forward Lennard's birth. Lady
young man a, it had a matters artistic. She is
right to be treat-d. an' I mosphere of sociability
only hope she will do the
same n lthin- to every ma:t who only speak to her out of
forwardn.es. But I wonder who he can be. From the
country you say he Ilooks like, Mr. P?"
'*Yes, Mistress Primrose," replied the old fellow
reluctantly, "or p'rhaps him wasone of them Govern-
ment official who believe them is king an' god. I
can't see too well in dese days, so I might be mis-
taken. At first I thoughted dat he look like he came.
from de country, but-"
"It don't matter," said- Mrs. Primrose. glancing
suspiciously at him, for it was quite apparent to her-

that the old man was trying to take back something
which. he now realized. had better have been left un-
said. She looked keenly at her niece. Temper was
written all over that young lady's countenance. It
stiffened every musil-t of helr body. it radiated from
her entire frame Had Vivian been speaking th-
truth? was the question asked by Mrs Primrose's
eyes Mlight not the old man have been silently warn-
ed and urged to lie?
On some previous occasions recently Mrs Prim-
r',-e had questioned her niece about Gus Steinway.
and there had been more than one sharp quarrel

rd, wife of Sir Fienri, Barrett-Lennard, Chief Justice
er of 1925 and identified herself with the island'i- -crt al
g figure. At once Lady Barrott-Lennard won a host of
y to her position as "the second lady of the land," for
never succeeded in winning Jamaica's regard. The lik
ly Barrett-Lennard, and which has steadily grown with
arm of manner, the genuine simplicity and friendliness
the result of art but the expression of a deep and symp
harm that you either have it or have it not: not by taki
right and good fortune in one. And when to charm i
self-une may well believe that the good fairies were
Barretr-Lennard is an acquisition to Jamaica society.
a fine horsewoman and her "At Homes" are greatly a
and cordial hospitality.

in consequence. And Vi knew well that just now
her aunt had Gus in mind. Mrs. Primrose too, was
well aware that Vivian divined her thoughts. and
that. as Mrs. Primrose admitted to herself, would
naturally make her angry. It was quite possible
also that the man whom Mr. Proudleigh had sett
bow to Vi was really a stranger impudently greeting
a pretty girl-he may have been drunk, or just
cheeky. There was nothing to do but to give Vi th?
benefit of the doubt for the moment, especially as the
girl was supported by Mr. Proudleigh and would not


hesitate to ansen r tartly if cross-examined further.
Mrs. Primrose therefore turned and re-entered the
bedroom. and Mr. Proudleieh caught a signal from
Vivian urging his immediate departure. He under-
stood and acted accordingly.
"I going. Mrs. P." he called out: "I going' mue dear
young lady. I will come to see you agen." Then he
chanitled off. but not without having received a sign
irom Vivian which seemed to him to he a promise of
great anl abundant reward in the future. He had
made an initial mistake, but now he was not at all

sure that it had been such

a mistake from his particu-
lar point of view The girl
was keeping something
from her aunt, she had
not wished her aunt to
know that she had seen
this dashing young gentle-
nan and hail spoken to
him. Perhaps she had ac-
tually met him by appoint-
ment: twice within the
week. Mr Prouidleigh re-
mernberrd now. he had
seen Vivian at that same
potit in King Streer. a park-
ing pllace for aul,)omobiles.
H- iililoqui isd as he
walked along
"Di-,-- y3tlunc female "' hb
inuttlered r-'.ardIle's of
th[l-.:e Ilii nfli2l r laugh at
seeing hin in conversation
w'ili him-,tlf. "are a devil
.,t a lot liMiss 'i want a
white yo'luinL cltletnman.
an' II-r n uiit knot% hinw he
grfiJ' tu .\ ait ht-r, .)o 'he
t'-i k a su-pi' ion frani what
I say. But I uLnt F.eving
ti Imorl'. for' tol tell Il
trute. whti,.- I 'fraid for
Mis. P.. I 'fraid for Miss
\' rtuj. An' I tdoan't know
whi h on.? i, dl- worselr.
ID.- .ant havrx a snake. an'
all me life I afraidd fo'
sLidaki-. \'ba thlie loin' A id
a snake--a Christian
woman like riar? P'raps
she not a Chiistian. but
a obeahwoman. an' I
duan't ant to have any-
t'ing to (it widl nicked-
uI-,s But a handsome an'
rich humann like slie can't
'avc an 'ting to do wid
obeah. .sihr don't want
Ilon'ey. sht- 'ave it: an'
she t'aiin't need no snake
to help 'er get anoder hus-
han, tor her mone-y can
tlo dat." He :eased and
rlondh.er.Id the problem si-
lently. It sh.remed insoluble.
so It- di-.nmissed it. from his

More important was the
relationship which was in
thel fultul'r it w-xist between
him anid Vivian. She
would want to be kind to
iti; c ire unoerst ;ooid that
i. ery well. And site too
had mn ey and '.as nobly
generous. Yes, he would
keep silent on her a 'oiunt;
he felt quite chiv\alrous as
lic he canmo to thim determina-
tion. After all, hat harm
v wan he .lc int? Why
shouldn't sihe be honour-
hi, t i, 'ror 'ti, i.',t ably ri ndl V ith a white
of Jamaica. ,ame out to nan. and. if the friend-
life, in which she is a ship werc not honourable,
f admirer and friends. who was he. old Proud-
there have been 'first leigh. t,: tcat the first
king which was every- stone? "'Lt hin dat is
Sa closer acquaintance- vwidout -,in." lit, inurmured
of her character, and a riahteously. "'cast de first
Pathetic sincerity. stone e Not so mutch as a
ng thought can you add grain of sand nouli he
addEd beauty--and here burl at her And if her
busyi at LadJy Barrett.- aunt should find out that
She takes an interest in -but here again his mind
ppretiated for their at- went back to that infernal
Snake. Surely if Mrs.
Primrose waas an obeah-
womnan her witchiraft would enable her to discover
whether he had been speaking th- truth or not,
and whether' he was in alliance with he-r niece or
not. Suih a discovery would annoy her. (onteiv-
ably site might commission her snake to plague him
out of his life! Things like that happened: one
could never be too careful about obeahwornen and
Well, there was nothing to do but hope thbt Mrs.
Primrose was a gox)d Christian, and, as such, liable
to be the unsuspecting dupe of deception. But it


was a pity that he should suffer from an uneasy mind.
Perfect happiness of the sort he could appreciate
was Mr. Proudleigh's incessant search through life,
but he had never found it: at least, never for k.u:e.
Something was always going wrong. A fly in his
ointment there was always certainn o) be. Tie f-lt
that he had never been fairly treated by fate.

A FTER Mr. Proiidleigh leit a tense stillnes.- pr,-
Svailerl ill tl' holluse. Another of tlhi'se i11i-
understandinge. \whilh hail 'lei in'-- so frequent ofi
late, had oc.utrred between jiunt and' netep. and eat-I
woman w5s striving to get a mastery of herself. r~o
have her temper well under cont rol, befr'e laddressinr
the other.
Mrs. Primrose hadl spoken all along. it is trill
within a aslal aLir. but \'i ial had m.nor beeln dle iv.-i
She knew tliar h-ur aunt hiad Otillll n- SLIpi' lul.I. *ll"-
was certain that the.- c(orntr'-arii w luild I i- llae,..
she wa.s 'i ll ant:r. that Ml r Ii 'rjo liEigll v.Oil'l Iji
approach l: I,.l.r n an. Biij.il-tedil Ilu i grillling > I'i-
examiin.tion This. lie fit W:i.- .111 iinl arianto.l'
illtrusi: IIn o I hi r pl. erl- lrll i 1'falil"r- an jnfrine!_IP11 >-1 1
of her ll' it. H..r aun t lii l 1i1. .n t% ru ',i l to lici
and woull l iit h-_r .es-indl th,- rI-'.,h rt l .int .hi'in
she di,.d. BHIt. ...n 111he ,:lh< r l Iii Ni. e I-S .. 11i t,,
play tile pI it o l lli.s lisit. tlli le U;Int e)in1111 ell.. i. uuli
as slh.- a.is I)y. nalur.' a illii.-tl..- dl.roniU atin l- wonian
her g'i'niot andi oi'liln- l t.lj k nil th>: alllp-ar'fii] f t1
dictatorl ship hlifi h \' i:iii i t(nit'I bliijtr! IIn 1r -'.
dinar' mniatt,.-.' si.- .. dil uot M1in l It r aln nt'; ilicti-
torship mli ilt: tlit- iaict hv.,,. t l ii in i'dintii y tlifm tter-.
AiMrs Pritinri,,. wnia. iu.0-t indliil-,.nt But thel,-i.- n Dn-'.
this lonstinrt h1rirlliii iil,,n >;ils Stcinwa,i thin, ,1in":
tioning al'r.nit hiIt \\hlilh tli-\t r '.-i. d ti.' I a-e.
theIe warning g- i'. iil i w .r> ulliw.int--il :iil Wir-.- Ie-
garld d ais niu in i[n.rtlllent t. \ivian e elly t'lJtll!
again t it all: s'..-ne di.1 l, lelt. v.'.*oiiuld. irclel
openly. But in thaI c:ase ihr ft'tlher might c-onim to
hea. o'ii irh rI.-a.'n Uf htr itllll l'.-ak. ndi :lie hii' .'
wEll that he and heri Init:!-r" would be wholly un tihe
side of her aunrt There ..-jild be more than one
reason for that H-r rather hated Gus Steinway's
father with a hatrel that hadl grown and developed
since she had been a little girl.
Somei ten nlnure-i pasNi d. and Vivian heard her
aunt stirring: she was ahliut to come back into the
sitting rooni Vivian bhrtei'-d herself for the ordeal
which wa, to ensue. Site hint over her wurk. her
lips inmprcssied. her ee-, doliggedly looking down-
wards-for she did not intend to meet Mrs. Primrose's
steady stare. She did not even glance up when that
lady entered the ro.,mn and sat quietly down. She
volunteered no remark. She would defend herself;
let her aunt ',pen the attack if she wanted to.
*'You didn't tell Gus Steinway that you were com-
ing to Kingston, Vi?"
"No, .\:u told me not to; and I wouldn't have
told him even if you hadn't "
"Humph. And )'u didn't mention it to anybody
that might have told hini""
'How am I tIr" know? I don't know everybody
that know him. and it was no great secret."
"You needn't answer like that, Vi, for you know
I am only speaking for 3our own good."
"I hear a lot about my own good all the time,
Aunt Gertrude. and I am grateful to you," replied Vi-
vian, striving to keep her voice calm, "but, after all,
you can't be harping on the same thing all the time
and saying it is for me own good. It's getting on
me nerves! I am simply afraid to see you open
your mouth in thces- lda.;, for fear you going to
say something about a gentleman \\wh i.s unlry pulltt
to me and who I harlly ever see.'
"But that is not the truth, Vi; you see Mr.
Steinway a lot. if t hat people tell me is true. The!-.
Is no reason for them to lie about you, and they
don't come to me with anI intention to lie. Thv'.
just say that they see you talking to him in Span-
ish Town. or at Linetead. when you go there is if
it was nothing. It is yii who qnurrel about it when
I ask you. and if I drio't ask you I never hear whether
you meet him or not "'
'"What is there to hear. Aunt Gertrude? Can I
tell you about everybody I meet? What a trial
that would hb!"
"But you useil to do it; it is only about this
young man you are so uiielt "
"What is theie to say?"
"Well. in the rir.'t Ilace. you shouldn't speak to
him at all."
"'Why? Because his father and mine don't like
one another? What have I got to do with tha.t?"'
"What you think you' father wouIld say to that""
"Papa? But. aunt. you are a Christian woman,
and you don't believe in hate and malice."
"I am a Christian woman, thank God," replied
Mrs. Primrose i.almly. "All my life I have been
helped by God. anti I will go to my grave blessing
His name. But you can love your enemies without
mixing up yourself with them; and we are to honour
our father and mother. If 3ou know that your father
wouldn't like you to speak to Mr. Steinway and his
son-and you know it-you ought to do what will
please him. If this young man is nothing to you.
you wouldn't think more of him than of your own




No ship's master sailing between England and
Jamaica has ever been better known than Captain
William Forrester, and none has ever been more
popular. For several years now Captain Forrester
has been coming to Jamaica, and here he has made
a host of friends by his frank geniality, bonhomie
and sitl erity: these are people who love to travel
with him, feeling as they do that he has a personal
interest in their welfare.
There are Captains and Captains. Some of
these feel that it is no business of theirs whether
the passengers are happy or not, and this not be-
cause they for one moment wish their passengers to
be unhappy, but probably because they do not have
that enthusiasm for personal intercourse and rela-'
tionships which animate some other men. But Cap-
tain Forrester would be unhappy if he thought the
people travelling with him were so. And this applies
to the least and the humblest of his passengers as
well as to the most important. He is nice to them
all. He remembers them after years of absence. His
is not a superficial cridiallry but something that is-
part of a chara,.ter that is sound and true.
Forit.ster had a distirngaijihed career during the
war. He was in peril oft. and his ship, the old
i'avinal was sunk under him. But like so many of
the heroes of the British Mercantile Marine, he car-
ried on with imperturbable dash and cheerfulness,
doing his bit and inspiring with a confidence of
safety those few civilians who dared the ocean pas-
sage with him during that terrible time. He is the
Captain alluded to by.that great writer, R. B. Cun-
nighame Graham in the latter's book on "Carta-
gena." It is something to have won the appreciation
of a man like Cunninghame Graham; it is also some-
thing to have won the affection and regard of a
critical community like Jamaica.

"What can he be to me, Aunt Gertrude?"
"That is e-xa,:ly it; he can never be anything
honri;-.lii- to you. He is white and you are a
girl who his mother \wiul] want for a nursemaid or
butleress and IInthing nlire. That's how he is look-
ing on you; but you are not that. Your father is
somebody in his district; you been edliatJd at West-
wood, and you can marry a very good man; you
can pick and choose. Instead of that. you meet this
man and I only come to hear of it i.') accident. How
do you think it can end?"
"How anything end if you bow to a person when
you see him, or even talk to that person? What is
there in that?"
"It depends, Vivian."
"Upon what?"
"Upon the sort of person, and on the sort of

youngg girl that speak to him. You must remember
hat Mr. Steinway have a big position, and his son
s white, like himself. What you think Gus Stein-
way wants to know you for?"
Vivian did not answer; could not immediately
ormulate a rejoinder that would have been even
plausibly satisklai.try. She might have frankly told
ler aunt what she herself believed to be true-be-
ause Gus Steinway loved her. But she did not dare
ay that. Her aunt, however, as though reading what
passed through her mind, asked with blunt direct-
"You think lie loves you?"
"Of course not! Why should I? He would be as
foolish to think that I love him. Can't you speak to
1 person without loving him?"
"You can. But that person ought not to be an
nnemy or a man who wouldn't look at you if he
didn't want ..oiiiethinr from you."
"But .iou i.v*urielt' always tell me, Aunt Gertrudeo
hat I am worth looking at. Why because my skin
is not while I ,huiillu't be admired?" .: I
MrNI. Primr,...- felt cornered for the moment..She
1:1.1 rnevr he-!tr.tl.1 to encourage the girl to have a-
:-.::d -lnl.eir if herself, and pride would prevent
'ivian from thlinkiri that colour could be any bar
to adinliration B1 sides, Vi had protested, with great
irniel-.ie-s;, rhlin there was ilrtlint to object to in
an rlldinary a,.i.r'i!rniro- -hliip i' -w- iin her and Gus
Steinnay. whom she had first met casually. but open-
1.. ar the little ti'.wn of Linstead one day and who
had ..ffer':d tn i... s..ni t! ivi.il service for her. She hal
wanted to chance a pouni note and he obliged her,
TIh- amnle thing hIlal'pntu l etery day; on the surface
i -e .i.S ntithii-" In ir But, ,rl lil.i il. such a
t.Latni i- a(iuainli .ii, -lip "a-; not rm i lntaii[n il: social
lirriers rentiirtiiah ih .i l ,ul I the u qtli-tin The con-
i.l i.in wa-, thl.-r..l ir, t a!l if (_i- Sruinw l n: persist-
.dl in speaking t-. the girl,-and if they occasionally
m~i ta. was noiv. being reported), he had an object
whihl no ine ,- olId fail to understand. And what
was the girl's luipose in mnieting him? What could'
she hope tor? what expect? The matter seemed
crystal clear to Mrs. Primrose. Her niece could
aun-ier cleverly. but her words were int'-iudi only to
"There is-no reason why, because you are dark.
you shouldn't be ailliire-dl, Vivian," she admitted:
"but you can let all people like Gus Steinway ad-
mire you from a distance, since, if they come close,
it won't mean any good for you. You know that too.
You are only talking. You are a headstrong girl; but
you know that if you make any mistake your father
will never forgive you. That young man have
nothing to offer you except-" She would not bring
lierslf t) finish the sentence. "This is not the first
time I have warned you," she continued; "an' I
wouldn't have done it to-day if that old man hadn't
spoken about a white young genil'.ian who look
like he comes from the country. Who can that be?"
"But I didn't :ven speak to him! How often am
I to tell you that?"
"So you say, an' the old man say the same, so
I must believe you. But even if you didn't speak
it may be Gus Steinway all the same. He may have
heard you were in Kingston and come up here hoping
to see you. I am not a fool, you know, Vi, and what
I am saying is all for your good. If I hear anything
more about IG:; I will have to tell your father every-
thing and s-nd you home to him. I am not going
to let him say that, through me, disgrace is brought
upon you and him. If you meet this man again, you
know what to look for."
"I am sick and tired of all this threatening,"
Vivian rasped out; "perfuil.tly sick of it!" She felt
that her temper was getting the better of her, paused.
and took a good grip on herself.
"I can't say more than I have said. If you don't
choose to believe me, I can't help it."
"I want to believe you," said her aunt a little
sadly. "But you haven't always told me what is true
for the last three months, Vi. However, I hope it
is all right. You finishing that bodice to-day?"
"Yes, I am wearing it to-night."
"Going out?"
"I am going to the Palace Picture Show."
"I haven't bin since I come to Kingston this
time. I will go with you."
Resentment flashed from Vivian's eyes; this look-
ed dangerously like keeping a watch on her. She was
sure that her aunt would not have suggested thei.-
going out lt-gether that evening but for what Mr.
Proudleigh had blunderingly revealed. But she
raised no objection.
"Very lndrr." she answered. "We must try and
get there by half-past seven."
Her ready reply was reassuring. Mrs. Primrose
felt satisfied that Vivian had only intended to gr.
to the pictures that night,


V IVIAN finished her sewing, and for some time
busied herself with some trifling household
work. She had succeeded in banishing all traces of
anger from her face. in eliminating all indications of
it from her voice. She would much have preferred
to have spoken her mind openly, to have asserted her
((Contiiued on Page 19).





PLANTERS' PUNCH has pleasure ltis ye-ar in
printing the portraits of "Some Chlildr-n ft
Margaret Nathan comes intl te lie- (t.-yry ,-f rillh
Children of Jamaica in this way3 AltliI oh hil i.n
like her father and mother, in Euplanl. antl th.ui;
(unlike them) not having
yet seen this island, Margaret
is connected with Jamaica
on the paternal side. Her
grandfather comes of an
old Jamaica family and es-
tablished one of the biggest
businesses here, a business at
the head of which is his son,
Margaret's father. The late
Mr. A. M. Nathan was an
outstanding figure in the
West Indian business world;
he was a man of keen and
robust intellect, strong char-
acter, and striking appear-
ance. Even when he settled
in England, where he had
married, he came often to
Jamaica; in Jamaica he had
been born, in Jamaica he
died, during the great earth-
quake of 1907, and now
his son comes annually to
this island and sometimes
Mrs. Nathan with him.
Which means that Margaret
will make her advent here
sonim day-the surest thing
in the world. She will want to see grandpa's birth-
place, and in the winter months when she is grown
up, she may come to enjoy the warmth and sunshine
and festivities of this country. But that is some time
hence; meanwhile she stands, a chubby little figure,
as representative of quite a large number of people
in England and Scotland whose ancestors were con-
nected 1. itll Jamaica and ho, maliutain in some sort
that connection.

THE other children whose pictures adorn this
page were not only born here but have grown
up here, and their parents are also of the country.
In their hill home just outside of Montego Bay the
Kerr-Jarrett children live, a lively, lovable criup of
kiddies, from Christine the tiniest, to Jiy3,.e, whi sits
in our picture as though she were well aware that
age, or being the oldest present, brings vast i-,pt.ii
sibilities. Yet there is something about her eyes
that warns you that in another minute or so she
will be up and jumping and playing with her broth-
ers and sisters with the heartiest abandon, which' is
just what she ought to do.

A3 for Miss Haughton-James, otherwise known as
Elizabeth, she sits with a sweet little face hold-
ing her big teddy bear, and she is for all the
world like a lovely little doll. But do not under-
rate the courage of Miss Haughton-James. She is
absolutely [,nrli.-.. Her father owns a great AI-

daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Win. S Haughton-James, of

le children of, I.\N. ad .Jr\( 'l lrr-J, Iof K t, M o
the children of Mr. and Mrs. F. 3f. Herr-Jarrett, of Barnett, Montego Bay

infant daughter of Mr. and Mrs. A. A. Nathan, or Herts,

satian wolf-dog, and those who first see that
splendid animal standing with head erect and
form alert are apt to say "good doggie" from a
safe and respectful distance, with its owner or
some trusted person holding good doggie by a
chain. But Elizabeth from the first took to the
Alsatian and could see no reason why he should
not take to her also. She made his acquaint-
ance without hesitation and in most intimate
fashion, and doggie responded nobly. She can
do anything she likes with him. Sometimes
Elizabeth is in Savanna-la-Mar, sometimes in
Mandeville; the first-named place claims her.
She was born there.
Paul and Dorothy deMercado live in Low-
er St. Andrew, and Dorothy, who is the elder,
and as bright as a new pin, stands in protective
pose over Paul, who, however, looks as though
he thinks he is very well able to take care of
himself. And why not? Who shall venture to
decry his manly independence? He is very
fond of moving pictures, and so is Dorothy, and
they have one of those baby projecting
machines at home and so can enjoy their own
little shows on a miniature screen. But some-
times they are taken to the big shows in Kings-
ton, and then father has to explain to them ac-
curately just what the hero or villain is doing,
for they are very critical children and will in-
sist upon knowing what's what. Paul is a
great admirer of Tom Mix, but it is safe to say
that his contempt for heroes who cannot ride
wildly, but only make love, is too profound for
ALL these children, and hundreds of others,
will be sent to England later on to be edm -
cated. That is the Jamaica custom, to main-
tain it parents will make sacrifices, if sacrifices

are necessary; and by this sending of the children
to what is regarded by all Jamaicans as the Mother
Country a living link is perpetually renewed in the
chain that binds this colony to England. In the
older days, when travelling was by no means easy,
when yearly holidays in the United Kingdom for
parents or annual visits of the children to Jamaica
were out of the question, the little ones were still
sent away, and often a very long interval elapsed be-
fort- thl parents. saw their children again.
UT time- lIaie hianLtdl and to-day there are excdl-
lent hbol' II, thli colony for girls as well as
boys and the mnai-'rity of the Jamaica children of the
educated classes attend these. There is now no par-
ticular difference between the speech of those who
have been to school in England and the speech of
those of the same class who have been to school in
Jamaica. There is a Jamaica accent, slight though
it may be;' and few escape it who have lived some
years of childhood in Jamaica. And, like the Jamaica
accent, there is a Jamaica attitude towards life, and
though this changes with changing circumstances,
it affects the children of Jamaica whether they are
brought up in England or in the colony itself. There
is a Jamaica ethos, and it influences everyone. But
this ethos, this character, is in gradual process of
modification; and just as the children of Jamaica
differ from their forerunners of a hundred or even
of fifty years ago, so will the children of twenty-five
of fifty years hence differ from those of to-day.

the son and daughterof Mr. and Mrs. Lionel deMereador
of Kingston



T HE talk of ihe half-dozen m.ni n ilhe veranda
of th.i Sin:_-apor,- Clulb-a ,- nple of mer-
chants. a planter in niwu on business, an
officer of an Indian regiment. a elobe-trot-
ting professor from an Anmerian university. and a
sea-captain-had drifted desultorily from the specific
instance of the famous Indian rope-trii k. resuscitat-
ed by a British magazine that lay upon the club
tables and contested sc.iptically by the Anglo-Indian
officer, to the general topi. of the alleged ability of
the Asiatic to make people ".see what isn't there."
The American professor. whose speciality. as he con-
fessed. was psyr'hblogy. manifested a pertinacious in-
terest in the subject. Blt his direct questions to
these habitual dwellers in the Middle and Far East
elicited only contenlmptuiious neeativcs or vague second
and third hand -tories without evidential value. Mer-
Schants. planter, and ofiluer alike had quite o(iviou-sly
none of them seen any tric-ks uipnn which the profes-
sor could -aft.ly ba;i his rather ra-hly enunciated
theory of special hypnotni powers p-osessed by the
Inscrutable races whlii~e s-urfaci energii-e are so pro-
fitably explo-t,-d hb the white man He turned at
last to the i.,a-captain. uhls had sat puffing at his
cheroot in sili -ne.
"And you. Captain Williamni-on You have voy-
aged about the,.e -'-as for the be-t parn of a genera-
tion-hate .ou ievi.- r been .-:t'fronttl by one of these
inexplicable phenomena of which the traveller.- tell
Captain William-on changed the dulk-i.lad leg
which ro-.t-d the other and smiled a little with his
grey eyeb Caressing the iiat pointed beard which
accentuated thie oval of hi- intelligent face, he re-
plied. thoughtfully:
*"Well. pro)f.-qor-I have. Once Personally,
though I saw thi- atfair nitli myi own e-es, I don't
even now know what to make -"f it Perhaps your
hypnotic theory might explain it." He shrugged his
"Will you not tell us the story?" entreated the
profeassr. "It is so rare to riecive trustworthy first-
hand evidence of anything abnormal."
Captain Williamsuin balanced rather diffidently
around upon his enioUipaniion
"Fire away. ap'en!" exclainmedl one nf the mer-
chants, slapping him amicahl.y on the knee. "You've
always got a pood \aru."
"This happen-, to he a tre one." said the cap-
tain. with a smile of tolerance. "lbut. of course, you
are under ni colnpullsion to believe it."
"Drinks all ri.und .on thi- in- n hii,- doesn't de-
creed the planter "'Co ,ahei-adi D,:n't ask us to be-
lieve rubber il going to bu.tii aeaiu. that's all. Short
of that. we'll ,--lieve anything."
"Well.' b:-gu Caprain William-on. his eyes fol-
lowing relectively the lullg. d-libe-rate puff of smoke
he blew into till air. "perhaps ,-mt-- of y'ou ilay re-
member Captain Stroug--'lucky Jim Stlone'' Twen-
ty-five e.als fir ,i- ago hb- nas onr. f l th best-known
skippers in the Pa< iti. lebratl-d alrn o.-- Men talk-
ed of him with a ct-rraitl a si. a of a man who had
a good fortune that wa, niithlinz silhort o uncanny.
He had hern eneaptel in all .,rt-' of le-perate enter-
prises. frequently illicit. and ai\ays he emerged un-
harmed and gorgi(-d w ith prfit.-s Only all the San
Francisco banks put toethlier. for he dealt with all
of them. (nulal tell yii, what he was worth, but it
was certainly a very largIe sum. H .tever wealthy he
was. he apparently derived very little enjoyment from
his money. He was always at sea in his ship, the
Mary GireFia. of which he was both owner and skip-
per, and stayed in port only just lone enough to dis-
charge one cargo and pick up another. His personal
habits were almost unknown but of course a legend
of eccentricity prew up around th.m as a companion
to the legend of his supernatural liik.
"It happened, as the finale to sundry personal ad-
ventures with which I ill nrot weary you. that about
a quarter of a century ago I found mniself sailing
out of the port of San Frantisco as first officer to
the Mary ,Gleeafni I was quite a young man. and it
was my first job as mate. We were hound to Saicun.
in Cochin China. with a carati of Ameri ammunition consigned to the French Governm.ent.
"At last we inart- the tall promontory of (ape
St. Jacques. and took on board the half-l.aste pilot
who was to( navigate us tihe sixty mile-~, 1 tipIt river
to Saiuon. It was early morning -v.ihn we crossed
the bar. and relieved from the direti r ir-potnibilitie-
of navigation. Captain Strong and I sat all day in
deck chairs under ihe a'.ninig Of the bridge. The
damp. lose hcat was suffocating. and neither of us
had much desire to talk. but I fancied that a more
than usually heavy moodiness lay over [he skipper.
He was certainly not quite normal He frownei toi
himself. bit his lip. and his eyes roved in an uneasy
sort of recognition from side to side of the ,tlream
as we rounded rea-.h after interminable reaili. I felt
that some secret anxiety possessed hi;. but of ioursei
I could not ask him straight out what it was. Rather
diffidently, I did venture on one quiestiun.
"'Ever been here before, sir?' I a-k:-d.

cr IA GI

"He shot a suspicious look at me. directly into
my eyes, before he answered.
"The tone cof that reply effectually checked any
further exhibition of the iuriunity it heightened.
"The worst hear of the day was over when we
dropped anchor in the broad stream opposite the
European-looking city of Saigon. To my pleasure.
Captain Strong invited me to go ahonre with him.
and in a few minutes the gig was pulling us towards
the rows of fine-lohking governmentt buildings which
stretch back from the iluay-s.
"We went to the Government Houe and filled
up a few dozens of those useless papers without
which the French functionary dare do nothing, and
received vague assurances that in a few days we

Children of Jamaica

daughter of Sir ]t. E. Stubbs, Governor of Jamaica, and
Lady Stubbs, C.B.E.
IRST of all, what has iiiti,- Barbara Stubbs to do
with the children of Jamaica, since she only
came to Jamaica with her father and mother in
April of 1926?
Well, Miss Barbara lives with her parents, the
Governor and his wife, in Jamaica; she will spend,
with periuiliial holidays abroad, some time in this
country; when sihI l-at it for school somewhere in
England she will iarry away memories of it that
will not fade, for by then she will be big enough to
have received lasting impressions of the land she has
lived in and its people she has met. Children, in-
deed, are far m:nore receptive than sometimes they
are given credit for being, and it is what they see
and hear in early childhood that they frequently
remember vividly in the years to come. So Miss
Barbara Stubbs will not forget Jamaica, and mean-
time she is of the country, for her father is head of
the country, King's representative and people's rep-
resentative in one. And doubtless Barbara has some-
thing of his brain: if so, she is learning and absorb-
ing more than you might think. Anyhow, no one
can now deny, after her claims have thus been set
forth, that she may be called one of the children of

should be allowed to unload the arms of which the
French troops were in urgent need. Our business
completed asfar as possible, rCaptain Strong hesitat-
ed for a moment cr two. bitine hi. lip in that odd.
way I had noticed (omine up the river. Irresolution
of any kind was a most uncommon phenomenon in
him. Then suddenly; evidently giving way to a pow-
erful impul-e. I heird him murnjur to himself. 'Give
'ema ia hante. an? wa.y'
"Tlihrwing a rurt (Cuniii along!' to me, he set
off at a trn.merndou.j pace throunli the streets with
the assurance iof a man who can find his way about
any town where he iihas lien once previously. I fol-
lowed him. puzzled by the words I had overheard.
wondering whither he naa going, and noting the
:native population with curious-eyes. The Annamite

n!:n are a -tilntol. degenerate race, in abject terror
,i their llite masters. but the women are, many of
them. -sulpri-ingly attra-riv,. I had plenty of oppor-
tunity for t(impari-mn. for very soon we found our-
selves among a svarm of both sexes at die station of
the st-ani-tram which runs to Cho-lon. the Chinese
town a few miles up the river.
"During the ride on tihe tram Captain Strong
did not open hi-< lip-. He stared steadily in front of
him in a curious kind of way, like, a man inexor-
ably pursuing some allotted line of action.
"Arrived at Cho-lon, he struck quickly through
the squalid streets of the Chinese town, looking
neither to right nor left, and saying not a word. We
had pa,ied right thirniigh the town before he gave me
a hint of our objective. Then he made a gesture up-
wards, as-if to reassure me that we were near our
journey's end.
"-Beyond the last houses, on an eminence backed
by the primeval jungle, a Buddhist temple of pagoda
fashion rose above us, the terminus of the rough
track up which we were stumbling. As we drew
near I saw that it was dilapidated, its courtyard over-
grown, deserted eviJdently by both priests and wor-
"Wa-, thi- what Captain Strong had come to see?
Siumewhat puzzled, I glanced at his face under the
pith helmet His lips were compressed, his eyes
stern as though defying some secret danger. At the
entrance gateway, festooned and almost smothered
in paralitic v,-ge-tation, he stopped and stared into
the desolate courtyard. Then, after a moment of the
curious hesitation which I had already remarked
that day, he entered.
"A deathlike stillness brooded over the place.
The great doorless portal of the temple, flanked by
hiese and staring figures, confronted us, opening on
to a black, unillumined interior like the entrance to
a tomb. Weeds grew between the flags of the thres-
hold. An atmosphere of indefinable evil, as though
the very stones held the iimeniniry of some awful cal-
amity, pervaded the sil-nct-. I shuddered in a sud-
den sense of the sinister in this abandonment, and
glanced involuntarily at my companion as if from
his face I might divine the cause. It was impossible
to guess his thoughts. His jaw was locked hard, his
face expressionless.
"Then I perceived that we were not alone. Slink-
ing round the outer wall came a wretched-looking
native. His long robe was torn and dirty. His yel-
low face, lit by two slanting beady eyes, was emaciat-
ed and sunken, Hii, haven crown was wrinkled tco
the top. The limbs which protruded from his gown
were as thin as sticks. In his hand he held a beg-
gar's bowl. Remarking us, he stopped dead. watch-
ing us with his horribly bright. fever-like eyes. In-
stinutivcly. I don't know why, I put him down as
the last of the priests, still haunting this once pros-
perous and now deserted temple.
"Captain Strong took no notice of him and ad-
vain e- towards the portal. Somewhat apprehensive-
ly, I followed him and peered in, but the darkness,
by comparison with the intense light outside, was so
complete that I could see nothing. My curiosity get-
ting the better of my nervousness, I stepped inside,
though, I confess, rather gingerly. After a minute
or two, my eyes accustoming themselves to the
gloom, I could see the great bronze figure of the
Buddha towering above me, facing the door. Its
placid face,-uplifted far above the passions of men,
looked as thoniug it were patiently awaiting the day
when this abandonment should cease and its wor-
shippers return to adoration of its serenity. No
precious stone now reflected iib- lieht from the door,
and the huge candlesticks 'in iither side of it were
empty, the days of their sinrillatine illumination
long past.
"C-aptain Strong, I noticed, remained on the
threshold, silhouetted black against the sunshine;
but, embloldend by my impunity, I took another step.
or tv.u 'jfrward. I recoiled quickly. So'nethingu stirred
in the lap of the Buddha and a snake erected its head
in a sudden movement. Its eyes gleamedi at me from
the shadow like two green precious stones.
"I s ung round to shout a warning to Captain,
Strong. If there was one there were probably others.
of these deadly ctainilian of the divine image. There
were. To my horror, I saw another snake uncoil
itself from a i:lc(-vi.e in the doorway, on a level with
his neck, and draw. its head back in the poise for
the fatal dart. I don't know whether he Il,-ard my
inarticulate cry. Hi- per;:eption: of the danger was
simultaneous w ithI mine. But he made no Iblundering
niorniment of confu,-ion Swift as lightning hii hand
shot out and raped the snake tinily -.lohI e under
the head. wh.re- its fangs <,uld not touch him. Then
with a iuii:k jerk he flung it into the courtyard. The
snake writhredl away in a flash.
"Such a di-play of cool, swift r-iurage I have
never seen before or since. I ran out to hinm where
he stood in lie courtyard gazing after the vanished
snake, and excitedly expressed my admiration. He
turned round on me with a grim smile and shrugged
(Continued oir Payg' 17).









A N American, mentioning the induce-
ments to travel which had entered in-
to his experience, set down as among the
,chief of them the sunsets of Montego Bay:
those had lingered in his memory and would
draw him once again to cross the ocean and
to visit this land of palm and sunshine and
purlin e brooks.
And .:,f a truth the pageantry of the
skies is to be seen in all its splendour when
the sun is sinking into the great sheet of
green and azure water which fronts the
town of Montego Bay, the town that sits
upon the sloping ground at the water's
edge, bathed in the light which suffuses the
atmosphere, a mellow, golden light that lin-
gers a little while until the darkness comes
with a rush and the stars of heaven shine
It is a sight, once seen, that never can
be forgotten. To the west the horizon flames
into scarlet, with wide bands of orange
flung across it, and the rim of the sea is
deepest purple and the clouds above are
tinged with pearl and pink. It looks as
though a mighty conflagration raged out
yonder, as though a far and unseen forest
were being given to the fire; then the col-
ours deepen, blend, spears of light are flung
up towards the zenith; suddenly, almost tak-
ing the spectator unawares, there comes a
change. The colours are fading, the lumin-
ous water grows pale, the heart of the sun
plunges swiftly down below the line where
sky meets cloud; and it is night. Even-
ing after evening this pageantry is display-
ed, this miracle of sky and water and pal-
pitating sun. Evening after evening Apollo
drives homewards his fiery steeds, and his
path is a path of glory and his way the
way of light. No wonder those who have wit-
nessed from some vantage point in Montego
Bay this diurnal carnival of light and colour
long for it again when they have left it far
bhliind rhem. No wonder that they think
and iit.- about it as of one of the priceless
po.-r.-e-.-io_ of their minds.
TH E E is a peculiar attraction about Mon-
tego Bay. This may be due to the cir-
cumstance that while it is a progressive
place it is also one of the oldest towns in the
island; it has gone forward but still retains
its hold upon the past. Port Antonio is
modern. Spanish Town is ancient. Savanna-
la-Mar and Black River are essentially ports
of parishes; they have not grown consider-
ably, neither can ever hope to be classed as
the second town of Jamaica; they have no
prospect of developing into cities. But Mon-
tego Bay will grow into a city and confid-
ently expects to do so. Yet its people still
have much of the past about them; they are
still a people with rural affinities, they have
not become completely urbanised. When in
Montego Bay, one feels that one is among
country folk who have some or all of the vir-
tues of such folk. And, without knowing it,
visitors to Montego Bay, whether from Eng-
land, Canada, America, or even Kingston,
are attracted by this character of the towns-
people as much as by the wonderful sea-
bathing of Montego Bay, the beautiful drives
in the vicinity, and the splendid sunsets.
Hospitality and friendliness mark the
attitude of the Montegonians; they treat the
tourist as a friend when they get to know
him, and they get to know him very easily.
The visitor to Montego Bay finds that
though he may be a stranger, with a tem-
porary residence at one of the three excel-
lent hotels with which the town is provided,
he (or she) will be welcomed at the tennis
club and will receive invitations to private
parties; will be made much of if he or she
is agreeable, and will realise once more that
it is pleasant human companionship that
makes a sojourn anywhere a delightful
event. "Everybody is so friendly, so nice,"
is an expression one hears often on the lips
of those who have visited Montego Bay. And
so people travel from England and the
States again and again to stay some time in
Montego Bay. They do not feel like strang-
ers after their original visit; they feel "at
home" in this little town of the tropics. It
could hardly be the same in a big city. It
might not be the same even in a town of
nine or ten thousand people in any other
part of the world except Jamaica.
THE reason is that Montego Bay retains
the feeling of old days when it was
almost a religion that the stranger must be
made happy and a guest appreciated.



_, ,
-e .. .-
A-i.. '.-S.I .(..

I1 I ti.\h:, II)10.< u\\' "IHE l I:N RE I0o TIlE 1OilN'- I- u3o IERKCIAL ALIllIlll:S

-:~~~ '~1 :r~..



i_ I


"There wa- a time when there were no hotels in
.Jamaica outside of Kingston, and even in Kingston
no one greatly desired to live in a hotel. If you
travelled through the country you must stay with
some proprietor or nther; you must throw yourself
upon his hospitality He, on the other hand, looked
upon himself a- ctblic d to render you any service he
reasonably could: and to do this
was more than a uilty. It was a
pleasure. youv hroutilit him news .i' -
from elsewhere. you caie to vary ...
the nlonot..ny of hi- existence, :
you were a -riniulant in his life. :'i
This feeling Clre' with the pass-
age of tit- year'. and hlien times
and condition-, .hanc-d when hot-
els had to .,i- imilt it..r vis itors and
stranger; rhi f-eline itself per-
'isted. So th.l- vi. tr, is still a
guest, li still ha. Iiini upon the
cinsidi'ra i.-.n anid -. rvi-es of the
people. H, ;till 4- <.:r\ed, out of
.beer oll?,l., Ill ani ntin merely on
S'ci.uott ..f hi inin .- He is not
a ni-i u njiijl'-. ii- i- a person.
Un'lek I .- ih.:.oi-i hoe i-ed not re-
main a -rltaneg.r ie- ti.y become
d fI I-L. *,
It is s\nli..l, l ,.i i the Mon-
epgo tBay atnitI-Iliere-. tie meeting
of thfe -ildl \itl the nI-w, that al-
S rmo-t within th. to..i r itself there
is a ugtr *-St:i Fi.-.m nearly
any part t-f I i. tow'll y'i. may see
ius tall i hiiniy- an.i watch the
S nokli hilliwin: frtom its summit. Sugar is one
of trihe i-le-t rhine-; produced in Jamaica, and
originallv :\innt-c., LDa was a sugar port. It is
much ni:ir': t-iiiyl. .-t it remains a sugar port;
1 .' -.il ) \ltenl it i yet a sugar town, though
the -*..u.mnimi. Irilretz-- of the parish of which it is
the Itiline-, ienire .ire now more
varied than r-v\r '(bhey \-re before.
So thl- old latnio-lil,.re lingers in
the town. an all i l phlere that
ijntIS It) I i,'- iniill ai nostalgia of
far anua an- l i a-:.," a nost-
algia tihar Iiniil c, \illi the emo-
tion- of Inlli. ri it ll .-. which one
i L:.,-n. iouu' vi\.ii ,on: sees the
irot'l Ilt up 1it ilidL with elec-
triiy c.or iea.iru- ti- pi-ople talk
anl'ull th i:..--i i-.11' ri i iof a deep-
antl r pr.- I' \i li I i- 1.. accomnmo-
(late -hip-, lii.tr i 'in from the
greater .il.- tit: v.'rld.
BUT it it rin.t -if Lt, :imosphere
tlhit mi.:tir p- ,,I,. -peak when
the) ar.- talkii-'l- bi. i i Montego
Ba.j: bhat i a1 thiuit they feel
ii. n iut pii tlin tlhe-ir feeling into
wordn \\Iha. thi, y r.ai i about and
raive .11ir u h iLh. -ria athing of
M,-ntie ,- Pi)d A-' :I:ui approach
thl t[on 1,.\ tie I-,.t, from the
ear-.. thl- Ii'di v li, h runs for
mile- L.-np a -n .aj-t ierriwned for
heaiuly '.t r aitt t .!.n-! l is caught
lb) a sli. -.r -il\. -,iid washed
it. T'-illu.nl iv.a. .:.f blue. This sand is firm, fine,
andl thei.- e..,-nt .i i at nace proclaims its attractions
a lurhilnl Iali-ri IBut it is the water far more
than the -ardi \..ii.h l -as made Montego .Bay famous
aIs a Ihlihlll ,. r-(-rt. What is it that has given to
this iar, r ii,. pi,:.-iii-ir quality of exhilaration? Why
il-es i -.iiiitl'a r-ti'e--n, sending
ihlrog0.h oini. z" 1- I -l trill of joy-
c.I nIt ', lih II i- a t.:,nic to the
-plrit: WVl" -', J.ul, i.li,. sea here
Lo-:-s.-i- Lthi i, .... 4 ,i ritual re-
juvenittr in I- rii i.-ral as well
as ph.\-i( l t(. it Il-. to a com-
hiiinatlil if i- L-antiii.: -:,nd, golden
unhlli- lit. .at i i-. alt lear, and
a hidolay a iLi'" !- it something
in tLe air .,- .. 1i i- in the sea?
1'.hate r hii. ..i, i .ii, .ion, the
\ia>t ite--lf i. itN -i-O tr] ble that
1110it. L'.13iy i- tit i-li.tnd's great-
,,ir liai.hilii i -..it .'ii1 is probab-
1:.' destin l I,-i I :. .- rit. :,-ne of the
voril's i-, liiai *l ..1 I. i:ig resorts.
Thi- D.i tr.i'-, '. I'.. :- the beach '- -.
ii callel-- tlh I- 1 .11 ii ili the cave .1' -
lir,- thl i-hi l..i- lni-rer- is al- '.
l-al'. '.ii lit ll t .it .ini it -.rher coun- -
irie-s. tbii- ha. li ir..,..mmended
iiy ien liI-e : Sir li-rli-rt Barker
and otLhir ap..itr- ,[' -un-cure as
an ideal fpit ti:0 absorbing
throuIgh L1I,- 'kin' pres the
healing ra.iy- cif -unlight. In-
valid- and r.lFi-i i.-w travel
thousand- of nilde- to. bask upon it and to bathe in
the adjacent vatler--. rit the most of those who
frequent the Dor-tor':. C'ave are not invalids but peo-
ple in search of pli.acartl. and pleasure in abundance
they find there. The air is filled with the sound of
laughter anid wnil happy shouts in the mornings and
atternoons of a J3amaia winter's day as the bathers

swim and dive and disport themselves; and even all
day long there are those who seek the water, finding
in it an attraction irresistible.
There is a Bath Club in Montego Bay, and the
energetic members of it have built bath houses and
diving stands at Doctor's Cave. On holidays aquatic
sports are sometimes given there, and then the


town's society assembles in garments of variegated
colours intent upon enjoyment, and at night there
will be dancing in the hotels, and to these sports
and dances will go people from all parts of the is-
land, for no one wishes to miss them. Montego Bay's
festivities do not appeal only to the people of the

parish of St. James and to the tourists who may at
the moment be staying in the town. They have a
wider appeal than that. Folk will travel from King-
ston and St. Andrew, a hundred and twenty miles
away, to dance the night out in Montego Bay and to
swim in its unrivalled waters. No wonder Montego

Bay believes that its most valuable possession is that
stretch of sand and miles of shelving sea protected
by a great barrier or submerged reef over which the
breakers foam continually.

THE town itself is built at the foot of the hills
surrounding it, with wharves along its water

front, business premises around and near the square,
houses of one or two storeys in the streets that lead
in various directions from the square, and with the
residences of the wealthier people on the surrounding
heights. The Spanish system of laying out a town
has influenced at least two of the urban centres of
Jamaica. Always the Spaniards laid out a square,
and about it they constructed
their principal buildings, usually
a cathedral, the Governor's palace.
the chief Government offices,
while room might be left for im-
portant business establishments;
and when Montego Bay began to
rise the Spanish idea of the
square with streets radiating from
it, and the buildings surrounding
it, prevailed among the English
P to but a few months ago
Montego Bay was plunged in
darkness after the flaming colours
had faded out of the sky and the
day was done. From the windows
of houses came a dull gleam from
the kerosene lamps that shed an
unsatisfactory illumination with-
in. The streets were dark, the
square slumbered in deep shadow,
only the moving-picture house
blazed out with lights. To-day it
is different. A franchise granted
to the Henriques Brothers of
Kingston has resulted in the con-
struction of a power house in
Montego Bay; electricity is generated in that
power house, and now the town's inhabitants boast
that its streets are better lighted than Kingston's,
which still depend on gas. The square at night,
with its beds of flowering shrubs and its fountain,
stands out in a blaze of brightness; at fairly close
intervals in its thoroughfares rise
electric lamps which have abolish-
ed the melancholy depression that
the promenader felt when he at-
tempted to walk about the streets
of Montego Bay in former times.
M ONTEGO BAY is still a coun-
try town, as said above,
.-'- '.- hence some of the picturesque as-
pects of its outdoor life. You
stand in the square of a Saturday
j morning and watch the country
people as they swarm in, some on
their way to the big market to
dispose of the produce they have
brought, others thronging to thb
well-stocked shops to buy sup-
plies for the week. They come
N with their donkeys, they carry
heavy loads upon their heads,
they squat upon the sidewalks
vending merchandise, they gather
round the garden in the square
discussing matters of interest to
them and filling the air with chat-
tering sound. Motor cars spin
past. The magnates of the town,
the magnates of the surrounding
country, drive by; they are known to everyone by
sight and name; they salute and are saluted; they
belong to the town and have in it a personal interest
that is almost possessional. Through the streets creak
wains drawn by many yoke of oxen, ponderous, slow,
the drivers waving long whips and shouting to their
cattle strange words in a stentori-
an voice. Men saunter along, go-
ing hither and yon on business;
but no one has very far to go, for
in such a compact community the
distances are slight.
UT yonder, on somewhat high-
er ground, stands the princi-
pal church of this town, the Aggli-
can Church, St. James, which was
finished in 1782. One escapes into
it for a while, from the glare out-
side and the clamour of voices,
and one finds in its cool interior
a grateful crepuscule and a silence
broken only by the stirring of
wind-moved, surrounding trees.
Here, for nearly a hundred and
fifty years, have generations of
the townspeople worshipped. And
in the graveyard outside, and be-
,low the pavement of the building
itself, lie the bones of men and
women whose lives and deeds
formed part of Montego Bay's
story. The epitaphs on monument
and gravestone attest to their vir-
tues, many of their names are
now forgotten; few of them would recognize to-day
the town of Montego Bay as the place they once
knew. For there has been change, and there will be
still more change as time goes on. With it all,
one hopes that the town will never lose the charm, so
impossible to describe, so perceptible, which has
gained for it so many lovers and friends.





T HE writer remembers well his first visit to Bern-
ard Lodge. It wa growing dark when he got
to the property, and stanline about it singly or in
groups, or lying heavily on the ground, were numer-
ous cattle, all engaged in chewing the cud and graz-
ing in front of them with that ruminative air which
cattle have. The house itself was then a private resi-
dence, a two-storey structure built long ago and in-
habited by a succession of penkeepers and planters
who had lived and died and been forgotten; huge
fruit trees studded the ground not far from the
house, and over the whole there was an atmosphere
of peacefulness, not untouched by decay; one felt
that here one could sleep for ages, "the world [fuget-
ting, by the world forgot."
A little later a half moon swung in the sky, sil-
vering the scene below. You felt that you were miles
away from any other human habitation, that this
was a bit of old Jamaica where progress was un-
known, where no one hustled, where one was content
if there was enough to .at. with a roof to keep out
the rain and to shield you from the inclement winds.
The soil here might be rich, its potentialities valu-
able, but who gave much thought to that? Penkeep-
ing was easy, it provided a living if not affluence, it
reduced all labour troubles to a minimum. And
these were the tropics, the land of let well alone, the
country of the line of least resistance, the refuge
of those who would rather drift with the stream than
struggle against it. Some such thoughts came into
the writer's mind though he was then but a lad, and
during the days he spent
at Bernard Lodge he
thought only of rest, and
rest and still more rest,
for that was the note of
the surroundings. Nothing
changed there much, one
day followed another, each
like to each, and it appear-
ed that as it was, so had
it always been, ana so
would always be. Yet
some years afterwards a
transformation occurred.
And to-day there is noth-
ing at Bernard Lodge to
remind you of what it
looked like five-and-twenty
or even fifteen years ago.
SWAND has been pas-
sed over it, the wand
of capital, industry and
energy. It had begun to
change some time before;
bananas had taken the
place of cattle to some ex-
tent. But it was not until
Mr. Cecil Lindo came with
his brothers to Jamaica
that Bernard Lodge be-
came transformed into
what it is at present. The
mind of an entrepreneur
saw its possibilities; Mr.
Cecil Lindo entered into
an agreement with Mr.
Allan Keeling; the result
was the Bernard Lodge THE SUGAR
SInt ral Sugar Factory, the
first of its kind in Jamaica. For long had we all
talked about establishing central sugar factories in
Jamaica, asking the Government to establish them.
Mr. Lindo did not talk. Associated with Mr. Keel-
ing, and aided by his brothers, he acted. He accom-
plished what others speculated on as a possibility.
With him, in the beginning, was not the word but
the act. And to-day he has taken over the whole
business that was then begun and was afterwards
established, and to-day the Bernard Lodge Sugar
Central is one of the most modern and up-to-date-
usines of its size to be seen in any part of the
Caribbean tropics.
It has been under the general management of
Mr. Percy Lindo, who not only knows every inch
of the ground but is in constant touch with it by
telephone. At this writer's request. arratgement-n
were made in May of 1927 for a visit to this f'actry.
and the resident manager cordially reiei\ved lim
and Mr. Roy Nelson (who formiil itien of the party i.
one morning, and took the part thloueli the -orlk..
and the sugar anld banana-farms. Some.hours were
spent on this, hot but instructive and profitable hours.
And all the while one asked oneself: where is the
Bernard Lodge of former days? For not even the
house was there. And the only cattle one saw were
those drawing cane carts and loilinc in the fields.
Everywhere was the quiet but strenuous manifest-
atlons otf endeavour iliri-, red towards bulk production
on the nmost economical .>.ale. And where nianco and
other conparatively- uiele-. trees had once stood
were now tane farms and flourishing fields of banana.
But let us come to details.

THE name of Bernard Lodge is given to the whole
enterprise, but the land included is far greater
in extent than the Bernard Lodge Penn ever was.
The area of the Keeling-Lindo enterprise at the time
of the writer's visit was no less than 16,435 acres,
which meant that several properties had been thrown
into one. It is certainly the largest single undertak-
ing of its kind in Jamaica.
First of all, we went round and through the fac-
tory itself the sugar factory, and the first thing that
struck us was the apparatus for loading the mill. It
is shown in one of the illustrations accompanying
this article; it is at once a labour-saving device and
a means whereby the mill can be steadily, quickly
and continuously supplied with cane.
The huge cane-trucks are brought up to a sort
of receiver and emptied into it. One by one the
trucks come along, pause, are tipped over, deliver
their canes, and pass on. The huge receptacle into
which they are emptied is attached to a perpetually
moving machine, a sort of staircase or sloping eleva-
tor, and this moves upwards conveying the cane to
the great rollers that break and crush them, and from
these the cane passes to other rollers which squeeze
them dryer and dryer until the slender rounded stalks
which go in at one end' come out at the other as
pulverised trash. You watch this process fascinated.
There is a hum and thunder of nia..linery., there
flows a steady stream of juice from the mill into
gutters which carry it into the vats where it is
boiled down to syrup and into sugar; you follow the


process: you see not only the cane being ground but
the sugar pouring out at another part of the build-
ing and being packed into bags. The whole process
is continuous, for this is the modern way of manu-
facturing one of the world's great commodities. And
then perhaps you think of the Jamaica sugar fai.tory
of some twenty years ago: the tiny three-roller mill
which could not extract more than fifty per cent. of
juice from the cane, the open, '"tao.he'' in thich the
juice was boiled, the wasteful methods that then pre-
vailed-and rlie little army of workers that clustered
abIut the mill This newer niethlil. you may say,
saves labour; it is economi, al: it is vitally neces-
sary; but w hat about the labourers whose labour has
been dispensed with? What about the workers who
might have been employed in a smaller if ancient
concern? The answer to this is that Bernard Lodge,
in spite of all its labour-saving machinery and means
of transportation, employs in all some 3,500 workers.
It would have taken many sugar estates of the older
type to provide employment for that number.
LABOUR-SAVING machinery such as that which
we see at Bernard Lodge does not mean that
few n-mn are required: it means that more sugar can
hie iadile in a s'pei.ifi time, that more land can
bh planted out in cane, and that, therefore, more
human labour must be utilised. And waaePe go up
in conseilueunve. At Bernard Lodg---bearing in mind
that this name covers, propertie- attached to the
original penn or plantation-there are at present
S3,5q.i) acres under cane cultivation. But the de-
velopment will not cease; there is yet much more
to come. The ground was broken for cane cultiva-

tion on a large scale in 1917; the first sugar crop<
was taken off in January, 1919; nearly ten thousand.
tons of sugar are now produced but the total capacity-
of the factory is twenty thousand tons, and that is-.
the ultimate production aimed at by MIr. Cecil Lindo.
The factory can be enlarged; if water is available, the-
cane area of the property will be increased. Water is-
the great desideratum, and much thought is being
given to supplementing the supply at Bernard Lodge.
From the St. Catherine Irrigation Works Bern-
ard Lodge is supplied with water; there is also a
good rainfall in St. Catherine, but as the weather
is capricious this cannot always be depended upon.
The Keeling-Lindo enterprise, therefore, for long ad--
vocated the pumping of an additional supply of water
from the Ferry River, a never-failing source which.
runs through the plain in which Bernard Lodge is.
situated. This scheme is now under the Govern--
ment's consideration; it is certain to be carried
through, and when it is more of the Bernard Lodge
lands can be put in cane and banana cultivation..
Meanwhile Bernard Lodge has resorted to pumping.
There is water running under the surface of St. Cath-
erine, and up to now eight wells have been sunk in
the properties and water from these is pumped up
with electricity and spread over the adjoining fields-
by means of small irrigation channels. The power for
the pumping is supplied by the Jamaica Public Ser-
vice Company, which chiefly operates in Kingston
and Lower St. Andrew, but aims at supplying, if pos-
sible, industrial undertakings elsewhere with elec-
tric power for industrial
ff: '- .' purposes. Mr. Roy Nelson,
the company's chief elec-
S. trical engineer, explained-
the method of work to the-
writer; but indeed that is.
simple and was seen to be
effective at a glance. The
power is turned on, the
pump begins to work, the
little pumping house is.
closed, and if anything
goes wrong and the pump-
ing ceases, an alarm is au-
tomatically sound d,
which brings someone to
the spot to see what is the
trouble. No human lab-
our is involved. You see
the pump at work, you see
the water pouring from a.
gutter into the irrigation
channel and being thus
conveyed to smaller chan-
nels, to be turned on to
S e a.. patches of cane or bananas
as may be required, and
you know that by this
means land which might
otherwise have to remain
idle is rendered fertile and
fruitful. An additional
couple of pumps are pro-
jected, making ten in all;
if more underground water
is found which can econ-
omically be brought to the
o20,oo TONS surface, it will be util-
ised. Thus by different
means Bernard Lodge will be provided with a great-
er supply of water in the future. Year by year its
production will increase.
I-IE factory depends mainly, almost entirely, upon
its own cane, but it also purchases ane grown in
thb neighbourhblood b3 small farmers. All that these
ean offer is bought, special weighing machines have
becn erected at a ,co,nvenient centre and the independ-
ent growers send their cane to these mai hintes, where
it is i.arefull-y weighed, and receive their payment
and are content with this arrangement. They take
no risk. They can utilise land that may be better
suited to cane than to fruit; by growing cane also,
as well as bananas, thesegsmaller men put in a sort of
insurance against storms, for m hlle the banana
wull go ldon before a fairly violent gust of wind, the
t-an% will -ufter little or no damage. Thul. besides
creating a ilemande for labour, the Bernard Lodge en-
terpr,,, encourages prod: tion, and a diversity of
prrodlu(tin,. among peasant proprietors and mhd .-rtt
farmers in its section of St. (atherine. It ha% help:ld
to bring about an agricultural rtrivaloi not onrined
to itself alone.
As an instance of the effort made towards prod-
ucing -ugair on the most economical basis possible,
it may be mentioned that the factory plans toe use
coal instead of the dessicated cane trash that rema ino
after the juice has been pressed out of the cane. This
powdered and dried trash is known as megass or
bagasse, and is usually utilised as fuel for the mill',
engine and boilers. But it is not sufficient as a rule,
so wood has to be burnt along with it, and the prob-
lem of finding sufficient fuel is sometimes a serious



P L. A T E R S'

-one with a Jamaita i.ica'r estate. The Bernard Liodle
people. however. believe that it is cheaper to hurn
-coal in their mill. the refuse of' the (ane they proipos.:
to pack into haas and export in a millboard- anti
paper-making country The prii fItr thl- mnrgass is
more than the price of -oIal. there i. gre-atr profit in
.selling it than in employ ing it as fuiel. By (bis m- ans
money is saved And liv a ft-w -similar ittirnllllr- a
better Financial shoving is a:chih-evd- a greater decrer
of tommnercial s q _ut--ss.

A FTER an inpt-ttiun of the- factory on th.,l dva
the writer Vi.-itefl Berlnar'l L.ljm]i. \x- t.iok Omir
places on the open platft'rni if a rruL k anti w-it ft..
a long ride through the fiehll The -un iwas nonv
high up ahoyi. us anid llazinv witlii true W \ t Ini.isan
ferour: th.: plain str'erhit l ia \ay'. v ':iiant i ultivat.
ed. thriving: as far ts the e tre iould. real 1 Ui-: nani-
fold evidtue- oft a.:ti ii.y andi direlC inI eneri' y

Bernard Loilde- prolii I' hbananas as %t.ll as
.sugar T-here hae beten .'lari whe-il sLiar prli,
have' sunk ver.\ l-o\ and lfr'lit lius I)-.:i failr tiiile
profitable Banana;. hlii re-foric. a're a -aft'euarrd
agaiant luw cann prit:e-s an-d o tlIey are ilitilaat.tl at
Bernardi Lodee: hIb sid,'., u nl]iI thiii littii] oft' ..vt n a
modciatel-. *,iz-el Jamaica plaintatii..n ma, l),- ftuind
two qualilte -f soil. one o in i hi.li it i i mur.- pr:ht-t
able tI grin\ fruit than can.: ani t v.er-,.a \'.-
see thi on ir i''urr I-'ly tI U tihe B rnriarl L,,ilse
properties It i inot th cranII 'far ni rtlha ;II, liea.r
est to the factory. IW. ri sr ..nite upr.:.n and pal -
banana eiiltivationr 1anil .,e ar roll it hli.- lien
found Inloic advirantial(-t ,- ., ;I '.,.r l iajial -ta- il thi
situation bt-tau.i; ..f' the *:'il atndi O>" t ,.. ii' ty to.
abundant Natitr It i. lir'u: till- i-an- thair ti l- aLt.
must be hroi;iiht 'frniii tt lightly L-r..waL r dit-raln .
but the (o-t has lieen :..iea['ulli \ .iki il rt andt tih
result jiitiy t' he ilrr.ltnsairten .S4it0 t 1 r..ri in-
hananas .\t rirt n:nuti::. a-, ae lea\, tlie fulct-ory anl
this frul is niaiig tht very tin--t pr.illi.el ill

THE K--lintin Lndo rintlirpi I. lia- alv-.ua.- .iii at
quality as wk ll a- at I)Ilk .'r, ill ILt.:'. l,-, aItrn
lion in quality it hai -. ..it n, 1 n lim ch .-rt f i>
than nU itilid i.thl rn I .- liatI It-.t i. i s-il.-I It ril'l r, I
land ig l -, ],i -tt-r '.nr i!' 1ltar. tin h ir .i'-" IIT 110 .l1
the -uppl. i.'i, Ii,-ri t, t h. ii- fri' t rees It i. tfr.-i iI
and (ontini.iutl-'. nu l a ld I 1' il an i u.h l il'.r. -a-i!l.
kept free frim i ee-l-t. S.,, v- till I.. 2. -hi a.. ..
devoted i.i thi- irai lia aItr B..-itIar L..i'-.e. andil
know that lr i area -i, -li- a vir. i ltr-- pr..r.- r i..ii ..t-
big bun he- tf b.ina.ra-. tI!. -.,- t ofi t'ill litt IthI-
trade pr-t'f -. A- t.e if-: ith- l-.Iaitania i li..i a
hasty glant e is siirF, i-nt i:. taiie n.:t .r. t Ith- ,a_. i I
which he th i re-.-. are riti-t .l Ti-.-'. t,- n..r p..-ri ntr. i
to grow a- ft,-rttuile ii.l\ 1.il, re TlieT ,-.ii L .i ltrivti l
Special lalioir antil air.:titti nt art- i citedd rto tii eni.
and ith. prirc ili-ir p[il dlu. Ir ii i :it ni ].- ir. ',-i

W r N .- ii avI :I-- l th[f.. -tnat la tIt--v :..ai-
.-nt. r IDi t, tl.. .i t, l fr ii- :ne T nl i
':l l i Il i -i-'li t.o t i a .r a- r. i i t n iS Ii .a ll
i t'. C .l t ,I -L I o- l li h -el i[,i t .n t -lJ t i- leri I' I a
!'.t i [ a.i.. -- t. t i i l~ I-y liant '-v. in
'at i r, i ,,[ -' e i ;t.b,,: fli. ,j ta,.- r i.--ir,- iftitl

S I>, t '. ,, .i |;e lh- *.:i i ..,-11 i I.I ,! ,hj0 i |l '11 1 ,lli'

S il-i -*ri ir t.-it [I t tie r -.:-l. irt1ant L fn .
- iu i i ii i-,- itui ll.'Iu a w.. it.i- t nta l te r erIa.rt it
Sh t l[irl s r, i..n li- li. : st l. ..' i r r i n tl I n r.
t 1 1:- i '.1 ..i i i l i-. l l.. i n i i l lj '. Oi r I...
i" i a I .. Jl i '., : I-t i :. tin klv irt
ri l a1i. ri-. ; 1 ia tl r t l n Ih ,'- krtli' at-' r, I-A oa,,i
i .,li t-., t,,. .i,-n ..ti..il i abe-. ar.i b--inp treaty d for

r..nill lt r ir IS a 1, !p in im e l.,' i ,il l ,, It .- hipt'oin
*:) l+ r 'ai iL,- ,:,t >.an,-. ]r,, e'-+ r. rthat Bernard L,:,.g,
. '.-I 0,th r J.amai. .a fa t,:tO'rie. I'- t -l.l hw o [ pa3'rt

A In l i u p.-, .,: :i. :I ... ui e r.. u -,.ant ,, '_'-

i ,- I li ij i L,['] ,. i ih. nri.- .l -I;. : n ,l I t ill t'farthIer :n. so
i. ii ti :.-,ij i..ll juiJ- it li are th. ll al. tie [t% it ,-.rleat
F. -.-Itr St1-am PIh(ia-i'. mitnincihini- ii ih alre i e.titnes
:-!id pil.t !'hi in -'nev. lreakliL' new cr'itind These
l ':.- t. [i y blt, i ri iti tli, e t..uiti .e-t --oil and bl r.j ak
it ip.. L!i., r. i.l th, I Jl lthini, '> .o f their kind. and
t ,i h -li ith.- alr,- t .' ti. I lh,- pay for tlhen i.ives
main rimni : r. r I.,. ti i thtey ni...d n 1, DA e l.r;a pId.
Ih r i, i liszh ar- .-itn l..etl al-.,I the i x lia-, his
iinl i,-.r r, :, pl-rt.ir!i in ulakitnl the -cnl rit for plant-
it-c .Arldj hlii:an laitu.ir tl e-- it-, part., fuii, in the
l1I i: -.:.t ii.. r a.iin.ry cain finally ri-plai.i.- l- h and
.niill th, io inn ,' f :matn

T HF-i ['(;li thlii- laii[taitrin tliel. i- laidl ,oit, ii -e-
i-\ni it. a I alf mile,s :of railroad] of staudLard
.- aui .-. On- t :otir illu-ri'-talt :.n-t shi s- a title lain
--,, ti. L.r]riLa 'I Laoi e- Fa,.t.-,ry: a bii Baldwin loco-
il i, j- i'. i tn j it.i. arid h[it n ll. tIi- t a s. l each
..i third toi [ J.ca- a.iti', a t'full% load-ed: and it may
It-ri- lie eiii nitl.d that t Beruard Lu.luge thL'e are




Pt' CH





no fewer than ninety of these cars. There are also
five Baldwin locomotives, one of which weighs sev-
enty-five tons. To watch one of these cane trains
rushing at full speed towards its destination is to
experience a thrill of satisfaction at the aid which
invention and energy have given to agricultural in-
dustry. There is a suggestion of power and of ach-
ievement about it all which evokes a response of ad-
Nearly a million pounds is invested in the Ber-
nard Lodge enterprise. That is a large amount
of money for Jamaica. When it is remembered that
it 1923 it was estimated that the holdings of so huge
a corporation as the United Fruit Company represent-

ed about two million sterling, it will be recognized
that the Lindo investments in Jamaica-the invest-
ments of an individual entrepreneur and not of a
company with a great number of shareholders-are
astonishingly big. Of course, Bernard Lodge does not
represent all of them; -there are others; but those
are another story. Bernard Lodge alone, however,
is considerable enough. And it stands out as the
plrnii'r central sugar f.i. t,'ry of Jamaica.
It has been said thia Mir. Cecil Lindo is one of
those men who attract money; which means that he is
one of that small group of men in whom others have
confidence and whose life-work is the establishing of
large and successful business enterprises. He has

certainly done a great deal towards the development
of Jamaica. He will do still more. It requires great
courage as well as business foresight to bring about
a decision to produce sugar in Jamaica on a consid-
erable scale. Sugar had failed in the past; there
were prophets of woe to predict failure again; even
those who were hopeful believed that Government
should take the risk involved in establishing a cen-
tral sugar factory. But the Lindo Brothers and Mr.
A. H. Keeling asked for no Government assistance.
And by their exhibition of faith and energy and en-
terprise they did a great deal, indirectly as well as
directly, to revive the long-moribund sugar industry
of Jamaica.

Barclays Bank and Its New Manager

ON the retirement of Mr. E. W. Lucie-Smith, O.B.E.,
from the management of the Jamaica branch
of Barclays Bank (Dominion, Colonial and Over-
seas, still familiarly known as the Colonial Bank),
Mr. Reginald V. Butt came to this colony as manager
of an institution which is a household word in Ja-
maica and which is now approaching its centenary.
Mr. Butt was no stranger to Jamaica. He had
often been here before on tours of inspection in con-
nection with the Colonial Bank, for years he had
been connected with Jamaica, he was already known
to all the leading business men and to hundreds of
others besides, and these all agreed that a better
choice as manager could not have been made by the
men in England at the head of Barclays Bank.
For Mr. Butt was popular and respected, liked
and esteemed, and this enviable position he had won
by a simple natural courtesy and a keen understand-
ing of Jamaica conditions. He had been manager of
Barclays Bank in Trinidad. That was an excellent
post and by all accounts he had filled it excellently.
But the Bank's chiefs knew what they were about
when they sent Mr. Butt to Jamaica; they wished
their Jamaica branch to grow stronger and stronger
and they selected for the fulfilment of this purpose
a man who they were satisfied would accomplish
the work to be done.
In a great city the little personal traits and
characteristics which mean so much in a place where
many personal contacts are inevitable, may not very
much matter. But they must always count in a city
like Kingston, in an island like Jamaica, where per-
sonality is sometimes fifty per cent. of success. It
is a matter of importance to any institution here
that its head should be liked, that there should be
general confidence in him, that he should be able to
maintain, the prestige of that institution. And the
many friends whom Mr. Butt made when formerly
he came to Jamaica were satisfied that the Jamaica
branch of Barclays Bank would forge ahead under
his management, especially too as it was now con-

nected with one of the most powerful Banks in the
British Empire-the celebrated Barclays Bank.
Visitors to England from Jamaica are at once
struck by the number of branches of this bank to

Manager of The Jamaica Branch of Barclays Bank
(Dominion, Colonial and Overseas)
+" < 'T : ? ,;7V I -" ,-.. .: ..;

be found all over London, and England. They are
everywhere; they impress you with the feeling of
belonging to something big; and that is exactly to,
what they do belong. Barclays Bank is a great con.
cern. When it is stated that the deposits made n ith
it yearly amount to over 300,000,000 there is little
need to add another word. Yet it should be men.
tioned that Barclays Bank has over four hund red
branches in the Overseas British Empire, and that
there is no city in that Empire where a branch of it
will not be found.
Naturally, Barclays Bank has business conner-
tions with similar indtitutiont, in foreign countrie,;
and through the parent bank the- Jamaica division is
in touch with all parts of the world. Thus through
the Bank's office and staff in Harbour Street, Kings-
ton, men here may deal with any part of the world:
Egypt or Amiens, Rio Janiero or Hong Kong. The
web of connections is not merely thrown wide and
far; it is everywhere. Hence by the amalgamation
of the old Colonial Bank with Barclays Bank :if
England, Jamaica has been brought into contact. fin-
ancially and in the way of business, with the nmo-t
distant and alien countries.
The courtesy which one meets at the Kingston
office of Barclays Bank, and at the branches in our
several country towns, is duplicated in any of the
branches of Barclays Bank in England and el.e-
where. The Jamaican who tak-qi letters of credit from
the Kingston Bank to England is well aware of
this. An account will immediately be opened for him
at any branch near the place where he lives, if he
so desires; everything possible is done to facilitate
him. And no matter to what country he goes, he will
find that through Barclays Bank he is enabled to
draw funds with a minimum of trouble.
In Jamaica the Bank's Savings Department is
making rapid and satisfactory progress. It is a
popular side of the Bank's activities. The Bank itself
is the favourite banking institution of Jamaica. It
is regarded as part of the colony's life.




I 1'0" 1niii tn1id f'OiO P-1t1.0 11).
his shoulders. The wret bhed pri-t, if priest he was,
had approached. and he smiled also, a foolish, exas-
peratingly inscrutjille smile. like an idiot enjoying
an imbecile etot'ri. m-eaning whr, h is a meaning for
him alone. Yet at tilih same time I thought there
was a suirgel.tin of 4ly menaie in that cringing
'Conm hack inlo Saigon.' said Captain Strong,
ignoring him. 'We'll ha\v- a drink before we go on
board.' Tlihre wa-- uithing in his manner to remind
you that he haI just e.iaped death by a fraction.
"I was not at all srrry to quit this unpleasant
placi-. and I descenrdel that rough path with con-
siderahl.y nior ala, rity than I had mounted it. Cap-
tain Stronc wa.- a- ,1oolly s.lft possessed as though
walkin- dilo\tt there main -rr'-r't itf San Francisco.
*I mrn.~ concratulati- you on your luck, sir,' I
ventured. when ite had gone a little distance. "Had
that snake struck a seonil befire--
S"*ali'" he replied. -hrugging his shoulders. 'One
can get tired of lu,:k "
"There a.s ai viclh. ue. a sonilt'e bitterness in lil
tone which imuprLcssd me I thought of all the mira.t
culous Eoilod-folrtuntle wlth nl min attributed to hllii ;I
specimen it'f whici h I haid ijst seen-and woni.ler. I
whether lie w\ri-r r..-llyi wearie'l of it. I coulil
conceit it pis'silil>- tlha a man of his typ,-
would find lift' v'riy lull it' a-sured before,-
hand of Sri:i(i-.s anld afety. It would be the
struggle. the peril. whi'-h would appeal to
S"ile rela-ed into a gloonmy silence
which I did not dare to bri-alk
"\'e Ir' iurnle ti Saigi-ii on the steam-
tram. and shortl-, afternari- found our-
selves seat,'d on tlhe rd -ert<,-d terrace of a
coft. trickling nta.-r through the .ugar into
our absinthe. fir all the- world as though we
were in sonie bank ipt luaaiti r f' Marseilles.
Natives thronlceid arouinil .-. p,-t~-ring us to
buy all sort, of itorihl.-- trirles in their hor-
rible palgin French.
"Suddenly an insinuating vui e whined
into my ear sonim natit.- w'vord I could not
understand. and rep'-atr-d th. ni with a
wheedling in;iten,.e i. hiih romp_-Iled my at-
tention. I I.:..keil riindl into an ugly yel-
low fai:e whose tiniliciou-.. narrow-slitted
eyes glittered uni-repo)ise-.ingli above his
fawning snuile There was iq-,nithing in the
face that s-ni'-d familiar to me. and yet I
could not pla e it. IUnder the i:onical bam-
boo hat all tlithe An.namites l.ik.-d alike to
me. I wade'l him a\ay. hut he was not to
be shaken off. reiteratingr oer and over
again his itnli iiprehen.-ilul:- pih aU .. .
"I glanedl iinnuirincly at Captain
Strong. whoni I k:new i, unldr-tand many
Chinesi dialei-:t
""He's a i .1njur-r and wants to show
you a trick." li.- xplainid. i:ontemptuou-ly.
adding a iturt s mild and nil oft assent to the nariv.-
"Thlt A.nnamir: li. nind inl!,tir:ally and strrti-.hiil
out his skinny hands o\ir tlih Iittie table.
Vous-regardetr. lie -aidl. evidently makinrjI thl
most of his Freni-h. and grinn.-d insinuatingly at ir-'
"With a sluo. rnaky motion of his skeletun-lik.-
hands he iomm>-nmid to inldak. pa.-r-s in the air about
six inches alovt miy gla-s I i\atched him, at first
Idly, but gradually miore and more fascinated as my
eyes followed the inuous ni-vmcn(-nts of his hands.
Presently. to my atnisihnirenr. I .aw the glass, tall
and fairly hlea\y--a typical ab.-intht glass-com-
SmeneE to rock sliplhtly ,on it, baa,. The direction of
the passes altered to a v'rli~al up and down motion,
as though his hands were eu>t.oulraging the glass to
rise. And surt enough. it detail hed itself from the
table and. swayiun a little unteadily, rose into the
air under the hands still qomni distance above it; It
ascended slnwly. as though he were drawing it up
by a magnetic attraction, to an appreciable height
from the table. say three or four inches. Then, as he
changed the iharaiter of the passes again so that
they seemed to press it down. it sank slowly once
more to the table. The native, childishly pleased
with this successful exhibition of his powers, grin-
ned ingratiatingly at us both.
"Captain Strong threw a coin upon the marble
top of the table. The fawning smile still upon his
ugly face. the conjurer looked straight into the skip-
per's eyes as lie gabbled some native words of thanks.
Then. Instead of picking up the coin, he suddenly
seized his benefactor's hand in his skinny grasp and,
using the captain's forefinger like a pen, traced upon
the table-top a large ellipse which commenced and
finished at the coin. The action was performed so
unexpectedly. anl with such swift strength, that
Captain Strong had no time to resist. The ellipse
completed. he flung aside the captain's finger and
held both his hands outstren.hed above the invisible
tracing. If I was astonished before, I was amazed
now. Where the finger had passed over that marble
glowed a flexible reddish-gold snake, holding in its
mouth, like a pendant on a chain, not the coin, but
a brilliantly-flashing jewel of precious stones, fashion-

ed into a curious pattern. I heard a startled excla,
nation break from my companion. but before either
of us could utter an articulate word the conjurer's
hand had descended swiftly upon the table. A second
later both jewel-or coin-and the conjurer had dis-
appeared into the throng of watching Annamites.
"I glanced at Captain Strong. He was deathly
pale, and one hand was feeling nervously over the
breast of his silk shirt. Then, after a long breath,
he turned and smiled at me.
S"'Clever trick, that!' he said.
"The assumption of personal unconcern was so
marked that I felt any remark of mine would have
been an impertinence. But I could not help wonder-
ing what Captain Strong wore unrlerneath his shirt
"He paid the native waiter for our drinks and
rose from the table without another word. We turn-
ed our steps towards the quay.
"'Come and have supper aft with me to-night,
Mr. Williamson,' he said, carelessly. 'I meant to

Canada in Jamaica

Mrs. W. A. Alexander, wife of the Manager of the
Canadian Bank of Commerce, is a member of the tiny
Canadian community of this colony, who is liked by
the island's society for her unaffected and friendly
manner. It is only in, the last few years that any
Canadians have been coming to this island for
longer periods than a few days or weeks. Little
therefore has been known about Canadians in Ja-
maica. Mrs. Alexander, as one of them, has done
her share in the way of engendering amongst Ja-
maicans a feeling of appreciation for Canada and
Canadians, and in the island's social life she occupies
a place of high esteem.

have invited you to dinner in town, but that restaur-
ant was really too depressing.'
"I thanked him, secretly astonished at the invit-
ation. Captain Strong never compromised his dig-
nity by sitting at table with his officers. He ate
alone, in the beautifully-fitted saloon under the poop.
At the time I wondered whether he had some reason
for preferring my company to his customary solitude.
But his manner expressed merely the courtesy of a
superior wishing to give pleasure to a young officer.
"We had arrived on the quay. and I was looking
over the crowd of vociferating boatmen with a view
to sele,:ting a .5empan for our return to the ship,
when a sudden cry from the captain startled me.
"'Look! Good heavens! Look!' Don't you see?'
With one hand he gripped me tightly by the shoul-
der, with the other he pointed to the Mary Glee~on
anchored in mid-stream. "Look! The yellow jacl. /'
"I gazed with him across to the ship, and to my
horrified astonishment saw the dreaded yellow flag,
which denotes the presence of yellow fever, fluttering
in the evening breeze. Shocked and alarmed, I asked

t 17

myself who was the victim. There was no sickness
among the ship's company when we went ashore. But
I knew well enough the swiftness of death in these
"'Quick! Get a sampan!' ordered the captain.
"Privately, I doubted whether any boatman
would venture into the tainted neighbourhood of a
ship with yellow fever on board, and I was agree-
ably surprised to find that my own difficulty was to
choose among the swarm that offered themselves. I
could only conclude that they did not understand the
meaning of the emblem. A moment or two later we
were being propelled swiftly across the stream, our
eyes fixed upon that fatal flag. The second officer
stood at the top of the ladder to greet us as we
climbed on board.
All well, sir, I heard him report in a perfectly
normal voice.
"'What?' ejaculated the captain, in astonishment,
above me.
"'All well, sir,' he repeated.
"By that time I had joined the captain on the
deck, and te -xchanged a puzzled glance. Then we
looked around us. To our utter bewilderment, of the
yellow jack there was no sign at all. There was not
a ra, of bunting abliut the ship.
"The captain l,it his lip and wrinkled his brow.
I could comprehend his perplexity. He turned sharp-
ly to tie second officer.
'Sv'ndss-n. has anyone been monkeying with
the irinal flag-?'
...No, sir.' The prompt denial was both
surprised and emphatic. 'I have been on deck
iyhelt' ever since you went ashore, sir.'
added the old man, in justification of his
'H'm! All right.' The captain shrug-
ged hi. slioulders and turned to me. 'You
.saw it, didn't you?' lie asked.
"'\Ye-. sir,' I replied confidently.
"'A most extraordinary hallucination!'
he said. 'But don't let it worry you. Come
and have supper with me at six bells.'
"I could see plainly that he was much
perturbed, and I myself felt very uneasy as
I went below. Following upon the shock of
the captain's narrow escape from the snake
in the deserted temple, the strange trick or
the conjurer at the eaf6, and this hallucina-
tion, shared by both of us, of the most dread-
ed flag a sailor knows, combined to awake
a primitive superstitious fear in me. My
nerves were in a state of acute tension, and
I found myself starting at the most ordinary
"The captain was normal and cheerful
enough, however, when at seven o'clock I
joined him in the beautiful saloon, which
he had had fitted regardless of expense with
everything that could minister to his com-
fort. It was his one luxury. The Chinese
steward stood by the side of the elegantiv
laid table, ready to serve his master. It
%nai, as I said, the first time I had eaten with
Captain Strong, and I was rather impressed with
the refinement of his private tastes.
"The meal, an excellent one, passed without inci-
iltnt. My host was agreeably conversational, but his
talk iwas confined to those impersonal subjects which
he preferred. Not once did he refer to the happen-
ings of the day, and I felt that it would be discretion
on my part equally to refrain from mention of
them. The silent-footed Chang-Fu cleared the table,
pulled the awnings across the open, mosquito-netted
skylight, switched on the electric lamps, and left us
to our coffee and cigars.
"The centre table folded down so as to leave a
clear space, which made the saloon appear larger
than it really was, and we sat upon a comfortable
leather-upholstered settee at one end, with our coffee
on a little Chin-se table between us.
"A tap on the door interrupted our talk, and
Chang-Fu. the steward, glided into the saloon and
made a respectful obeisance to the captain.
"'Master-Chinese conjulor in sampan alongsidee
-want speak master. Him number one top-hole con-
julor-makee plenty-heap big tlick-me talkee with
him-him velly gleat conjulor.' The steward's wheed-
ling voice had a note of genuine, awed admiration in
it. 'Master see him?' he finished. insinuatingly, rub-
bing his hands together under his cringing, wrath-
disarming smile.
"I glanced at the captain.
"'I wonder if it is the fellow we saw at the caf6
sir?' I ventured, and then immediately regretted my
words. Like the young fellow that I was, I was
eager to see more of the skill of these Oriental magi-
cians, but doubtless the captain would not wish again
to come into contact with the man whose strange
trick of converting the coin into a jewel had so per-
turbed him.
"Possibly he read my thoughts and resented the
suspicion of moral cowardice.. His tone was curt as
he replied:-
"'Very likely. Bring him down, Chang-Fu.'
"Once more the muscles stood out along his jaw
and his face set doggedly. It was as though he
prepared to confront an adversary. Fascinated by the
mystery which I felt underlay all this, I thrilled with
a sense of high adventure as I saw the captain g,>

to a drawer in a locker and get out a heavy revolver.
which he slipped into his coat-pocket. He returned
to his seat by my side.
"A moment later Chang-Fu ushered in the con-
jurer, and discreetly vanished. It was indeed the
man we had seen at the cof. : mnre than that, I recog-
nized him suddenly. being now without his hat, as
the man hanging round that d-sertled temple.
"He performed one or two clever but not parti-
cularly remarkable tricks, all of them harmless
enough, and my vague suspicions of mischief were
lulled gradually in the interest with which I war, li-
ed him. Captain Strong remained silent, expression-
less. I noticed that it was towards him that the con-
jurer directed his smiles, and his attention that he
endeavoured more especially to hold. His complete
immobility made it impossible to guess the effect of
the conjurer's manoeuvres: certainly he did not take
his eyes from him for a single moment, and his right
hand remained in the pocket where I knew the re-
volver to be.
"Presently the conjurer produced a large bronze
bowl-apparently from nowhere--aud nade tit uiual
mystic passes in the air above it. Smoke began to
issue from the bowl, a thick dark stoke which filled
the saloon with a pervasive and subtly pleasant aro-
matic scent. The smoke rose from the bowl in ever
denser volumes, curling into the air under the sa!oon
roof in such masses as to obscure our vision of the
farther walls. The electric lamps glowed redly as
through a fog. The sweet, cloying smell of intense
permeated the atmosphere. made it oppress.ive. dul-
led the brain as I drew it with every breath into my
lungs. An insidious paralysis stole over me I felt
that I had no power over my limbs, could not move
a muscle. I could only stare fast inated at that gro-
tesquely ugly Oriental half-seen in the dim light amid
the wreathing fumes, his skeleton-like bands still
sweeping in slow and regular passes over the bowl.
I heard the deep breathing of Captain Strong at my
side as of a person whose individuality was remote
from me, hardly to be identified. My drugged brain
registered only that he was as motionless as I.
"Suddenly the electric lights were extinguished
-I did not see how. in that fog of smoke.. but the
magician must have had the switch explained to him
,by the steward. The darkness was only momentary.
On the Instant almost a dull red glow kindled itself
in the depths of the bowl. illumined luridly the
dense masses of smoke which still welled up from
it. Behind them I caught a glimpse of the conjurer's
face. smiling evilly, inscrutably, his eyes glittering
in the red glow. his finger-tips sweeping round and
round in the fume,. Then--I missed the exact mo-
ment-he disappeared. A melancholy, sing-song
chant commenced from somewhere, haunting the
brain with its barbaric reiteration of meaningless
words in a minor key. It was like the dreary lament
of savage worshippers before an idol that remains
obstinately mute, I remember thinking. vaguely, as
I listened and watched with fas. inated eyes that curl-
ing, red-tinted bowl, expecting I knew not what o0
marvellous appearance.
"Suddenly the smoke rolled away on either hand.
I found myself looking down a vista-not at the
darkened cabin-walls, but into the bright sunshine of
the tropics--at a pagoda-like temple where two huge
carved, staring figures guarded the entrance to an
interior where lights glimmered I recognized it
with a peculiar thrill-the temple above Cho-lon!
"Not now was the courtyard deserted and over-
grown with weeds. A throng of natives. geticulat-
ing and chattering, though I could not hear them,
filled it-pressed back on either side as though to
make way for a procession. In that throng was a
European in a white suit. He stood out conspicuous
in the front rank of the Oriental crowd. What was
there so familiar about that figure? My drugged
brain puzzled vaguely for a moment or two-and
then he turned his face towards me. Captain Strong!
--a younger, slighter Captain Strong, but undoubted-
ly he. I saw the lash of his eyes under the heavy
brows, the living man! My consciousness checked
for a moment at this phenomenon of duplication, and
then accepted it. It seemed another part of me that
was listening to the deep breathing of the man at
my side-I felt myself mingling with what I saw al-
most as with actual reality-let myself drift as in a
dredm, where the fantastic ceases to be strange.
"Thd procession filled the open space between
the pressed-back ranks of the throng, a procession of
priests with shaven head and gorgeous robes, filing
into the great doorway of the temple. After them
came a group of young girls, singing evidently. danc-
ing as they went, and flinging powers on either hand
-the young Annamite girls, who are so strikingly
more attractive than their male relatives. I saw
one of them throw a flower at the foot of the white-
clad European-saw her provocative smile-saw him
pick up the flower and fling it playfully back into
her face-saw him follow the throng and press into
the temple with the crowd. What was that peculiar
gasp which came from the darkness at my side? A
part of me groped with numbed faculties for its con-
nection with the bright scene at which I gazed fas-
"The picture changed with the suddenness of a
cinematograph film. I found myself staring at the
great image of the Buddha, looming up above its



For years Mrs. S. R. Reuben has written poetr),
but nothing better has she donet than the beautiful
love song which is published below. As Rose deLis-
ser iher maiden name she sent many fine ver-
ses to Jamaica from Costa Rica, where she spent
some time of her girlhood. She is a lover as well
as a writer of poetry, and the verses appearing in
this issue of Planters' Punch are certain to be en-
joyed by thousands of readers.

A Song of Love

When the twilight hour falleth
And the sunbeams seek the west,
When the rosy clouds have wafted
The sun-God to his rest,
Then meet me in the gloaming
Where the zephyrs softly sigh.
And let me see warm love-light
Written in thy shining eye.


Let us wander through the shadows
With the starlight's steady gleam,
Which shall enhance the magic
Of sweet love's tender dream:
Let us vow the vow of ages,
Let thy lips respond to mine:
While the shadows deeper darken.
Naught can touch our love divine.

Let me view this world a garden,
Where thy smile illumes the day,
Where thy strong hand guiding ever
Pilots through life's sunny way:
Let thy arms but press me closer,
Let the gloaming hear thy kiss;
Then tell me-dearestl-sweetest-
Is there greater joy than this?


Then meet me mid the shadows,
Where the elm tree throws its shade;
And the crimson roses nodding
But beautify the glade.
And the stars shall see our wooing,
For my soul is all aglow,
So meet me, oh my darling.
Where the zephyrs gently blow.
(Mrs. 8. R. Reuben).


prostrate worshippers from amid a blaze of torches.
On its breast glowed and sparkled the sacred jewel-
'ht .cti'cel into which the ,iti.aurcr had trtnswmuted
(',u 'ta;i .ti, 1s (o in upon the ni arbl.-toppeld table
of Ithr rat,-the jewel suspended on a snake of gold.
"There. conspicuously erect, stood the hiteclad
figure iamon the worshippers. staring up fixedly at
the serene immensity of the image. The jewel upon
its breast glowed with a throbbing light like a living
thinr. There was a sudden commotion among the
crowd. A group of priests came up to the white-clad
man and push..d himn gently but firmly out of the
"Again the scene changed. It was night. The
moon shone down upon a garden on a hillside. Far
below. oblitrterated and revealed fromn instant to in-
stant by the foilia.e moving in the breeze, glittered
the >lu'stered point, of yellow light of a large town.
In thle shadow :f the trees lurked a vague white fig-
ture. Towards it, across *he moonlit open space. came
another-a native girl. I could see her clearly. She
was so daintily bcauiiful tlia I could not but suspect
foreign blood in her. The best-looking Annamite girl
I had seen was gross compared with her delicate
charm. For all that. she was genuinely Oriental in
type. Her lithe little figure, clad in a simple twisted
robe. approached sw iftly, her head turning from side
to side in birdlike inquiry, peeping behind earh bush
she passed It v.as not difficult to guess for whom
she was looking. The white-clad figure stepped from
its shadow, and in another moment she was in his
"Then. with a sudden movement, she wriggled
out of the impulsive embrace and prostrated herself
quaintly in a humble little obeisance. The white-
clad figure stooped to lift her up, folded her again in
his arms. Th,-ir lips mrt in a long, passionate kiss.
From the darknt-s at my side, but as it were from
an immeasurable distanite. cantm again the peculiar
little gasp, a sound as of teeth clenching upon each
other in the enormous silence which seemed not to
be of this world.
"My attention was lixed upon the mysterious
scene before me, so real that I forgot the ship's
cabin and the conjurer with his volumes of smoke.
The vision at which 1 gazed was to me actuality.
What was happ..ning? The man was speaking. ges-
ticulating, pointing away with one hand-the girl
was shrinking from him in horror, gesturing a des-
perate negative. and then letting herself be drawn
tightly to his breast a a.in to lavish her caresses upon
him--and finally. a he still spoke with the same ges-
ticulation. withdrawing herself once more, her hands
up in agonizedi proti[. What was being demanded
of her? I held my breath as I watched the little
,drama. What was the request which was thus on-
vulsing her to the bottom of her soul? Whatever it
was, it was ilespairfully refused. In savage exas-
peration the man flung her from him to the ground,
turned his back upon her, and strode away.
"She raised herself, stared after him crouching.
ly, agony in her face. She stretched out her arms
to him, but he did not turn his h...il. Then, ceiling
evidently to an overwhelming impulse. she .-prang
to her feet, darted after him w.ithl the speed of a
young deer, and flung both her arms passionately
about his neck. Once more I saw hiim ask her the
mysterious question, menace in his face. And now
she surrendered, clinging to him desperately. tears
coursing down her cheeks, her eyes wild, but every
fibre of her obviously ready to do his bidding rather
than lose him, as she nodded her head in frantic
"Once more he spoke, pointing mysteriously
across the garden. She drew away from him, her
eyes fixed upon his face. her bosom filling as with
the long, deep breath of some tragic resolve. He
was inexorable. Hopelessly, she prepared to obey. in
her attitude the touching dignity of fate accepted
since love imposes it, eternal womanhood fulfilling
itself in immolation. I felt the tears start to my
eyes, althourht I could not imagine what was the
evidently tremendous sacrifice demanded of her. The
white-clad man stepped once more into the shadow
of the bushes. With one last passionate, yearning
look towards him, she moved away. She went crouch-
ed. huddled into herself like a woman who creeps
forth to commit a crime.
"Again the scene changed. I was staring at the
exterior of the temple in the moonlight. The two
great figures by the portal gazed now over an empty
courtyard. Only the moon-cast shadows of the trees
moved upon its untenanted space. There was a mo-
ment of waiting-for I knew not what, but the air
was tilled with expectation. Then slinilina along the
wall. scarcely visible. with halting, furtive step, I
saw the girl emerge from the shadows. Like a host
sihe seemed in the moonlight as she crept up to the
giant figure by the portal, peered cautiously into
the interior darkness, where two yellow flames glim-
imered. She slipped into tihe gloom like a pale shad-
uw that flits across the wall.
"And then, I know not how, I found myself look-
ing as from the doorway into the interior. Between
two guttering torches the great image lifted itself
up into a smoky obscurity, the glinting jewel still
upon its breast-the jewel that was suspended by a
flexible snake of reddish gold. With an impressive
iColtinuied on Page 25).



Si .



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i ,I /

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aD I


The Sins of the Children
i l' nt.lli "url frl il lt : P e l|.
will, but was wise inoiugh to understand that tliti
would only have brought abhiut a siten and habve
availed her nothing She must dissimulate. She
brought, all her energy, all her mental li,-ier t tthi-
task, and su.ceeeded astonishingly well. A Iloud
sweeps over the sky. there is darkn'-ss. a peal of
thunder, a rush of rdiu. then avs (Iuilcli. it aI -Lie
up the cloud disappears., the sun clows again, tlhe
sky shines out clear and blue So it was, or seem- d
to be, at this moment in the little house in Mit.lihei
Town. Watching Vi\ian. her aunt. a.tiiet though she
was, was movie than ever convinced that this turnm
at'least she had misjudged the girl.
Therefore when Vivian. about half past five that
afternoon, remarked that she was going up to John's
Street to see Ethel Cosmore. a eirl friend who lived
in the neighbourhood. Mrs. Primrose asked her to
give Ethel her compliments, though she was noti
interested in Ethel. She intended by this message,
sent through Vivian, to convey to Vivian herself her
wish to forget the little misuinderstanding of an houi
or so ago. Mrs. Primrose spoke cheerfully now. she
was anxious to make up fri' the unpleasant lecture
she had delivered; she even suggested that Vivin
might ask Ethel to go to the picture show with them.
at her (Mrs. Primrose's) expense. "She'll come if
you will pay," laughed Viviau; "I'll tell her to meet
as here at seven sharp." Then she went gaily through
the gate, her aunt gazing at her with eyes intense with
affection, in which there was also a look of sadness
and pain.
Jermyn Street is the main residential thorough-
fare of the little suburb to the northwest of Kings-
ton in which Vivian and her aunt were living during
their short stay in Kingston. The single storey'
buildings on either side, some with tiny gardens in
front of them, and none containing more than five
apartments, looked out upon the street. In this sub-
orb the traffic was light, grass grew upon the side-
walks, an air of pea>.e and quietness pervaded it
by day, while after nightfall the little Chinese shops
gleamed brightly with electric light. and the sound of
voices from street corners and yards testified to the
relaxation of men and women returned from their
daily toll lower down in the city and revelling in the
respite from the fierce heat and glare created by a
laming tropic sun.
Out of sight of the house. Vivian increased her
gace, took the first turning, entered a cross-street, and
piihed on in the direction of her friend's residence.

Bur heNore she c inle to John's Str-rt she would pass
Bainiett Strr-t. ll1 lillih was situated the bi.lme ot
Mr Pr':,,.litlgh's daughter. H,-re rtridlced Mr Proud
It gli .in iittfr.ine- though a kIindliy surtfrlrn.e.and as;i
Vivian walked towards that gentleman's abode
she s' eci-ula: td unl iiJusly on the Ipjis-iility u'f p'eing
him i.iir.lh.i i being -i-n vy any o f his peopit.
She ldid noti wish to mrni-t his daughter or her
hu.lbai..l if she di'd and either iof the-e hoil.l omein
upon h ,.r tilint dil ing the fitllui. rir, t- d. e. 1 her
call \. iild j ulniil-1 ic-rt.iinl., be nil tind'i l. andi .,Iltin
M rs Pi iril]'ro: 's- su;sii .iujns %ioiul fl iam'i- iut' a;itiv.,
belief BS:ides. V'ivian wanted to ha- a ft-w n1io--
nitnts' talk aith the old man in private: that vas
\cr\ II'esasi-: anil milust hl c imipas.-td if possible
She was t:il:ing ,a risk. but it was the oril\ thing tn
do: she hupred and f'.-ared and rray'-d. af .hep walker
swiftly along. the heat smiting her. peisplratioi.
bhadiiti on hlir tfa.e and iands and dampening hi r
under lothitng
co;od fortune favoured her just thl.n Like most
fIderly in-n. Mr. Prmiilleigh il'ped t,- take the air of
an afternoon albeit mixed with dust outside ,of
his i.ard. There w\as always the fen(.e by the
gate aalillnst !wilh, he could lean andi v.ut h the wiirlid
as it pa-tced. and at this moment, it being his (ustom-
a ry hour of meditative retreatiun. the old gentle-
man was quietly having his afterno.un lean uitil libe
should ibe summoned to supper
He iaulght sieht of Vivian as she came within
speaking distance, and wuuld at once have griried
her with loud respect but that he saw in time her
hasty gesture for silence. He controlled his impulse.
perceiving at once that this was a speciall visit to him
and connecting it with his unwelcome revelations of
that day. Vivian gave a hasty glance at the house.
was satisfied that no one saw her. walked closesl. up
to the old man and urgently bade him fulllow her.
There was no need for her to look back to see if he
obeyed: she heard his fooLtet p. distinctly as he
labored to maintain an energetic pace She turned
into the next craoss.treet. and paused. It a fevm mr.
mpnts lie was at her side. panting from the unaccus-
tomed exertion. Immediately she began to speak.
"You' nearly got me into serious trouble to-day.
Mr. Proudleigh: a little more and me aunt would
have found out that I was speaking to a gentleman
who :he and me father don't like. There is nothing
in my speaking to him, and I have nothing to do
with their quarrel with him, and you yourself saw
that I only said a word or two. What did you want
to mention it for?"
"Nothing. me dear young lady. me sweetest young
lady-not a t'ing! But sometime me tongue run away

uid nme in such a fashion dat I feel like I could cut
it mit' I are sif.k of it!" he protested, with a splen-
didi shoiwi of indignation against his tongue. "Y'u
can't undirstan' how vex I feel. But I won't do it
agen: don't care %what you" aunt ask me, I knows
nuten about it. I are your friend, and I can see dat
.\ou' aunt not threaten you well."
-ivian li-ked doubtful She needed an ally.
must liace one. but Mr lPioudleigh was about the
last person in the ,vorld she would have chosen vol-
untlari i'. C('I iiitLnm'ianike. however, had made him a
nec1estity. thilre was nio oneP else she could ask to
lilp lihr ju-rt inon. except the girl she was going to
.see. andi she had loo ilu.1ch of a healthy feminine dis
trust of Eouodil-ooking girls to employ one of them in
any deliatee dipllmatie mission touching herself and
(_;uS Stu-iiway. 'She miL'ht try to take him away
from m,-." .was the thought that flashed through her
mind when the idea of utilisiug Ethel's services had
.onime tr lier: besides. Mr. Proudlcigh knew her se-
(rer alrEailv. anti'l onll (Onidanti was safer than two.
Thiei. to. phe- ,' uld bribe him; she could exercise tl(
ition.-) pnow r ov, r him. Anil I'c priftessed to like her.
Ancient a., lie \wa. hlie was a; woman, and Vivian
instint.titely knen\ th.it a man \ ill serve a pretty
woman for the mere delight of rendering her a
"Well," she wentt (n quiiikly. "what is done can't
be undone, anti you meant no harm. But you must
stick to what you said already. for me aunt is going
to question you further. You must just stick to what
you have said."
"Ef." replied Mr. Proudleigh with great dignity.
"et' Mrs. P doubt me word. which wouldn't tell a
lie. and try to get me to contradict meself, I wi'
show her de kind of man I are."
Vivian repressed a smile.
"Don't quarrel. though. Mr P.; just say nothing
more than you say already. And now I wonder it
\ ou could do me a little favour?"
"I would do anything for you. my sweet, precious
lady." asseverated Mr. Proudleigh with warm earn-
estness, wondering at the same time how much, finan-
cially. this Jittle task would be considered worth.
"You see, you see-" the girl hesitated, pride
and shame momentarily checking her desire to make
use of him. even for a purpose which she regarded as
'Yes. ma'am." broke in the old man promptly,
though he saw nothing.
"It is like this. I have to send a little note to
the gentleman I spoke to downtown today, and there
(Conitinued on Page '1.)











V. S. O.


J. Wray


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I %%.I L I


(Coiltrrii Fd from Pape 19).
is no time to post it: he wouldn't get it before to-
morrow if I did Cau you take it for me?"
"Him live far?" cautiously enquired Mr. Proud-
"At Myrtle Bank Hotel. If you go before half-
past seven to eight .'o. will catch him. You will be
-quite in time if you take a bus This is the note."
Out of her bodire iamni a letter. addressed in pen-
cil. which she had hastily scrilblpd in her room
while her aunt was busy at something in the yard.
She passed it over to tlh. old man with three shil-
lings. at sight and touch of which his eyes lighted up
with unimaginable joy. Here was immediate riches
for a trifling job! What a girl this was; how worthy
to be served with whole hearted devotion! Mr. Proud-
leigh felt that he could perish in her cause. "I are
going at on.e!" he exclaimnd.
"Thank you." breathed Vivian quickly. "And lis-
ten! If he give you any answer. you mustn't let any-
body at all see you giving it to me. You mustn't let
anybody know that you know him. You mustn't talk
to a single soul about him and me. There is nothing
Aat all between us. Mr. Proudleigh: only he is polite
to me. and I don't see why I should insult him. You
understand ?"
"Puffectly. Miss Vi. an' conipletely. I never go
into a place like M. rtle Bank yet. but I will go to'
.you. Dere isn't another soul I would do it for, but
.you always so nice to tie ole man dat I must oblige.
-Come back to you' house tonightt?'
"No! And I won't he there anyhow. Come to-
morrow, as if you just passing to say good-day. That
will do. Hurry now. I will have a nice present for
you to-morrow."
Another present! More largesse Additional man-
na from heaven. .1 prospect of still further benefits.
Was every day in the future to be Christmas for
him? asked Mr. Prouiileigh of himself as he gazed
with deep emotion at the good-looking, eager, vital
.girl who had clhosen hint as her ally and friend.
"I wi' see you to-morrow." \.ias all he could trust
himself to say. aud. in ordLr to show how passion-
ately devoted he "as to htr \rv'ic:e. he threw himself
into a quick, jerky walk. proceeded so for about a
minute, then emitted a griunt of pain as his rheu-
matic legs reminded him that liberties must not be
taken with them. MUnre moderately, he resumed his
journey, and Vivian turned a\dy satisfied. She was
sure he would perform the errand faithfully and well;
:meanwhile she would go on to Ethel Cosmore,
invite her to the pictures, iantd return home confident
"that she had don- the Ie.-t she could in rather dan-
gerous circumstances.
Was Mr. Proudleigh always to be trusted? She
could not know. but he bad c-verything to gain by
.silence and constunc.. nothing by treachery. She
would continue to imupresq that upon him. And per-
haps he might ,be M tll Ifurther useful. Time would

DO they think you are a slave or what?" Gus
Steinway impatiently dentauded. "What harm
,can there possibly be in our meeting one another?
How do you manage to put up with such treatment?"
"But what am i to l,) Il ut u tip with it?" asked
The young man stood silent fr a space; then-
"It would drive me made." he said. "I couldn't
.tand it."
"No; but you forger that yrlu are a man, and
I am a girl You can do, wlt you please; you are
independent. But what ani I' In ant under the care
-of my aunt and my parents. If tlhe heard I met you
to-day, and especially in this Ipla.e. there would be
.a devil of a row. They might ec-n turn me out of the
house. What would I do tlen'"u
"Oh," he answered. striving to speak lightly:
"they wouldn't do that. and if they were so brutal
you wouldn't suffer. I would look after you, Vi."
As he made no reply to this question, she pro-
"You see how it is. You would look after me,
-but in what way? I would lose everything; my good
name, my position-for I have a position, although
you and your people may not think so. My father
and me aunt would disown me. and every penny they
have, which will be mine when they die, they would
give to someone else."
"Then." he broke in. "you put money above love,
VI? Besides, I am not poor. You could never want
.anything that way.'"
"I am not even sure of that." she retorted bitter-
ly. "What you have and will have is for your wife-
when you marry one '
"Good God! You don't mean to say you think
that I would let you want!'"
"No: but it is not a matter of wanting. I don't
want anything now, and I don't want anything from
you. You are not poor. but neither am I. Yet some
-day you will go and get married, and all your poss-
Seaslons will be your wife's. Don't you remember the
marriage service: 'with all my worldly goods I.thee
_endow,'-that is what a man says to his wife."
F "I have never been interested in the marriage
sIevice; I don't intend to get married. Vi. I don't see

the sense of it. People who don't marry-men and
women-are much happier than those who do. You
must have noticed that yourself."
She laughed, a little, bitter laugh.
"You say that because, because ."
"There is no because about it at all," he pro-
tested, but she insisted upon finishing the sentence.
"Because you would never marry me, ana
wouldn't even dream of telling me you would. So
you say you will never marry, and at the same time
you say you love me and that people who don't marry
are happier than those who do. Well, your own
parents are married, and so are mine; would you
prefer if you were not lawful? And if you had
a siteir. would you prefer her not to marry the man
she cared for? What about your young lady cou-
"I have nothing to do with them," he answered
sullenly. "And I don't remember having said a thing
to you to cause you to speak like this. I have not
suggested one act to you that you could consider an
insult. I only like to meet you; you know I love you:
I thought you liked to meet me sometimes too, but
perhaps I am wrong."
This speech, though true enough in so far as it
conveyed that he had made to her no overtures
which she could consider an affront, was nevertheless
disingenuous, for there had been a veiled suggestion
in his declaration as to her future financial position
should her parents and aunt visit pains and penal-
ties upon her head. Vivian knew that. But even
while in the bitterness of her heart she railed against
him, and laid bare her doubts about him, hurting
herself, wounding her pride as she did so, she felt
that she would love to be with him always, knew that
it was not he alone, but she quite as much as he, who
wished for these meetings and hated the necessity
which compelled them to be so few, so furtive, and so
full of peril for her.
They were standing in the May Pen Cemetery,
the great public burial ground of Kingstoni
The Cemetery, with its thousands of tended
graves and tombs, its drooping trees and strange quiet
air of remoteness, is one of the most open places in
all Jamaica. Anyone may enter it; on all days there
are interments, and always there are friends and
relatives who go to lay a bunch of flowers upon a
grave, or even only to gaze upon the last earthly
resting place of someone they had loved.
It was not a spot, you might think, that would be
chosen for a rendezvous, it was so public; yet its
very openness as well as its situation outside of the
city's thoroughfares, and the purpose for which it
is habitually used, rendered it as safe a meeting
ground for Vivian and Gus Steinway as could possibly
have been chosen. So there they stood by a neglect-
ed grave, with the golden glow of the sun about
them, intent upon the things of life and their own
passionate interests.
Vivian had arranged in the country to meet her
admirer in town; he was to have taken her for a
drive and a talk in his motor car. But Mrs. Prim-
rose's decision to a(,niompany her niece to the pictures
that night had spoilt the plan, and since then Vivian
had not been able to see Gus Steinway. There was
no place where they could meet in privacy, save
this one of graves and silence and sad associations,
and it was Vivian herself who had proposed this ren-
dezvous, choosing an hour when few persons would be
there, and these intent upon their own affairs.
At this moment Vivian was angry with her peo-
ple, v.irh Gus Steinway, with herself. She felt keen-
ly the humiliation of her position. To have to come
surreptitiously to a graveyard to talk to a young man
revolted her sense of the fitness of things, and she
too it was who had suggested it! He had no sug-
gestion to make, could think of nothing. She was
annoyed with him for this; surely he might have
thought of something better, might even have shown
courage and insisted upon calling at where she lived!
Suppose he had dared? That, at any rate, would
have been an overt act, it would have meant some-
thing definite and would have shown more respect
for her and a great admiration. It would have been
indisputable testimony that he liked her company
and sought it openly.; if her people had been in-
flamed, his too, at any rate, would have been out-
raged, and even more so. It would have been an

act indicating a recognition of something like
equality; it might have angered her father and her
aunt, but it would have flattered them also. The
very boldness of such an act might almost have
justified it.
Couldn't he have done something of the kind?
Even while she asked herself the question a secret
voice whispered in her heart that she must not ex-
pect too much. He was a dashing, impetuous,
-andsome fellow, treating life as though it owed
t-:m homage and a good time, superior (in her
eyes) to every other man she had ever seen in all
her life. There were things she mustn't ask of him;
and yet, what about herself? She owed something
to herself also, somethingg to her people. They too
had their pride; if he could be expected to make no
sacrifices for her, why should she sacrifice herself
and them for him? But he had said he had asked
her to do nothing of which she need feel ashained,
about which she had any reason to be angered. She
wished to believe him, and yet ... She did not want
to anger him, but she must find a vent for the bitter-
ness and misery that were in her. Again she took
up the thread of her remarks.
"My aunt is perfectly right, after all. She said
last week that it can do no good for you and me to
meet, for you are white and I am dark, and you and
your relations would only think of me as a sort of
This touched the young man on the raw; there
was so much truth in it. He did care for this
fine-looking, virile girl, with her wonderful vivacity,
good taste in dress and striking looks, who had a
pride of her own, and who, all social distinctions
notwithstanding, spoke to him as equal to equal, be-
ing at a disadvantage only in that she loved him
more than he loved her and so was beaten from the
start. He hated to hear her speak of herself as he
knew his people would speak of her.
"You are always quoting your aunt to me," he
replied, with a marked show of petulance. "You
tell me about what my friends and relatives might
think or say. What have I to do with them? I am a
distinct and separate person. But if you believe what
your aunt says, Vi, perhaps it would be better if
we did not meet again. I will regret that, for yoi
know that I love you. But I don't want to be blamed
always for what your aunt may think or my father
might believe. That sort of thing is tiring."
She scrutinised his face minutely to see if he
spoke in earnest, if he really were proposing that this
interview should be their last. She learnt nothing
from that scrutiny. Tall, with bold, light-blue eyes,
thick brown hair on a well-formed head, straight
nose and humorous mouth, Gus was voted handsome
by all the women who knew him, and as by no means
a bad-looking fellow by the men. He was slightly
sunburnt, muscular, and had a careless air indicat-
ive of an insouciant disposition; he was self-indulgent
and had been indulged by his father and mother;
they had taken pains to make his path in life easy for
him, and perhaps had by so doing done him rather
more harm than good.
He was brave; his four years of service during
the war had put his courage beyond all dispute. He
was easy and courteous in his dealings with women,
good-natured always with his inferiors and friendly
with his equals. But he was impatient of control
also, and, when provoked, greatly venturesome, and
this element of recklessness appealed to the feminine
instinct to worship strength and daring in a man.
A physiognomist would have said his mouv~
suggested something weak in the-texture of his char-
acter, that he seemed one who would prefer to drift
with a strong tide downward rather than struggle
against it. That had always been his preference.
Essentially he was a weak, not a strong man.
Vivian continued to search his face. Should she
tell him that she was one with his way of thinking,
that indeed it would be wisest if this should be their
last meeting? She felt urged to do so, but suppose
he should take her at her word? She knew-only too
well-that her love for him was greater than his
for her. He would miss her, perhaps, but it was she
who would suffer. He might forget her; she would
not forget him. How could she make up her mind?
"You blame me for telling you what you don't
(Continued*on Page 2S).



16 King Street, Kingstor, Jamaica.



S\V. R. GILLIES, Nlanaaer.

111111111111111111111111111 11111111111111111i11III1lll 111111111lll 11I111I111111IlIlIIIIillIIlIiIl




SIncorporated by Royal Charter 1,S36.
-"- Re-incorporated by Act of Parliament 1925
i Wth which are anuilganmated



- Authorised Capital 10,000,000. Subscribed Capital 6,S75,500.
Capital Paid up 4,975,500. C Reserved Fund 1,100,000.

Uncalled Capital 2,000,000

LONDON OFFICE (Colonial Bank Section). 37-39 King William Street, E.('. 4.
21 York Street. 23 Castle Street. Adolphsplatz IV.
: 44 Beaver Street.
I BRANCHES IN THE WEST INDIES -Antigua, Barbados, Dominica, Grenada, St. Kitis, St. Luiia,
St. Vincent, Trinidad, and
S BRANCHES IN JAMAICA-Kinaston, Annotto Bay, Falmouth, Lucea, Montego Bay, lorant BBay,
5 Port Antonio, Port Maria, Savanna-la-mar, St. Ann's Bay.


^ Over 400 Branches throughout. British West Africa, Egypt and the Sudan, Transvaal, Rhodesia, Cape
Province, Natal, Orange Free State, Swaziland, Portuguese East Africa, South-West Africa, Taigan-
yika, Nyasaland, Kenya Colony, Malta, Gibraltar, Palestine and Mauritius.


V Manager, Jamaca Branches.

TV. A. MAN RTIN, Asst. Manager.




i( oni ti iue f rIm- Pag e 21).
like to hear." she murmured, with a catch in her
voice. "You think only of yourself."
"Don't say that. little girl." he answered at once,
gently now, for he saw that she was no longer angry.
only grieved. "I think oi you. too, but what are we
to do? You yourself know that there is no harm
in our meeting occasionally. yet your people won't
hear of it, and-"
"What about your people?"
"They? I don't care sixpence about what they
may feel or say where you are concerned. Do you
think they don't know th.a I have spoken to you
whenever we have nit? I wouldn't let my father
interfere with my personal friendships."
"But he wouldn't think of' me as a friend," said
VI sadly; 'and even if there was nothing between
my father and him. he would remember my colour."
I "rhese colour questions ;are very disgusting,"
said Gus. "Can't we forget themn"
"But you know what I say i. true."
"My dear. why divll itip.n what is unpleasant,
even if true? You and I -an t change the situation."
"No. but I can suffer by it."
Again a look of ann.oyaue swept over the young
man's face. "What do you propose, then?" he asked
shortly, "for, really, I don't know what to say."
"I propose nothing. Mr. Steinway."
"Object to calling me Gus?" His voice was gen-
tle again.
She smiled slightly I am going now," was all
she answered.
SLook here. Vi. I have been a whole week in
Kingston, all for the purpose of seeing you. That
doesn't suggest that I don't care for you, does it?
But even if I came to some place where I knew
you would be, that wouldn't help us, for your aunt
knows me well and would guess the truth at once.
So I keep away-for yr.ur sake Do you understand
that?-I am thinking uf you, not only of myself I
would come to see you at your house to-night if that
would not mean annoyance fori you. I want to come.
Shall I?"
Her heart leaped for joy at these Words. The
very thing she had accused him in her mind of being
too selfish or cowardly to do. he was proposing. And
she felt that lie meant it. But she dared not tell
him to onme: the consequences might be appalling.
"No, better not." she nmurmured.
"Do you mean that? You are afraid? But
we must meet sometimes and have a few words with
one another: I am determined on that. They say
love laughs at locksmiths. I am going to prove that
that is so. It would be rIlk.\ ti write to you?"
"You can't," she answered him hastily. "My
aunt might see the letter when it came, and she
would ask who it came from. She might mark the
handwriting: a hundred things might happen."
"My God! What a life! How on earth can I
communicate with you th-n?"
"Here-Kingston. Anywhere."
"In Kingston. if y,'ii want to write to me, there
is an old man-the same that brought you me letter
the other evening."
"Oh, that old fellow. Full iif words and bows.
Where is he to be found?"
She told him. but added: If you come to Mitch-
"ell Town. my aunt miaht see you."
"She is certainly an omnipresent nuisance. But
I will find means to get at the old man."
-"I am going now."
"Yes: I am afraid that we can't stay here any
longer, not even over a grave. Well, don't be down-
hearted, sweetheart: I feel happier .for having seen
you, even in these surroundings. And you will hear
from me. Remember. we have nothing to reproach
ourselves with. I object to the parents' quarrels be-
ing visited upon the children."
"If that was only all." murmured Vivian, as she
turned to go.
"The whole thing is a damned mix up," muttered
Gus angrily, as he watched her making her way out
of the cemetery. while, that nothing might be sus-
pected. he lingered behind amoni the graves.
But Vivian was happier than she had been an
hour before. Gus had wanted to come to her house
to see her. He was % killing to show his admiration
for her to all the world.

HE parish of St. Catherine was electrified. Its
last representative in the Legislative Council had
resigned his seat on account of ill health, and for
some time before the day for nominating new candi-
dates there had beeu speculation as to who would
come forward. Various names were mentioned, sev-
eral men were approached. Among these was Mr.
John Harrington Steinway. one of the first people in
the parish and island, a sahib. a large landowner, a
man who was feared for his power and vindictiveness
but respected by the better classes for the ability
'he undoubtedly possessed.
But Mr. Steinway. while thanking those who
offered him the seat for the honour they proposed to
do him, intimated that he could not spare the time.
On another occasion perhaps: meanwhile he would
do his best to help them find a suitable candidate.

He kept his word; he did his best; he even tried to
persuade Gus to stand: but that son of his laughed
at the suggestion and put it out of his mind.
Then suddenly a report ran around like fire in a
dry cane field. It was said that some small farmers
and shopkeepers had asked a William Bressley to
stand and had pledged themselves to fight to the
last for him. They had, it was asserted, promised
him victory in a fit of intoxication, and he had lost
no time in accepting their offer. This was but a
week before nomination. Some of those who heard
the story declared that the end of the country was
coming at last, thb.iugh that end had been coming
for several years, on several previous occasions, ac-
cording to these same prophets.
SEnquiries were made about Mr. William Bressley.
It transpired that he was a middling sort of man, of
mixed blood, who was successful in a moderate kind
of way, who could speak very well, was determined
and self-opinionated and notably aggressive, and who
had a very good-looking daughter. Some gentlemen
manifested a slight interest on hearing of this very
good-looking daughter, but could not but point out
that she hardly constituted an important political
(qualiriat ion.
It was also mentioned that a long-standing feud
existed between Bressley and Mr. John Steinway;
it appeared that, many years ago Bressley, by
acting quickly and decisively, had got possession of a
piece of land with which Mr. Steinway desired to
round off one of his plantations, and when Steinway
had offered to buy it from Bressley, naming a higher
figure of course than the latter had paid, the pro-
position had been rather curtly refused. Mr. Steinway
regarded this as a piece of impudence; he surveyed
his own plantation carefully, insisted upon a rigid
party line, made it quite clear that should any oif
Mr. Bressley's stock stray into his property he would
exact all the penalties provided by the law, and
chose to treat Mr. Bressley as non-existent whenever
the latter happened to be in the same vicinity, Bress-
ley, being a man by no means humble in dispo-
sition and deportment, retorted in kind whenever he
could; more, whenever he could oppose his influence
to that of the powerful Mr. Steinway he did so, and
not altogether unsuccessfully. Thus the bad blood
between the two men had grown worse and always
worse, until it seemed that their mutual aversion
could go no further.
In their own style they were equally domineer-
ing; equally intent upon having their own way. But
not for a moment in all his life had Mr. Steinway
supposed that a William Bressley would have the
effrontery to aspire to represent a Jamaica elector-
ate; that was one of the things that could not be
imagined. Yet here was the report about the coming
nomination, and it was true. And still the sun rose
and the foundations of the world did not appear to
be disturbed. Was there an overruling Providence
in the universe?
Mr. Steinway, narrow, proud, unforgiving, felt
that if there were or seemed to be no Providence to
prevent such an atrocity as the election of a man
like Bressley to represent him in the Legislative
Council, John Harrington Steinway must play the
part of earthly Providence. He had hitherto looked
with something like contempt on the Legislature. He
could not believe that a seat in it could really be an
honour to him: he it was who would confer an
honour on the Legislative Council. But it was far
too important an institution to admit a Bressley-
the public penitentiary would be the proper place
for that creature: better still, the grave. But if he
were unopposed he would certainly become the Hon.
William Bressley, and would be able to propose laws
affecting John Harrington Steinway! The political
situation had indeed come to,a peculiar pass when
such things could happen in Jamaica.
Hastily Mr. Steinway communicated with the
men who had asked him to stand for election; in
view of recent developments, he informed them, and
in the interests of the parish, he had felt obliged to
change his mind. He would be their candidate, since
no other man fitted to represent St. Catherine would
come forward. There was little time to waste, so
they should begin campaigning at once. He himself
was prepared to foot all his expenses, and so on.
Naturally, his friends rallied'at once to his side,
but with some misgiving. As old Henry Tuke said.
"Why on earth did the damned fool wait until almost
the last moment? He must know that everybody is
going to say he is only trying to keep Bressley out
of the Council!"
Other men, with considerable experience, doubt-
ed if John Harrington had much of a chance anyhow.
"He is not liked," they contended, "and if you are not
popular how the devil can you expect people to vote
for you?" Yet they felt that, on general principles,
he would make a better legislator than the other
man; he was of their own class, too, and notlesse
oblige. They had to do what they could for him. In
their leisurely, good-natured fashion, they would put
up a fight and spend some money on his behalf.
On nomination day two different groups of men
appeared at the placr- of nomination to hand in the
papers of the respective candidates. The candidates
themselves were present; Mr. Bressley, nearly as tall
as his opponent, bellicose of expression, confident,
jaunty, stared defiantly at Mr. Steinway. Mr. Stein-

way did not even so much as look at Mr. Bressley.
He chatted in brief sentences with his friends, acted
as though there were really no other candidate, and
seemed to regard his election as a foregone certainty.
After the nominations, Bressley and his friends ad-
dressed the heterogeneous crowd that had assembled
to watch proceedings, but Mr. Steinway drove off im-
mediately, refusing to speak after Bressley, or even
to be in the same building while he spoke. Again old
Henry Tuke observed that Steinway was a damned
fool, a sentiment which was silently approved by
some of the men who had signed Mr. Steinway's nom-
ination paper. A grave initial mistake had been
But St. Catherine was thrilled. There was to be
an election contest after all, a real fight, and, con-
sidering the personal relations of the two men, a
bitter fight undoubtedly. The whole colony would
look on with interest, the Kingston papers would be
full of speeches and letters all relating to the elec-
tion campaign. In a week the result would be
known; meanwhile the professional politicians and
canvassers prepared for an orgy of pure and glor-
ious drunkenness at the candidates' expense. Once
again the country was to be saved by electing the
better man. The better man, in the opinion of some
(Continued on Page 29).

5 _

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= B.W.I. =
5- 5
ll11iiii llli llll1 liii lllllli liii lii lII llllllllllli




Mr. A. A. Nathan, an Able Business Organiser

SOME important Jamaica businesses have changed
hands during the last twelve-months. They were
businesses in excellent standing; they have passed
from local to English owners, thus at any rate re-
maining British. When this transfer took place spec-
ulation arose as to what would be the future of
Messrs. Nathan and Company, whose stores, Metro-
politan House and the Bee Hive, in Kingston, and
whose branches in some of the country parishes,
transact so much of the wholesale and retail dry
goods trade of the island. Rumour had it that they
too would be sold to an English company. Rumour
forgot that they already belonged to a company that
was both English and Jamaican; and soon it became
known that there would be no change in the owner-
ship of these large and progressive establishments.
Instead of wishing to part with them, indeed,
their shareholders, the largest of whom is Captain
A. A. Nathan, aim at re-organising them so as to
make them the equal of any similar businesses in
any part of the world. Mr. Nathan is not only the
principal owner of Messrs. Nathan and Com-
pany's enterprises in Jamaica and elsewhere,
but is Permanent Director of them all, and
from the moment that he took charge of
them he has persistently directed his efforts
towards improving them according to the
most successful modern ideas. Metropolitan
House and the Bee Hive have always been a
success. They are too well established, have
too many roots in the estimation of Jamaica,
and have too large a reserve of capital be-
hind them, to say nothing of an energetic
and interested staff, to fear decay or stag-
nation. But the new Permanent Director's
view is that a really successful enterprise
must never rest content with what it is, but
must push forward toward new and better
achievements; he repudiates the suggestion
that the most flourishing concern can-
not still further progress. He believes in
the application of continued and construct-
ive thought to business; with that principle
in his mind he has set about inaugurating
improvements in connection with the under-
takings of which he is the head.
THE k -y in this determination on his part,
and to thli policy. iq not-to be found
only in his harac t r--th ougih that of course
is part of it-buut also in his training. Mr.
Nathan was intended for business, but his
father, who was a man of recognized ability
and strength, believed that an intellect de-
veloped by study would not merely not be out
of place in business, but would be a great
assistance to any business which intended
to expand and also to adapt itself to chang-
ing conditions. So we find that young
Nathan, with his destiny already marked
out, was sent, first, to a public school, Mill
Hill, where he received the usual grounding
in the classics, met hundreds of lads of his
,own class whose parents, like his, were well-
to-do people, and who, like himself, were
intended for active life in the higher ranks
-of business or in some of the learned pro-
fessions. Those who were to enter business
were receiving the preliminary training of
the professional man-a liberal education.
For business in its higher aspects is to-day
a skilled profession, one too which requires MR. A. A
a special aptitude, one which makes a con-
stant demand upon brains and energy. The able
-and successful business man is constantly called upon
to think. And a great aid to wise thinking is an
education which develops the faculties of the mind.
On leaving the Public School, young Nathan went
up to the University. He entered 'Jesus College,
Cambridge, and there he specialised. He was the
heir to a considerable business; consequently he
would take those studies which had a bearing upon
business. He took the Economic Tripos, read with
diligence, though not neglecting the physical side of
the training which the University had to offer. He
-was an athlete; his particular hobby was rowing;'
when he left the University it was with his degree
of Bachelor of Arts, and at once he went into the
London office established by his late father to study
buying methods as practised by the most farseeing
merchants of the great city. Mr. Nathan soon per-
'ceived the superior value of owning the buying office
in a business centre where large purchases had to be
made, to paying other parties a commission on
purchases they made for you. In the first place, hav-
ing establishments to supply with goods in the West
Indies, the buyer, if he were also the owner, would
know personally and intimately what those busines-
ses required and would be keen to obtain just the
class of commodities in popular demand. Then, if
he wished to develop the local taste along new lines,
he would be aware of how to set about this as no
utter stranger ever could be. There was also the econ-
omy to be achieved in being one's.own expert buyer,
or the head and owner of the buying office with its
staff The saving of commission would enable the

stores in Jamaica to sell at a lower price; every
saving effected in England or elsewhere would be an
aid in meeting competition in the selling market.
All this he set himself to study and to master; nor
was that all. Another line of his study was the or-
ganisation of the dry goods industries in England,
the European market, export and import questions-
all matters which bore directly upon the problem of
developing the West Indian enterprises of Messrs.
Nathan and Company along new and profitable lines.

THEN the war broke out. The young man, like
hundreds of others of his order, heard the call for
leaders that went up from the nation. There was no
compulsion then except the compulsion of patriotism
and honour, but that was all-compelling. Young
Nathan left his business and accepted a commission
in the Indian Cavalry, with which he served in
France. From that branch of the service he was
transferred to the Royal Flying Corps to study artil-
lery observation. He went through the Somme, had


his share of risk and wounds, was.sent to Oxford by
the Air Ministry to teach artillery observation to as
yet inexperienced men, then went to the Air Minis-
try itself and took charge of the Royal Air Force
School of Aeronautics, which he organised with ad-
mitted success. In this School thousands of young
officers were trained for service with the Royal Air
Force. When the war came to an end, therefore, Mr,
Nathan had done his share both in active fighting as
a cavalry officer and as an airman, and as a teacher
of aeronautics and artillery observation. Four years
had gone out of his life, four years had been sub-
tracted from his business career. But of those years
he is perhaps more proud than of any other. The war
over and won, he again turned his attention to his busi-
ness. He assumed full control of it in a little while.
He began to make yearly visits to Jamaica, staying
here for two or three months at a time. He began
also to put into practice certain principles to which
he holds strongly and which, successfully carried out,
he is convinced must benefit the purchaser as well
as the seller of goods.

M R. Nathan's gospel is that the clerk or shop as-
sistant must feel that he is identified with the
business and must devote himself to its interests.
But he knows that such devotion can never be one-
sided; hence his insistence that the more a business
makes the larger should be the share of the clerk.
With this in his mind, he instituted the bonus sys-
tem in his Jamaica establishments. The clerk has a
minimum of returns to make for his salary; in order
to be of value to the establishment he must ac-

complish so much in the way of sales per week or
month as the case may be. But the clerk who only
does this is evidently of minor worth to any business;
and here is where the bonuses given every year come-
into play. The more a man sells, the better'work he
does in any department, the larger his bonus; and
not only does Mr. Nathan not care how large that
bonus is, but he wants it to be large. He wishes
that each man's share of the earnings shall be con-
siderable, for that means that the total returns of the
business are considerable-an end at which every
able head of a commercial organism must necessarily
aim. But for a business to be successful, Mr. Nathan
contends, it is not sufficient that it has a big turn-
over and that its workers are satisfied. The first
elements of success, he has mentioned more than
once to the writer, is that the articles delivered shall
be of the right quality for the money paid and shall
be sold as cheaply as possible. In other words, Mr.
Nathan pins his faith to quality delivered at a low
BUT while he intends to give the purcha-
ing public of Jamaica the best value at
the lowest price, he also is striving to in-
troduce and popularise a better method of
doing business than that which has genir-
ally prevailed. The system of long crecir,.
credits lasting, not months, but sometimes
years, he deprecates strongly. That anyone
should have a bill standing against him for
three months is normal; but that accounts
should be left unpaid for six, nine, twtlv-
months and even longer he considers to be
bad policy from the purchaser's as well an
the seller's point of view. For look at what
it means, he says. You have to keep men to
see to these accounts and to send out bill.
The money outside is earning no inter,ast
for you; there is the expenditure on stamps.
which is not a small item in a firm ith
customers numbering tens of thousands;
there is the direct loss involved in debts
that remain unsettled for years, and so may
never be settled. Now who must pay for
all this? Clearly it is the customers them-
selves, since a business is not run to make
a loss but a profit. As it passes taxes, so a
business passes all this extra expense OL to
the customer, who thus pays more for the
goods he buys than he would under a be-rt-r
system. That is not fair to the customer.
Mr. Nathan contends, nor is it good for any-
one; consequently he aims at converting the
Jamaica public to the wiser policy of short
credit and cash payments, by which means
it will secure the things it wants at lower
prices and be better-off in consequence. Mr.
Nathan confidently believes that the public
will co-operate with him in this endeavour
the moment it understands that the benefits
of such a policy must be primarily the pub-
lic's. The success already achieved has been

B EING a large buyer of merchandise, he
is insistent that English manufacturers
shall study how to please the West Ind i'n
market and how to expand it. He has pui
his views forcibly before the manufacturers
on several occasions, and, for himself, he
is resolved that he shall have what his es-
CO. LTD, tablishments need. He thinks that more
English goods could be bought in Jamaica.
but he does not hold that it is the Jamaican alnuii
who must contribute to the desired expansion of
English trade in this colony. On the contrary, hl
contends that it is the manufacturer at home iho
must strive to satisfy the Jamaica customer.
S In the meantime he has accomplished some very
effective changes in the two big stores in Kingston.
The old partitions have been torn down; anyone rno w
entering Metropolitan House or the Bee Hive has thi
whole place revealed to him at a glance, as it were:
the air circulates freely through the spacious flour.
there is light everywhere, there is a skilful display of
articles which is of dikitin t!:, artistic effect. And the-
most improved method of window dressing is pra:-
tised. These windows are a great advertisement.
They attract the passer-by; they please the shopper
who, though he or she may not want anything at the
moment, loves to see what there is that is new and
fashionable in the store at which he or she will make
purchases later on. So it is seen that a college de-
gree does not handicap a man in business and that
the trainer of officers for the British Air Force may
also inspire a large staff of practical salesmen v ith
his own business ideas and ideals, to the benefit of
themselves and the public as well as of himself. In
the Managing Director of Metropolitan House, too.
Mr. Nathan has a lieutenant who will certainly thruw
himself heart and soul into this work of improving
business in Jamaica. The energy and ability of M r.
Russell, who has been in Jamaica for some fifteen
years, are known and appreciated by the thousands
who have come directly or indirectly into contact
with him.



I I' nt, ,, I, if f Page 18.)
serenity the ,er'at talm face looked straight before
it, its hands stretcheild out from the elbow above the
legs. crossed for, its Sluatting. 'earth-touching' posi-
tion. Bel"o it un the tep.- of the altar, a priest
squatted alsn. his -haven head nodding forward in
the sleep of a vi'il ex-'esiiv\ly prolonged. By the
portal stood thi' sihrikinu figure of the girl, staring
In terror at the j'-wel w inking in the uncertain light
of the expiring trc'h',s
"For a lIne. Iolnc momne.nt she stood there, un-
able to mni~e. her fal e looking as carven in its fixed
immobility a the inag. itself. With a sympathetic
thrill I reahzled the ai ful superstitious dread which
had her in it- grip. Then her human love triumphed.
I saw hitr _lible -t. althily towards the giant figure,
so stealthily that the nodding head of the somnolent
priest alteredi nit in the regularity of its drowsy rise
and fall. so -teaitlhly that sl-e seemed but a part of
the shifting shaIld'w ca-t[ by the candelabra of the
torches. Nimbly anil cautiously she clambered from
the altar-steps to the- kine of the mighty image, drew
herself up to the arm iut;tretched in benediction.
She balanced herse-lf precariously, rose suddenly up-
right upon it. and snatched at the jewel.
"The clasp of the flexible gold snake broke with
the violence of her pull. I saw it slide like a little
stream of ruddy fire into her hands, saw the last
flash of the jvewel as she stuffed it into her bosom.
And then. with a start. the priest looked up.
"Ere he could do more than spring to his feet
she had leaped dovn with the sure-footed agility of
a mountain-girl. In a quick movement she evaded
his clutch. was gone.
"Once more I ft'ound niym.el looking at the garden
where the whitt-clad riture lurked in the shadows.
A moment of waiting. [hll down the moonlit open
space came the flittine figure of the girl. Swiftly she
approached. panic- in her wild flight,.in the beautiful
features now i.|ln- 1 en 'ughl for distinct view. She
was sobbing as The ran. The man stepped out to
her. She stopped, stood for a second regarding him
with a look of inexprer-ible reproach, and then, avert-
ing her head. thrust into his eager grasp the sacred
jewel. He slipped it ntu, his pocket and caught her
in his armn'. Shei gazed at him in yearning doubt,
her head drawn back. her soul seeming to question
him through her eyes. and then suddenly she flung
herself towards him. her hare arms round his neck,
her mouth on his. kis-ing him in a passionate parox-
ysm of caresses. El'sperately she yielded herself to
him. frenzied claiming the reward for her crime-his
love. I saw the tears rolline lown her cheeks as she
kissed him eagerly aeamn and again, all else forgot-
ten but absorption in his presence. In a thrill of ap-
prehension I r-membered the priest. Surely the
alarm was giren-a horde of fanatics searching for
her while she lingered ,i recklessly! Despite the
utter silence in which all this passed, I almost fan-
cied I could hear the sonouuu booming of a gong.
"My apprehension quickined to a stab of acute
alarm. There. slinkine towards them in the shad-
ows, as stealthily a- a cat. came a crouching figure,
nearer and nearetr flum b-hind. The steel blade he
clutched flashed in the moonlight. His face looked
up, illumined in the :oft radiance which suffused the
garden I recognized it--the priest who had slum-
bered at his pot'--and theu. with a curious little
Internal shocl. but vaguel,. as if these later inci,
S dents belonged to anohth:-r existence, the full recogni-
tion dawned upon nim-the wretched native who had
loitered about the desertd-rl pagoda of Cho-lon, the
conjurer of the ,ri'. tll- io:Clurer who-ages since-
had filled the saloon of the .Mlry Gleeson with smoke
and incense from the red fir:e of a bronze bowl! His
ugly face contorled with vindictive cunning, he
crept now upon thb oblivious lovers locked in their
passionate embrace. I san him gather himself for
the spring, the lhne. murderous knife openly in his
band. In a spa.ni of h'.riror all of me tried frantic-
ally to shriek a warning. but I could not utter a
sound. I seemeri to he only a watching brain, divorc-
ed from all the other ,wean:. i.f the body. He leaped.
"There was a glimmer of cold light as the knife
descended. I waited. my h-Pert stopping, in doubt
as to the victim. The unIertainty lasted but an
instant. The girl. 'tru]ik in the back, turned her
face up to the sky and I rumpled to her knees like
a marionette whose ..tring i.- cut. For-one long mo-
ment the grinning. evil face of the priest, tugging to
release his knife. and the horrified eyes of the
white man looked into each other in a silence which
was appalling in its complete soundlessness. Then
the white man struck .savagely downwards upon the
shaven head and spr-ang away into the darkness.
"Again I heard a gasp. a choked-back cry, from
the obscurity at the side of me. But now it seemed
to be startingly nearer. and as my bewildered facul-
ties tried to apprehend it. to identify the source
which I knew vaguely must be familiar to me and
yet could not bring to consciousness, my attention
wandered for a moment. When I looked again the
vision had disappeared. There was no longer garden
or temple. There was only redly-illumined smoke rol-
ling upward from a dull red glow and an atmosphere

of sweet, sickly fumes that held my body in a drug-
ged paralysis.
"Still I gazed, fascinated. Those thick, wreath-
ing masses of smoke were shaping themselves-shap-
ing themselves into something-something columnar.
I watched like one in a dream, and as I watched a
part of me attained to consciousness of Captain
Strong sitting in frozen immobility by the side of
me. The wreathing smoke coalesced, formed itself
into something whose outlines were not yet clear. A
brighter, yellower light emanated from below it, lit it
up. A body-a vague female body-collected itself,
and then a girl's head, strangely beautiful for all its
almond eyes and scanty brows, smiled upon us, sud-
denly vivid and real. I recognized it with a shock-
the girl of the garden! She and her body were now
one complete living organism that moved sinuously
from the hips. I held my breath in awe. Whereas
the visions I had been watching were like pictures at
a distance this was an actual living woman a few
feet from us. The smoke disappeared. I was star-
ing at a beautiful native woman, as real as you or I,
mysteriously illumined in yellow light against a
background of obscurity, who stood where the fumes
had writhed upwards from the bowl.
"Conscious as I now was of Captain Strong's
close neighbourhood, I craved to turn to him for as-
tonished comment. But still my body was deprived
of function: I could not move a muscle. He made
neither move nor sound. Then I almost forgot him
in the fascinated interest which this apparition com-
"Swaying slightly, with a free, graceful motion
of the hips, she moved from her place. Her mouth
parted in a pathetic little smile of melancholy, her
dark eyes gazing, not at me, but at something at my
side, in soulful, yearning appeal, she glided towards
us through a hushed silence where I could hear my
own heart beat. Slowly she detached her arms from
the simple robe which swathed her, stretched them
out imploringly, with a wistful smile that seemed to
beseech a difficult confidence, to the companion at
my side, to Captain Strong. Once more I heard the
gasp of his laboured breathing.
"She approached, and it seemed to me that she
and I and the panting figure at my side whom I
could not turn my head to see were the only things
existing in a world that was otherwise dark. She
was illumined from head to foot, clearly and definite-
ly detached from her surroundings. I marked the
soft, lithe roundness of her form. Did she speak?
Her lips moved, but I heard nothing, although it
seemed to me that a gently-uttered name echoed far
away in illimitable space, echoed endlessly as though
ringing through the vast, incommensurable soul of
things, present, and to be.
"A name was breathed distinctly, as in awed
answer from the obscurity at my side. 'H4a-Nan!
Hea-Nan!' The wistful smile on the beautiful face
sweetened as in grateful ire-,::nition. The eyes soft-
ened, in a tender fondness that had nevertheless a
strange, remote dignity. Not now did she give her-
self up to the passionate abandonment of that moon-
lit garden. Love still yearned from her, but it was
the eternal love of the soul that looks to the unimag-
inable realities beyond the body.
"Slowly, slowly she approached, until it seemed
that the hands of her outstretched arms would brush
my sleeve as they reached towards the man I felt
recbil back into the darkness at my side. I looked
up into the face of a living, breathing woman-saw
the faint flush upon her Asiatic complexion-saw the
dark eyes glowing, swimming in a bath of tears.
Once more the lips moved silently-once more the
answering name-'Hea-Nan!'-came in an emotion-
ally exhaled whisper from the man who could draw
back no farther.
"She smiled, a smile of radiant forgiveness, of
understanding, and-so it seemed-of pity, and then
I saw her arms make a quick movement. From the
shadow at my side she plucked something, held. it
aloft. The sacred jewel of the Buddha blazed in the
mouth of the reddish-gold snake that seemed to curl
alive about her arm. For one long moment I looked
up at her, her face glowing strangely in the glory
of the recovered jewel, yet still a living, human
woman, with lips that parted as I watched-and
then I found myself staring into a smother of
smoke, from which issued a ghastly, mocking laugh-
"The red glow near the floor expired in one last
flicker. There was a stab of flame, the simultaneous
deafeningly-violent detonation of a revolver fired
close to my ear, a savage cry of furious menace, an-
other gloating chuckle of laughter-and then dark-
ness and silence.
"Brought suddenly to myself, I struggled to my
feet in the choking fumes and groped feverishly for
the switch of the electric light. I found it, and the
lamps sprang into dull illumination of the smoke-
filled cabin. The door was open. The conjurer had
disappeared-I heard a splash in the river under the
open ports, and was left no doubt that he was beyond
our reach. Then, in sudden alarm at his silence, I
turned to look for Captain Strong.
"He was stretched back unconscious upon the
settee where we had sat together, his hand still
grasping the revolver, which he had vainly fired with
his -last strength. He looked livid, pale as death,

and for a moment I thought the native had murdered
him. But I could find no mark on him, and presently
he opened his eyes, began to murmur delirious phra-
ses. I saw at a glance that he was very ill, with
the illness that frightens you when you see it in a
place like Saigon. With some difficulty, for he was
a heavy man, I lifted him to his bunk and put him
to bed. As I loosened the shirt from about his throat
I noticed, with a thrill of the uncanny which made
me shudder, that round his neck was a circling line
of blanched skin, and on his chest a similar, broad-
er patch. But the amulet whose long wearing had
evidently caused these marks had disappeared com-
"Half an hour later I was being rowed in all
haste to the black Messegeries Martimes boat moored
in the river, and claiming the services of her doctor.
"It was hopeless from the first, and we both
knew it. Captain Strong died before morning, rav-
ing native words in his delirium and calling inces
santly a native name-'Hea-Nan! Hda-Nan!'
"At dawn I looked up to see the yellow jack
fluttering from the masthead precisely as not twelve
hours before I had seen the vision of it from the
Captain Williamson stopped, glanced at his burnt-
(Concluded on Next Page.)


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Wine and The Scriptures

The favourite Jamaica mode of showing hospital-
ity is to ask a man to have a drink. But there has
arisen a school of thought in Jamaica which con-
tends that to ask a man to have a drink is to sug-
gest to him that he should have some poison. This
school ranks wine with arsenic, whisky with strych-
nine, rum with some other noxious toxic essence:
it demands whether anyone is justified in dispensing
liquid death, even if it be a somewhat slow form of
death, to one's fellow-creatures.
So it would seem as though the Jamaica way of
being hospitable, which is also common enough else-
where. were nothing but an effort to spread destruc-
tion, and the hospitable man might be described as
an enemy of humanity and a wrecker of homes! Label
a drink "poison" and you have condemned it with-
out the evidence of a sip; call it the foe of the fam-
ily and you have stigmatised it as something worse
than he who comes into a happy household with vil-
lainous intent. And yet the conimmon.-en-s of men
will not, in spite of all the eloquence on the other
side, agree that drink with an alcoholic content is the
deadly thing the prohibitionists would have us be-
We all know this; but all of us do not know that
there are some very readable books written about
wines which show a side of the story that
the prohibitionists never touch upon. One of the
most excellent works of this kind is a handsome vol-
ume entitled, "Wine and the Wine Lands of the
World," by Frank Hedges. Butler. which has been
sent to "Planters' Punch" for review. It is a book
which can be read from cover to cover, or dipped into,
as one's fancy impels, with the greatest enjoyment.
Mr. Butler's work is the best on the subject that we
have ever seen; and his chapter on "Wine and the
Bible" is especially interesting. As people in Jamaica,
generally speaking, love to have Scriptural authority
for most things (even if they neglect the spiritual
injunctions referring to certain matter' the readers
of such a publication as "Planters' Punch" will be
glad to hear what Mr. Butler has to say about the
Bible and Wine.
He knows his subject. Wine, he tells us, is men-
tioned 155 times in the Old Testament. and 10 times
in the New Testament as a drink. Noah planted a
vineyard, probably in celebration of his escape from
the flood, but it has to be admitted that he drank
too much of its product. It must have been new wine
that he imbibed, or too much of the stuff, in his gen-
eral jubilation; anyhow he did certain unseemly
things which the father of a family and a leading
sage should not have done: such as putting off his
clothes and probably endeavouring to execute a jazz.
This caused Ham to laugh'at him, for which Ham
was very properly punished. But, as Mr. Butler
mentions, Noah lived to be 950 years old, or only
19 years less than Methuselah; so he could hardly
have been immoderate as a rule in the use of wine.
He drank it like a gentleman, and it did not shorten
his life. He was not poisoned. After all, to flourish
on this earth for nearly a thousand years is as much
as even a prohibitionist would have asked in the days
when men counted their years by the centuries. So
one does not see that prohibitionists receive much
support from that episode in Noah's life, when that
old gentleman went about, for a while, in the nude.
Bread and wine, the staff of life and the light-
ener of life, were employed as symbols of hospitality

in Old Testament times; thus when Abraham had
achieved a daring victory over some neighboring
enemies and went back home, the people came out to
greet him "and Melchizidek, King of Salem, brought
forth bread and wine: and he was the priest ofthe
most high God." We may be sure that Father Abra-
ham enjoyed his wine and was most grateful for it,
and we have to agree that a king and priest of Mel-
chizidek's standing in the world would never have
offered to an honoured guest anything that he regard-
ed as deleterious. The priests of those days were not
total abstainers, nor are all priests and clerics total
abstainers now. The Children of Israel were com-
manded to give thanks for "thy corn and thy wine,"
and it is ordered in the Book of Numbers that "In
the holy place shalt thou cause the strong wine to
be poured unto the Lord for a drink offering." We
read in the Song of Songs of "the best wine that
goeth down sweetly, causing the lips of those that
are asleep to speak," and we are recommended to
"give strong drink unto him that is ready to perish"
-not to assist him to perish, of course, but to save
him from perishing, or at the very least to prevent
him from -uffering much.
Timothy, who was a disciple of the Apostle Paul,
was evidently a young man of delicate health. Paul
saw that he needed some stimulant, and wrote to
tell him so. "Drink no longer water, but use a little
wine for thy stomach's sake and thine often infirm-
ities," said Paul, which he would never have done
had he been a prohibitionist. Then there is the cele-
brated miracle of the turning of water into wine,
and though some have laboured to say that this wine
had no alcohol in it, they have never been convincing.
What is certain is that this wine cannot have been
grapejuice, for that would have provoked the guests
to an instant exodus. It wasn't ginger ale or lemon-
ade. It was wine, richer, of better body and aroma,
than the guests had had before. And it set the seal
upon the offering of a glass of something-wine or
spirits-as a token and expression of hospitality.
Mr. Butler's book is full of other good things.
He rightly calls whisky the "'wiue" of Scotland and
he does nor forget that rum is the wine of Jamaica.
In Ecclesiastes we are hidden to "drink thy wine
with a merny heart." and MIr. Butler understands
that evEry country \w ill have ?omeni alffecton for its
own wine and drink it with a merry heart. There
is no reason why this should not be done and a non-
fuddled head also maintained; and as we here have
managed to drink our own wine or rum, and the
wines of other countries, without becoming a
drunken country, it is clear that a people, like an
individual, can easily steer the middle course.
Rum has been mentioned. 1lr Butler tells us
that the word is derived froinm sai ha, itt, the Latin
word for sugar. Now rum is actually a bye-product
of sugar, and it seems that its very name is also a
bye-product-which is interesting. Mr. Butler writes
that "rum has always been considered the most
wholesome of spirits," which is a very fine ti bute
to our native wine. He himself stresses the virtues
of sherry; there are some who prefer a cocktail mix-
ture; in Jamaica we consume rum, whisky, and
sherry, champagne, gin and anything else that we can
afford, never forgetting our famous Planter's Punch.
And although a few und,:outitelly do overdrink and
make beasts of themselves, the majority .are neither
poisoned nor rendered incapable. Nor do most of us
die particularly young.



"A development






Motor Trucks

"Watch them

on the Road"



iout cheroot, threw it away, and selected another one
carefully from his case.
"Well, professor, what do you make of that?" he
asked, as he struck a match.
The professor assumed an air of wisdom superior
to any mistery.
"Of course," he said, "there is no doubt what
hai'pen-ri~-. Captain Strong was probably infected
with yellow fever coming up the river. Years before,
he had instigated a native girl to rob that Buddhist
temple on his behalf, and finding himself back at the
place he was impelled-it is a common psychological
phenomenon in criminals-to revisit the scene of his
crime. The ex-priest saw him and recognized him,
and, wishing to make quite sure whether he still
pou'ts r.d the sacred jewel, he hypnotized him by
chaining his conscious attention on his little conjur-
ing trick at the cafe, and then suggested to him the
vision of the jewel by outlining it with his subject's
finger on the table. Captain Strong's exclamation
and his gesture would be sufficient evidence that he
still wore it.
"As for the scene in the saloon, it was hypnotism
on a large scale, induced by the use of the drugs with
which the atmosphere was filled. Captain Strong's
subconscious mind came to the top and lived once.
again through the episodes of the robbery and the

death of his agent, seeing them, as is the habit of the
subjective mind when released from the control of
the objective surface consciousness, like actual pre-
sent facts. The hallucination of the girl as a living
presence in the cabin is, of course, explained by the
silent suggest ion of the priest acting on the already
highly-excited subconsciousness of the guilty man.
Just as I can make a hypnotic patient believe that
you are someone else and see you as someone else,
so the conjurer himself, under cover of the vision he
had suggested, approached the wearer of the sacred
jewel and snatched it from his neck. The emotional
crisis undergone by Captain Strong would, of course,
hasten the onset of the yellow fever already in his
"H'm!" objected Captain Williamson. "but that
doesn't explain why I should share these visions."
The professor was nothing daunted.
"Of course." he said, "you' were in close propin-
quity to Captain Strong. and were doubtless what is
known as en rapport with him. The vision of the
yellc w-.flag-the not uncommon hallucination of a:
death-symbol, produced by the sub-consciousness of a
doomed person-was communicated to you when the
captain gripped your shoulder- "
"Have a whisky-and-soda, professor," interrupted
the planter, coarsely, "and don't spoil a good story."

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96-1(10 Harbour St.,

I -

- -=-~

-- --

! 1928


The Sins of the Children

i f'o.ntturIdI trraoi Pa ge 23).
of the professional canvassers. would be he who
should lay out the larger sum and not insist upon too
inquisitive an enquiry as to how that money was
In Kingston Mrs. Primrose. William Bressley's
sister, and Vivian his daughter. heard of what was
happening in St. Catherine. The news went to Mrs.
Primrose's head as wine would have done. There
was plenty of pride in her. plenty of ambition, too,
but now it was ambition for Vivian's sake far more
than for her brother's or her own. Her first thought
was of how her brother's victory would affect Vivian
-for she believed firmly that ie would be victorious.
"You see, Vi." she said animatedly, one morning
after reading about the approaching contest in the
newspapers. "it is like this. The poorer people
will vote for you' father. for they hate old Steinway.
And so you will be the daughter of the Hon. William
Bressley. Think of that! You can look as high as
you please now-or rather. I iui-an to say, as high as
a sensible girl will look."
"Looking and seeing are twro different things,"
observed Vivian sagely. "but ut present I am looking
neither high nor low. I don't care anything about
these political questions. Aunt Gertrude, though of
course I shall be glad it papa wins."
"And Mr. Gus Steinway will be sorry," said Mrs.
Primrose grimly. Vivian's iack of enthusiasm an-
noyed her. She could not help wondering if the cir-
cnmstance that it was GCus Steinway's father who was
in the field on the other sile had not something to
do with Vi's disappointing attitude.
But Vivian showed no feeling whatever at this
S "Whether Mr. Gus is vexed or pleased will not
matter to the voters." she reminded h'-r aunt. "I really
don't care, you know. Aunt I;ertrude, for papa to be
a member of the. Council. v.hat does it mean to you
or me? But if he fight I hope he will win, don't
care who is against him. iiY, and me won't be any
the worse if he don'r iii. tholich."
"Well, that i- true. Vi But it isn't for himself
that I wish him success, for he will only lose time
and money, an' money is v.r.rtl more than all the
empty honour in tlhel world. Uit it might help you.'
"I know it is ne you thinking of," said Vivian
calmly. "but I don't want youi o imagine that that
sort of thing make any diffren.n.e to me."
"You are sen.siblj." agr,-ed Mrs. Primrose dryly,
but she looked at tihe girl. Ipuzzled. She recognized that
Vi was talking .s-ound s-ns, b ut, the sense was too
sound. An old 'womani .Onile oni- verging upon seven-
ty, who had seen too, nmtllh o:f life to be any longer
attracted by its vanities. mihtit r.ke the line Vi took,
but hardly a girl r(f r\I,..nt.-tiv.,. Such complete lack
of interest as to whetle-lr lih father should win a
local position trht wiiilld rmke him a figure in the
country, and endow him with a local title as long as
he held his elecitd po-iti,.n. -iii ested that Vivian's
mind was supremely I-.ciltiviri with something else.
But hhe hall li?-n iii Kin-ston for some time
now, and sint rithai .i'to-!'fn..ii when they had.
talked about Gua Still-.ir 1iMrz. Primrose had had
no reason to sU ale,.t that hir niece had once set
her eyes on that yiiung nimn .A a matter of fact, she
did not now beliei-t that it wvav Gus who had spoken
to Vivian on the id., that Mr Proudleigh had seen
her. The old f-ll, tn being privately questioned
later on, had been positive th:it no words had passed
between the two otuiig people. .and that Vivian had
not replied to the gentleman's bow. He had been
loud in praise ,f thi dlienity with which Vivian had
stared at the insolent trange-r. So that was that;
meantime n(. lrettEiin ae to Vivian except from her
father and a fw friends hli.e handwriting Mrs&
Primrose was %ell a.;i.lainted- with, and Vivian went
nowhere. so far as she wouldd Iperceive, that Gus Stein-
Why was likely to ti-.
It was probable that. (;Gu was in the country
and not in Kingstiu. nt all hurtly indeed he would
be helping his father in rbis -Ile' t.ion contest. So she
Could not readily oiim.lude that Gus Steinway had
anything to do with \Vivian's liluewarm attitude re-
garding her father's p,_lirical pIrspects; yet she felt
that that attitude was ti extraordinaryy to admit of
any commonplace explanarirn It was not normal.
Could it be possible that \'i\ian was falling in love
with someone uhoim her aunt ilil not know, and was
keeping it secret ftir a while.' In Kingston there
were a lot of young ntti. and Vi went out some-
times. She may have set-n i.1, vne Mrs. Prim-
rose was conscious of a twinge of jealousy. Yet it
was only natural that Vi should like some young
fellow, and he might also hbe of the right sort, a
young man of good app-arani e. family and position,
and that would mean the last of Mr. Gus Steinway
anyhow. But why any -ecre.cy? Here, however, Mrs.
Primrose remembered that she had been a girl her-
self, and she knew that she would never have begun
to talk to her parents about any young man who
had as yet said nothing really significant to her.
SShe smiled; she realized that she was expecting too
.Ieh from Vivian. On the while. as a result of these


reflections and deductions, she became somewhat
easier in mind.
"You are sensible," she repeated, after a silence
of a few minutes; "yet when one is young one
shouldn't be too grave, Vi, it make you get old before
your time."
"No fear of that, aunty," laughed Vi, who, cov-
ertly, had been watching the older woman with keen,
searching eyes. "Don't you fear that I am going to
get gray! Only, it's no use pretending that I care
for things I don't think twice about. I like to en-
joy meself as much any other girl, and you know
it; but I am not going to enjoy meself better be-
cause papa is in the Legislative Council. Annie's
father is there-" she referred to a girl friend of
hers in Trelawny-"and I don't see that it makes any
difference to Annie; she has the same friends she
had before and she doesn't have any more money,
Where does she benefit?"
"Well, you know, there is the honour."
"For papa, perhaps, and that is something--if
they don't abuse him on the top of it. But not for
you and me. I would rather have a nice little motor
car than be in the Council."
"That is because you are a woman," laughed Mrs.
"Well, suppose papa lose money by going into the
Council? I may have to wait till I am old for a
motor car!"

Business and Culture

.i. .. .

Mr. Alfred Miller entered the dry goods business
when a youth; he has never been in any other; to-day
he is a partner in Sasso & Miller, the well-known mer-
chants of Kingston, and it is admitted that he has
been a success in business. He is one of the shrewd-
est, withal one of the most conscientious, of our busi-
ness men. He began life as a clerk, aiming to learn
all that could be learnt in Jamaica about his busi-
ness, but intending also to become his own master
later on. That intention never for a moment suffered
an eclipse. Alfred, as his friends call him, possesses
the quality of persistence to a marked degree; he is
very methodical, looks far into the future, and plans
to-day what he hopes to be able to execute years
ahead. This accounts for his steady rise, which of
course is also the rise of the business of whose two
heads he is one. He applies the process of thinking
to the job he has undertaken,
Mr. Alfred Miller is a man of excellent taste in
reading; reading is indeed his favourite diversion.
In his youth .he received a good education and he
has never allowed himself since then to ignore intel-
lectual pursuits. Thus he can converse on topics
which might seem to have no connection whatever
with business matters, but which have every connec-
tion with culture and a broad outlook upon human
affairs. There is no incompatibility between a keen
and unremitting interest in one's business affairs
and a liking for literature and philosophy; that is
proved by Mr. Miller himself. In manner he is quiet,
persuasive, sincere; in business circles as well as
among his personal friends he is highly thought of.
He travels a good deal, ging chiefly to England in
the Interests of his firm, but using such opportuni-
ties also for a continued development of his mind.
He is a sound example of the educated business man,
a type which will be identified more and more with
business in Jamaica as time goes on.

"Girl! But you want a lot! Yet you're right,
you know, he may lose money by all this sort oi
thing." Mrs. Primrose was now exceedingly pleased
that Vi was taking, after all, a directly personal and
mercenary interest in the political situation. This
was more natural than her apparent indifference of a
few minutes before. She was thinking of herself,
and of something she really would prefer, which was
h. althy in a young girl, even if it seemed selfish.
"You may get a motor car shortly, Vi," she prom-
ised. "I hear you idn get a nice second hanil one,
almost new, for about half the price of a new one;
small, you know, but quite accommodating. I thin
I can manage it "
"Aunt Gerty! You do everything for me, give me
everything I want," cried Vi. "You're never tired of
that. You ought to be in the Council instead of
"Teha, girl! Go about your business!" cried'
Mrs. Primrose, but her face lighted up with pleasure
nevertheless; at that moment she was extremely hap-
py. The girl's gratitude, her praise, went to Mrs.
Primrose's heart. Then, she was about shortly to
gratify a wish of her niece's, and to gratify the
wishes of one she loved was a passion with Mrs.
Primrose. To succour, to give, to stand in a sort of
providential relationship to others to whom she was
devoted was part of her nature; the strength of her
character instinctively sought to express itself in
benevolent actions that created an atmosphere of well
being and happiness round about other people.
It was only a week before that Vi and Gus Stein-
way had met in the cemetery to the west of the
city. She had last seen him standing among the
graves. But she had heard from him, and in her
bodice now was a note from him, received only the
day before. Mrs. Primrose had studied the hand-
Sriting on all the envelopes that came addressed to
Vivian; it had not occurred to her that letters to Vi
might be addressed elsewhere, for Vi had only a few
acquaintances in Kingston. It had never entered
Mrs. Primrose's mind to think of Mr. Proudleigh as a
I',1silble human post office. But Mr. Prondkligil went
to the Post Office in Kingston every afternoon now
and asked for letters addressed to him. He had re-
ceived two, rte sel-.-l contents of which he knew he
must deliver privately to Vivian. He had been given
come explicit instructions as to that. His services
had been engaged and he had fulfilled his duties
Two letters in one week! No wonder Vivian
thought little of political contests in which she had
no direct interest. Even the motor car she had
spoken of meant far less to her than Mrs. Primrose
believed. Yet she had not spoken idly atout motor
cars. There was a reference to one in the note she
had upon her person at that moment. Her mind was
very much upon a particular motor car just then.


TIHAT same afternoon Mr. Proudleigh came round
to the house chockful of enthusiasm.
"I are a proud man to-day, Mrs. P.," he assert-
ed, as he stood at the threshold of the little house,
looking into the room in which sat Vivian and her
aunt at work. Mrs. Primrose was making rosettes
for her brother's campaign, and Vivian was dutifully
helping her and making two to her one.
"I can see that, Mr. Proudleigh," said Mrs. Prim-
rose, glancing at the old gentleman's attire. He wore
his best suit, a faded grey tweed which he had pos-
sessed for some fifteen years and only donned on
very particular occasions. It was thick and it was
hot, 'r.iieqlerltivy Mr. Proudleigh was suffering ex-
tremes of discomfort. But he fancied himself in these
garments, and his feeling that they improved his
appearance wonderfully was almost complete com-
pensation for his physical misery.
"I can see that," Mrs. Primrose repeated; "you
dress so fine an' look so well that you must be going
to a wedding. Not your own, Mr. P?"
Everybody laughed at this as at a wonderful bit
of humour. But Mr. Proudleigh did not think the
observation merely a joke.
"No ma'am," said he: "I meek up me mind,
when me wife die, dat I would never married agen.
I am not so old, Mrs. Primrose, as you can see when
I put on a fashionable suit o' clothes like dis, which
are made by Mr. Jones, the tailor down Orange Street,
who die during' de war. Many a man older dan me is
married to-day. But I done wid all that sort of t'ing
now, for I begin to feel dat I must turn me thoughts
to religion. Prepare to meet your God, Mrs. P."
"I am quite prepared, Mr. Proudleigh; but is it
because you going to turn to religion that you dress
up like this ti-day?"
"No, ma'am; it is because I hear from me son,
the one in Nicaragua, an' it is also because I read
about you' brother, the same one dat is de Honour-
able. You know, Mrs. P.. our colour is conmin' on.
When I was a buoy, you couldn't see a lack man
or a brown man in de Legislative Council, but now
them-is fulling up de place."
"Is that so?" asked Mrs. Primrose dryly. She
did not relish the suggestion that her brother would
not occupy almost a unique position in the country.

_ _~___


"Yes. an' I wouldn't bother go up f6r de Council
meself, even if I wasn't too old: nevertheless it is a
great t'ing. an' I want to see you' brother in there. I
want to see people in there who w ill do something
for we poor people. for we don't have nobody to loilk
after us at all. Them negl-rt de pore man. and look
after de rich men. But your brother goin' to be
different: him is going' to be de poor man friend "
'I hope s.. Mr. Proudleigh "
Yes, me'am'" The old gentleman's voice rose
exultantly. "I read all about him in a rGlcnu'r I
borrow dis naruing. an them write 'bout him a lot.
anti report his s.pesth. an' I read dat speech till me
h:,e hurt ni-. Him is a man for true. me massa!
Dat man can talk! an' him don't 'fraid for a soul
Him bay he will stand for de poor an' oppressed
people of Jamaica--whiLh is nme--against de tyrants
of : ll lie ag-s. an' will break the ft tlirr of poverty.
I are hoping' he will break mine."
"Whil_- there is life their, is hope." laughed 'Vivi-
an. "butt even ine [athlir can't do the imlposible. youI
know. Mr P."
"But h '- will try." promised iMrs Primrose. who
wa., _e r-.ethl plea.iled with Mr ProItdleigh's enthlu.u,.
asm and belief in he-r irlruthr'-, capa':ity to acr.om-
plish what no human heing ever couhl "'Vihy don't
you come in an' have a seat?" ,h e asked
This was the first time MrI. Pri.udl'itgh had ever
been nluitedl ins ird- the huui-.-. Hi., suit. his inter.! t
in the ekI'tioi. the kindly. friendly moodol f .IMri
Pri'nii', .i? v.c!re all ..111itrlbulin, iiflrnelune r'omnir'nIll
the invitation. The old man felt pleased This was
a r(ntplinmett that went to his heart But he had
lived sufficiently long in thit world to realise that
you .re lthloughr mni.ie i.f if iyoui do nit, show too uniLh
d-li ht at social o\itruires. He firmly rest;rained th.-
impulsi- if his legs to, more forwcarid. and \%ent on
"It are tool out here. Mrs P.. and Miss Vi. an'
I don't want to inturrupts you' political work. Sm.'ml
odder day-ef you invite me." he hastily added, for
it wxold.l un-t ith to b-) thought presump:uIlOu "But
de elei.ton jof y..u' briuthet is not de only t'ing dat
meik me feel proud an' put on me new suit to-day I
Was tellin' you dat I hear from me sion in Nicara :La.
de same dat is de second i.hile I have."
"Yes, Mr Proudleigh? An' bow is h'?'
"Quite well. Dis morning. distress Primro-e.
after I get upi out o',me bed an' waash mW face. an'
drink a little tea. I hear a rap at de gate. I thought-
ed at tir'' dat it might be a bailiff come to levy for
taxes. but I 'member lat me .-n-in .aw don't ov.,, no
taxes. for I always tell him dat de Government is de
last people to owe So I go to de gate an' I see a
young man. an' he say to me, 'You Mister Proudleigh?'
An' I say, 'Yes.' An'-"
'This sttiry of yours don't seem to have any end.
Mr. Proudleigh," broke in Vivian with marked im-
Mr. Proudlleip-gh took the interruption meekly, and
ha!tened. in fewCer words than he- had intended.
to explain the objei t of the young man's visit It ap-
peared, according to his abbreviated narrative, llhat
the visitor had been commissioned by his son in
N Iaragua ru bring some mnt.nw y to liln, and also to
inform him that arrangements had been made for
him to have the use of tile young man's motor car
once or twice. A letter toufirming this message had
been sent also, and no less than fifteen dollars, a vast
fortune from Mr. Prouileigh's point of view. The
old man b:ainied with pleasure as he told this story.
he wishedl to know it that' boy in Nicaragua was not
one to: be proud of. Mrs. Primrose had lived in Nic-
aragua: surly she must have heard of his son. per-
haps met him? Mr,. Primrose explained that Nica-
ragua "a.s many times larger than Jamaica. and that
it was lthereftir.- perfectly possible for even so cele
brated a man as Mr. Proudileigh'st non not to be heard
of by everyne- M NI Pioudleigh looked as though re-
Ileved hy this piele of information. Then he went on.
"So I tell dat 3,ung man to sen' de car round fuo
me to night, an' I gwine for a drive. Only one time
before did I ever drive in motor tar. and my! it
sweet It have a sweet motion when y'u lay back
anl feel it run quicker dan any horse An' I sey to
meself, perhaps Miss Vivian wouldn't 'ave no objec-
tion to teik a little drive wid de ole man who have
such a admiration for she an' her aunt. whith is a
lady I respect An' so I come to invite you, Miss Vi,
unless y'u t'ink it would be inferior to you' dignity to
go wid me."
Mrs. Primrose looked rather surprised when she
heard this invitation. It was something quite un-
usual. though nmate with all humility. Ordinar-
ily. Mr. Proudleigh would never expect Vi to go any-
where with him: the line of social distinction be-
tween them he would not have thought of crossing
But he had just heard from his son. he was dressed
as if for a festive occasion, and he had shown
great pride and satisfaction in Mr. Bressley's candid-
ature. And. anyhow, it was for Vivian to say wheth-
er she would go or not. Mrs. Primrose suddenly.
hoped she would not hurt the old man's feelings by
refusing. After all, it could not harm her. and it
was only for once.
"You just said you had given up the ladies, Mr.
P., an' yet you are inviting me out for a drive,"
teased Vivian.
"But you not a lady-"

"Oh!" cried Vi.
"'You are better dan a lady." continued Mr.
Proudleigh impre.ssively. "Y'u going' to be a darter
of a honourable member of de Council, which is al-
mos' like what de Governor wife is. so I ask you to
pay me de compliment of feeling how me son motor
car feel. But howsomever, ef you don't care to go-"
"All right, Mr. P. I will go with you to-night."
Vi hastily cut in. "Don't think I would refuse you.
Will you come for me?"
"Yes. lMias Vi, 'bout eight o'clock." said Proud-
leigh. and a little ubhile after he took his departure.
When he was out of hearing. Vi burst into laugh-
'"Fancy, Aunt Gertrude, be asking me to go for
a drive! I couldn't refuse. but at th.-- same time it
is more than funny."
"Poor old chap." said Mrs. Plimrose kindly; "he
don't mean any harm. an' he isn't bad. You would
nave hurt him it y,-u had refl-ed."
"I knewv that. so I accepted: but I hope he won't
ask me again.'
"Well. the next time you can decline. and he
can have no reason to feel offended. If you accept
his invitation once. it is enough: but I don't think
he'll be so foolish to ask you again. Be-ides. next

week we'll have to go back home. for your father may
need our help on the spot. so we won't see much of
Mr. Proudleigh. though, to tell you the truth. I will
miss him. for I like him."
The hint that they would shortly be leaving
Kingston did not seem welcome to Vivian; she frown-
ed on hearing it Mrs. Primrose noticed her look,
and wondered again if some young man of the i!ty
had caught her niece's fancy. Well. if he were eligi-
ile no harm would lIe- done by a short absence, she
[iLoughr: but shir- v.,shed she klilw more about it all.
After dinner that evening. Vivian prepared to go
out for the drive tt which she had been invited. In
her own room he took more care with her toilet
than seemed at.tually necessary. considering the cir-
cumstances. She looked long and earnestly at her
face in the mirror: she saw that it was pretty:
saw her large black e.es gleaming with excitenimnt
and something else besides: and her smooth, healthy
akin. her carefully combed,. carefully arranged hair.
the arch of her nose and the self-willed, small
mouth of which she was so proud. Yes, she knew
that she had her full share of attractiveness, need
envy no girl of her Iown complexion and -lass. "But
I ant so dark." she murmnurd. "so dark too dark."
And the burning eyes he(ame misty.



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At about eight o'clock Mr. Proudleigh drove upl
In a large Buick car. Mrs. Primrose was astonisiled.
She had thought ,f. a Ford; she had not pictured to
herself anything so ostentatious as this. She express.
*ed her astonishment; but Mr. Proudleigh pointed out
That the car was lent. not hired, and that it had
been lent by a man in King.ston to whom his son in
Nicaragua had done some signal kindness. This
mounded quite likely, and she waved them a cheerful
farewell as they drove away. But since it was a large
car. she reflected. and Mr Proudleigh wished to share
his momentary magnificence with people who had
been nice to him. it was a little strange that he hadn't
thought of asking her also to go for the outing. "Even
Old men like the younger ones better," she smiled to
herself, then sat down to continue making rosettes.
Meanwhile the car sped at thirty miles an hour
towards the hills, where, at a convenient place. Gus
Steinway was waiting for Vivian, as she had been
Informed he would be in the note she had received
from him the previous day.
In less than an hour she arrived. Gus helped her
South of the car. and together rhey walked towards a
little spot in the shadow of some overhanging trees.
S Mr. Proudleigh watched them with interest; he
could not hear what they said to one another, but
guessed that they were making love. He was not
quite easy in his mind. This was the biggest piece
of deception he had yet practised upon Mrs. Primrose,
and he could not be certain that she would not dis-
cover the truth, though he did not quite see how she
could. To ease his conscience and allay his fears he
tried to picture himself as a sort of knight sent to
assist a damsel in distress: he had heard something
about knights in his time The remuneration of these
must have been very handsome. all things considered.
he reflected, if he rould judge by young Steinway's
liberality. Yet he lin not quite like the situation: he
assured himself that this was the last time he would
lzx himself up with love affairs requiring such se-
crecy and with no definite end in view. For he did
lot see what could be gained by the passing of a
few notes and the meeting, in full sight of passers-
by and other people, of a young man and a young
woman who did not seem ever to get any nearer to
each other.
"Dis whole t'ing is foolishness." he thought, hut
the truth was that he also felt it was dangerous. He
[ ow had enough money to last him for a long time;
*and he had not the capitalistic mind. which longs
for more and yet more. and is never satisfied. He was
row inclined to retire from the business of knieht-
Orrantry. if he could do so without incurring any-
body's active enmity He thought with some uneasi-
mesa that he would be badly put to it if he had to ex.
plain to his daughter or her husband how hi had
come by so much money: even to-night he would not
dare to drive up to their house in the car, but must
let it take him to the garage. whence he must find his
way home at perhaps a rather late hour. That too
might strike the fulk with whom he lived as strange:
Indeed, it seemed to the old mau that he was steadily
embroiling himself in a lot of serious trouble. He
was afraid of Gus Steinway. whom indeed he regard-
ed with awe. He was afraid of Vivian. he was very
much afraid of Mrs Primro:se And he was afraid
Sf his own relatives. Something of all this he had
already conveyed to Vivian. in a timid sort of wavy,
on their ride upward: and she had understood him
better than he imagined. His usefulness was rapidly
drawing to an end. was her impression.

SELL. aren't you going to give me a little kiss?"
S Gus asked her. as she stood looking at him.
"Don't you see that they can see you?" she demanded
sharply; "if you have no eyes. they have"'
"Who? the old man? He is half blind. I am sure;
Sand the chauffeur isu't looking our vay Besides.
that do they matter?"
"Nothing to you. perhaps. but everything to me.
Itwon't affect you if they talk: but me-!"
Nonsense. The ldI mnan wouldn't say a word.
and that chauffeur won't either. I know hint
He Is your man?"
"So what you do he will take to be a joke. and
all right. but he will laugh at me and talk about me,
and me name will lie worth nothing in St. Catherine'
No-don't!" But Gus had caught her to hini and
Sissed her.
"Ous." she whispered, "you've been drinking.
Why do you drink?"
"Good Lord. Vi! What do you take me for? A
Shield "
"No: but I have seen you--not drunk, you know.
but-. Why don't you stop it? It may get the better
ef you some day. It will harm you."
"Thanks, my dear, but I ani not a weakling Anil
what a lecturer you are' I am not to kiss you: I
m not to have a drink. I must be careful where I go;
I must keep out of the sight of your beloved aunt.
All these admonitions are laid upon me whenever I
meet you."
"And you don't pay any attention to any of them,
.exept it suit you to. Oh. I know. Be careful, Gus'
S:lhey will see you!"
I ;';'"I don't care a damn if they do; but I don't

want them to talk about you: don't believe that for a
moment." he said as he released her.
"You said you had something important to tell
me; what is it?"
"It is only that I have to leave Kingston to-
morrow. You have heard about this foolishness of
my father's. He wants me to come down and help
"To fight my father?"
"I suppose so. But I am not going down to fight
anybody. though I must give the old man some help
of a sort. I am not going to make any speeches or
any of that kind of damned nonsense: so far as I am
concerned, your dad could be elected to-morrow. I
suppose he will be too; my old man is not partitu-
larly popular."
"Yuu mean that I won't see you in Kingston for
some time?"
"In a way. yes; though I'll probably take a run
up next week and see if we can have a little chat -I
just love to meet you. Vi."
"Don't trouble to come: my aunt and I are going
back next week."
"Oh. that's good."
"But when we are hack it will be even harder
for u.s to meet than here. I told you already that she
is always talking about you."
"Yes. I know. Then what are we going to do?"
"Do? Noiling. There is nothing to do. As I
told you before, it is only wasting our time to meet
like this. I tell you again an' again that nothing
can come of it .... nothing. Then what's the use?
You had better go your way and leave me to go mine.
Let to-night he the last. Think what my aunt. or
my father, or anybody at all. nou.i say. if they
heard that you and I meet out here at night, like
"W'll. what you cam- out with. well within sight. Here is my'
chauffeur. Here are you and I standing where any.
one who passes can see that we are only talking to-
gether. ;nd that is hardly an offence What is there
fo.r anvilody to say? You always harp now on the
same string whenever ve meet."
Without giving her time to answer he put his
arms around her, and though bhe struggled slightly
lie kissed her again and again.
SNow tell me." he whispered. "do :youi really mean
that from tr-night I am to go my own way and you
yours? Do you mean that, sweetheart?"
"Don't join other people in abusing me father
a tile election." was her irrelh-vant answer. and he
smiled. "'My aunt." she went on. with the same
irrelevance. "is giving me a motor car."
"That's fine! Learn to drive it yourself: I
'Irive. and if you learn to,. it will be so easy for us
to nieet sometimes. No nue will know, and no harm
will be d,-ne "
"Biut hat's th- good of it"" she insisted. '"what
are we tar meet for?"
"Always that question, ehh? What's the good of
a kiss, my love? Yet it is sneet. What'.s the good
.if a talk? Yet wve find it interesting, don't vwe?
What's the good if anything?"
"It n\\n't be good if it end in my disgrace.
G us."
"But it ion't. it tan't: bow can it? You say that
people will talk aliut y.vu--for that is the only
thing y..u have to fear. But they are not talking
Yes. they are They are not saying anything
had. but they see us together sometimes. and they
have mentioned it to me aunt. Later on they aill
begin to put two an' two together and make it ten.
Don't you know? You are a Jamaican like nmeelf.
and you must know the per.ple of this country."
'Only too well. ,onf'ound them! Yes. you are
right about their slandering tongues. hut if you get
the Iritt. and I lhalippen to meet you ori.asiona.lly. there
aill be only you and me. not another soul. Don't
you realise that there will be nothing fIr you to be
alarmed aboutt'
"They say that walls have ears. Trees may have
eyes. Guas."
"Arnd I have lips. Vi. Kiss me'"
And she kissed him passionately. for she had
been kissed, and a desire for his lips p'-sesesed her.
If she enuld be seen by the two m'n waiting-she wm:s
not sure that they had seen him kissing her in the
shadows in which they were hotr standing-if she
m.ould be seen now she must have been already.
and so it did not matter now. It might be weeks
before they would meet again It was. for a time,
good-bye. Again and again they kissed one another.
he straining her to his breast. Then she started
awav panting, feeling suddenly afraid.
"Comle now." she murmured in a thick voice.
"we must go back. I mustn't stay out any longer."
Quietly she left the shadows.
He followed her. saying that he would find some
safe means of letting her hear from him in the coun-
try: and they went back to their respective cars
and took the road to Kingston.
Mr. Proudleigh and Vi got back to Mrs. Prim-
rose's before ten o'clock, at about which hour she
expected them.
(Continued on Page 83)

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The Sins of the Children
It tt i t'.. n trInr Paf 311.
"Well. Vi. hrow you enjoy yourself?" asked her
aunt conventionally, and Vi replied; "better than I
..thought I would. Aunt Gertrude.
S"I like motur car drives." she outinued, "hut
of course I am nnt going out again with that old
fellow. Did you really mean it when you said to.'
*day that you thought of giving me a little ar'""
"Yes- I he-n thinking of it lor some time. Thing.-
are going pretty w.-ll with me business. an' it is 1no
..ense keeping all .our mo,n-ey till you die anil leave
It. If you wuuld like a tar I can get one for
"Of course I would like it. Aunt Gertrude, arnd
you would harv the use of it as niuch as tue B|Ir
there is only one' thing."
S "\\'ldt is that "
I can't drive. and we couldn't keep a nian i,
drive it."
"That wouldn't co-t much we have sonmp boy.
on the plantation that (.'ulid learn
"And smash up the tar? 1.' i11 it th\ Iulrtn'r.
What would we dn if we w anted the car and the boy
wasn't on the spot \hen we want him.:"
"Then ahar are awe to do? Don't you wish the
S"Yes: but I thought that perhaps you or I could
earn to drive it It isn't hard to learn."
"I couldn't horher with that at my time of life"
asseverated Mlrs Primrogsei po.-itively. "The car i'1
going to be \our.s. .o you ill have to learn to drive.
But I don't see who is going to teach you."
"I could begin to take lessons from to-morlto."
VI pointed out. "'When you going to but it?"
"I would buy it before wC- gr back to the country
next week; Ito(.nrrowi you :ntd me coull go anid
S look over some ars a a arra'.. an' see if we ican
, get a small one cheap."
"That's easy. aunty. an' perhaps I nuill get some
lessons before we po "
"Very ciiorl. Vi. we'll -ee abi), t it to ,.nurro,. "
S Vivian could unrt tleerp fr ix.-itement that nicht.
ihe saw that the car she was to have would be a
means of escape from e-pionage. would open to her an
avenue to freedom In an holur .he would be able to)
put twenty or thirty iniles between her and the
S little village in whlih sbi- liveil She could m:.t
IGus often, if even fur a few nminate-;at a time The?
could meet at diftelent [ilp :-.s There woull be nii
harm done: she was re.'l'.-]. I tIhat no personal harm
should ever come tn hehr: she r'uld trust herself. in
.spite of all that her aunt miehr 'ay or pretend to fear.
SShe was deceiving her p-o[Ile? She would not admit
.that; it wasn't deoeit. it was only un effort on her
part to ind snme happiness. a happiness denied to
...her by so many ciiunustancet-
There was the furire. libut her aunt sonimlimn.t
quoted teXts ut Scriptur.i when dealing aitbh par'r Ii.
lar circumstances. anil Vi! nowv rtepealtd t., heil'f
the words, "sufficient unto the day is the evil there-
of." Yet she did not like th.: prospect. She baredl
her present positi.n. Sli- wa'.'- Ib.und hand and foot:
.her up-bringing, her status. her rLlati\v-c and friends.
: her own feeling of por-..na' *..,.*r.-i. ; i. h r vanity.
her pride in her go..-l name he.' lear kno-,.lediee that

she hald o muhb to lowe. far more than so many other
girls, were hedge- to keep her within the narrow
path of respettability. She was not sensual Passion
she could ft-el. but it had been awakened by only
one man The terrible pity of it was that he was
everything that ~he was not: white, wealthy. of one
of tbe Ibest ftumilie.. a nlan uwho would be expected
to marry a girl -..f hi, own class; and anything he
might do before that will any other sirrt of woman
woVuld he ,uidonrd aotild inti-r-d be thought per-
f.r t'i( natural an..l hardly to lie i.mnim noted upon
If anything shi.l happen to her-b-ht nothing
could or \\ouldl happen. She was sure of that. She
would say third frr hinu. he had nevtr offered her any
insult. Kissed her? But that was all right: there
waas nij harin in kissing. He had talke.id abhnt m rr-
riaer a- not for hiiin la he did nt believe in it: she
had fell tlien that lie wa-s nit iulit':- sintere. Yet he
mihiit ii-.an it a lotr f o iirjng men said that they
would nee-rr marry If he had wanted to get inarried
he ,uild have done .o long ago. there waas ntuthin'
to prevent him. Clearly then. he had never wi-hed
for marriage. s9.1 it mingt heue Iuenough that he was
one of those men whli dlid north look upon inarria2r-
as ne.i-c~ary.
"Biir that i bh.rau.ia that suits him." shl- thought.
"he may not like it. but what ahrit a woman?" Then
suppise hle should ibance his mind a quite probable
event He might wish to iet married. Wnuld he
think >if her in that relation-hip'' She tried to put
this que-tion out rf her mind. but could not:
it per.itred in prO-enting it-rlf. It i a., always
in her mind. hovering., o to speak. just h-n-ath the
bturfa'e of her cronsi-ious thought. Now it loomed
like a mighty note of interrogation If at any timp
in the future he wished to marry. would he choose
her as. hi. wife? There were hi- father, his mother
his brctther. his friends. and all would stare in-
creduluhtily at the very suggestion. and ethn would
laugh. and then wniuld become inldianant that it
tould hlave o.,'urr-ed to anyone. She grew hot with
anger as a picture of their faces flashed across
the ai ri-n of her brain: ani why houldi they ineer.
why should lth.y thiuk tliem-uelve- ever so much
siuperioir io her'' But he was white, and of a family
that hail always counted for mniuh in the country.
and he hall some nmouney. or wild when his father
(i edt
She wond-r-,l what he would id, if she were
rich. so har hi, father's money-y need mean little or
uothini_" to himn
Mlril': miint nmake all tie difference in the world.
she thought, and she thing to this idea with \vhenm-
etl(e It salveld h-ir a.ilundt d erlf-res.pei t to do sl
He saidl h loIvert her. aind she believed him, but
alter all. i.culd she expect himn to bIegear himself for
her He i.uiil Ic-Ie in other Irc--peirs also hiK -oitia!
position wuld lie sadcrified But that Inieht not
matter t, him: if ihe loved her lie might inot care.
But he could not aflYtrd tor piv.- ii, all tile projilrty
lie e:p:.-cted from his father, and she could nor expect
him to wa:rk for either people for i .salary as ordi-
nary y'ni mrin tiid. He vas not. all ordinary
man It was ab-irdl for her to ask that he should
E. rili. everything on her ar-iiirnr. and sii th-% niimst
just go) on nmeetin one ai.th ii'r -,itrri.eptl tioii- I a:-
they had hen doing of late: thev lrni-t ljust cnrtinur
loving one another No good might coite of it. bitt

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no harm could result either; so she would never be
worse off than she was at present. But if her fattier
found out all about their meetings, he mieht force
her to give him up ... She set her lilis grimly. She
could not and would not consent to do that.

M R. Bressley was exultant. His habitually im-
portant demeanour was now reinforced by a
triumphant air. His half-closed eyes, the whites of
them slightly bloodshot, indicated oibsinary and pug-
na-r'itv. Lis harsh but fluent voice was an expression
of his aggressive. fiery disposition But this after-
noon he was excliedl and happy. for only last night
he had 'eeu declared duly elected as the representa-
tive of his parish, and with him now were some of
his principal supporters who had driven round to
his home to renew their congratulations.
The sitting room on the second story of his com-
fortable home was crowded and the guests over-
flowed upon the broad verandah, from which a fine
view of green landscape, backed by wooded sunlit
mountains. was obtained. There were over a dozen
men with tlhim, and his wife, his sister, his daughter,
and several other women, the wives and daughters
of friends who had been very promin'-nt on his side
in the election. They were all having cake and wine
in celebration of an event which they considered as
almost unparalleled for importance in the colony's
history. and they were all intent upon retailing their
experiences of the past fortnight though these had
been related again and again
"But I don't think all of you know what that
young whelp, Gus Steinway. did two nights ago,"
said Mr. Bressley, "and how I dealt with him. You
weren't there, Brown, or you, Sampson?"
"No," admitted those two men, "tell us what
Vivian's eyelids fluttered; that something unplea-
sant had occurred between her father and Gus she
knew at once. She hoped it had been nothing much,
thoughll she was well aware that her father took
trine- seriously, and magnified their .igniri anct as
time went on, instead of forgetting them as most
other people did.
"I was having a meeting at Bog Walk. and was
walking properly\ into old Steinway. I didn't spare
the rascal; I made the people know just what sort
uf a man he is. It seems that his son was in the
audience and was drunk-he is a worthless .,,unc
f-ill-r! When I got properly warmed up and began
to say how badly St i-way tri-art his'labourers, fin-
ing them for noitkin at all in order to rob them,
whn should push his way to the front, sir, but Mr.
Gus Steinway and began to interrupt me. Told me
that I should fight fair and nor tell Iles! That made
me mad; and I let him know that I thought his
father and himself were only trash. Do you know
what he said to me then?"
S"No," Came in a chorus from those who had not
already heard the story.
"He said that he wouldn't take such talk from
a damned nigger, and he made as though to jump
on the platform to get at me!"
"Oh, oh," exclaimed some of Mr. Bressley's au-
dliemn:. "'damned nigger,' eh? So that's it! Well, a
larnedd nigger' beat his father all right! The for-
ward chap! And what did you do?" These several
comments were uttered in loud and indignant tones.
"Do? If it wasn't for me chairman, the loewd
would have torn him half to pieces. But v,- ,:alniid
them lnwn. and one or two men who were fi ridndl
to him irii-t,.-d that he should go away. He hadn't
intt rfcr.d wirh me before, he didn't even speak for
his father anywhere I don't think he can make a
decent spot l h." added Mr. Bressley proudly, remem-
bering his own established reputation as an orator.
"Well, to be sure!" cried some of the ladies
present, while Vivian sat with drawn face, which
they attributed enrtrel) to her zpce'hlec'., indligariion.
"What he won't say next!"
"You see how those Steinways think of even
such people as we," said Mr. Bressley.
Mr. Brown, a quiet-looking man, not of mixed
blood as were most of the other guests, but wholly
black, endured in a quiet way, "What did you tell
him his father was?"
"Trash," replied Mr. Bressley promptly, "and
bad trash too. Oh, I can tell you, I didn't spare him."
-"But, \'i::;an,." said Mr. Brown, "while the
young man had no right to talk about damned nig-
ger, it.must have been hard for him to hear you abuse
Iik father like that, you know. Remember. he is his
father's son."
"Then a h:y did he come to my meeting?" demand-
ed Mri Bressley v:armly.
"Any ian >'an go to any political meeting,"
ansiaered Brown. "though it isn't always wise to go."
"But to talk about nigger?" rasped Mr. Samp-
so n.
"Tiash and thief are hard words too." insisted
Mr. Brown, "and \i hen hard word. are spoken on one
side they a ill be spoken on the other. I don't say
it can he helped. for it can't: but I know that young
man a little and I have always found him a very
civil young feller He is not p:-,ud or stuck up. hut
most friendly and nice: only, sometimes, he rake a
little too much to drink. That's why he used those
hurtful words at your meeting. William. He wouldn't



have done it if he was sober. though any man will
lose his temper if he hear his father called trash
and thief.
"So you like to be called a damned nigger.
Brown?" asked Mr. Bressley coldly.
'Nobody ever called me that yet." returned Mr.
Brown with the slightest of frowns. 'and nobody is
going to do it either. But we use the same words
sometimes when we are in a temper. There is not a
man in this room that don't curse other people as
damn niggers now and then."
Some of the men laughed. "But we don't mean
it." contended Mr. Sampson. "and you don't mean it.
Brown; it is only a figure of speech. It would be
foolish for you and me to mean it "
"Well, perhaps young Steinway only mean it as
a figure of speech, too." argued Mr. Brown. "He %as
wrong and he was tipsy; but none of us mean any-
thing much by the words we use, not even William."
t Mr Bressley at that moment looked very much as
though he meant every syllable in the way of vituper-
ation and censure that came from his lips. "I am
not defending the young man: he was wrong But
we needn't make too much of what he said, for every-
body say the same thing all times, and it amounts
to nothing. He had no much part in the election, an'

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he never did you anything, William, so you shouldn't
bear him malice. Don't visit the sins of the father
on the children."
On this matter of bearing malice the feeling of
the persons present was divided. Mr. Bressley. his
sister and his wife were quite prepared to bear ever-
lasting malice: so were some of the, others, who felt
that Gus Steinway had unpardonably insulted them
through the epithet he had flung at Mr. Bressley.
But there were those who felt that Brown had
spoken wisely and justly: they too had some slight
acquaintanceship with Gus Steinway, and liked him.
and that made all the difference. They knew
that he would never go out of his way to be
nasty to anyone. they realized how hard it must have
been for a son to hear his father held up to s'-orn
and contempt. Mr. Bressley sensed this feeling; he
did not approve of it. hut these m-n were his guests
and had helped him famously in the right that was
now victoriously ended. "Well. it doesn't matter,"
he remarked, as if brushing the incident aside. "He
Got th.- worst of it. and now I have taught the old
man a lesson lie won't le able It rtciovetr from. Did
I toll you what happened when I went outside the
Spanish Town polling station last night?"
HL plunged into the narration of a somewhat
humorous incident, and thus the topic was changed;
but after the guc3ts had departed Mrs. Primrose
took the opportunity of murmuring the unforgettable
word, to Vi. as she too bade her brother good-after-
noon and prepared to return to her own house. V\
would join her a couple e of days after. in the inter-
val she would stay with her parents. Mr. Bressley
wanted his daughter as well as his wife to he at
home when people cauin to offer him their warm con-
gratulations He "as receiving homage in state.
The next day V! went to Spanish Town. six miles
away. in her father's car. She commissioned the
chauffeur, a country lad who drove with more cour-
age than skill, to go into the shops to make some
purchases she had been charged to Il.k after. she
remaining in the car with her rather unpleasant
thoughts. As is the tase with so many of the
streets of Jamaica's former capital. this one was
almost deserted. On either side stretched dilapidated
buildings and fences; dusty but bright with the re-
flected glare of the sun, it lay silent and unpictur-
esqie. suggesting desolation. Any sound in it. you
would have thought. would have been heard at once.
Yet so immersed in a brown study was Vivian that
she was only aware that someone had approached her
car when ahe heard her name. Then she saw Gus

"'You? H.re? You forget"-bitterly--"that I
am only a damnedd nigger!' You oughtn't to want
to he seen speaking to hme. any more than I want to
speak to y".u. Mr. Steinway."
"So .),u heard about that," he muttered. a trou-
bled look on hl-i tate. "'Well. I thought you would,
and I have been in this town yesterday and to-day
in the hop,- of seeing you and having an opportunity
of explaining. I would have come e vry day until
I met \ill I saw when ,your car drove in along the
Bog Walk Rmad. and followed you."
""Y-s. and came rilht here where everybody can
see that yul. whu i.all.iid me father what you did.
.an talk ti. me as you please. The buy who drivers
this car knows, you v.ell enough. I suppose .ou
want hini to go back and say that .you had a con-
veraationi with u'e?'"
"I thoupiht of that. yes. I should not in the
least object to his hearing me say to you that I am
sorr. 1 lost my tetp-rp the other night and wished
to apologi-se to you for what I said."
"Tihe proper person to apologise to is- me father."
S"Oil. that! Well, and so I would as boon as ihe
had apologised for speaking of miy father as he did.
Be fair. Vi. I tried ti kPEp out of all that rubbish
clecttin business: for ynir sake I did not want to
get mixed up with it But my father wxas cruelly
abused, and most of what was said was quite untrue.
Flesh and blood could uot stand that for ever."
S"Was that any reason -hy you should curse my
father-and me--as you did? Do Iou think he
could ever forgive you?"
"lHonestly. It does not matter to me whether he
does or not." Gus said. with a haughtiness which
she had not before seen him exhibit. "He was very
abusive. very unjust, and even you must admit that
there is uo exi.use for that. I wished to hit back
at him. to hurt hinc, and I am not at all sorry If I
have done so. But I didn't want tu offend another
soul. least of all you And you mu.t know it."
"Yet you did. You said what \ou must know
is a forward thing to say. What business had you
to do that?"
"Said the first thine that came to my lips."
-Which showed what was in your heart."
"No. in my head. You see. I had been having
a bit of a spree-"
"And was drunk! Yes. I heard that. I told
you in Kingston that if you didn't stop drinking you
would get into serious trouble some day And now
you have done this."
"Can't be helped. I am afraid," he shrugged;
'"what is done-you know the rest. But of course
you understand that I didn't mean to insult you or
anyone else: merely to strike back, you know, and


The Jamaica Mutual Life Assurance Society pro-
ercsscs from strength to strength. Its increasing
volume of business is the pride of its directors and
affords its policyholders a feeling of security and
.atislaction which is loudly expressed In 1927 the
Society's Actuary announced the result of his inves-
rigation into the Society's affairs for the triennial
period. 1924-27, and it was found that the transac-
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Let the matter be explained a little more fully.
Suppose yourself a policyholder of the Jamaica Mut-
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icived ii 15 on every hundred pounds. or 33 5 in
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been paid five hundred pounds. even though you had
paid in premiums not even fifty or five-and-twenty
pounds. But it is not only the insurance you ob-
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Society. There is the handsome interest also. which
is called a bonus. So you get it both ways. Your life
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substantial bonus, payable every three years.
Take another illustration. Suppose at the com-
mencement of 1924 you had taken out a policy in
the Jamaica Mutual Life Assurance Society for one
hundred pounds. You were then twenty-one years of
age. Well. in 1927 your bonus would have been 6
15 Do you know what this means? It means that
the premium you would have been paying would have
cost you exactly sixpence a year. You. would have
paid to the Society 2 5 6id a year. and at the end of
three \ears the Society would have written up bonus
to your credit amounting to only one shilling and
sixpence less than the total amount you had paid in
to it. You would have got your insurance for prac-
tically nothing for those three years. for eighteen-
pence can hardly be called a large sum of money. And
if you had been insured for two hundred pounds dur-
ing those same three .\ears. you would have paid
m.-rely three shillings, taking the bonus into consid-
The Jamaica Mutual Life Assurance Society is
proud of the large bonus it paid in 1927, and it
looks forward hopefully to increasing its bonuses. It
believes it has every right to do this, in view of the
rapid expansion of its business. It writes up more
anti more insurance every year. every month; the
confidence in it which the Jamaica public always had
grows steadily. grows rapidly, and is justified by its
methods ant its excellent financial showing. The
new business transacted by the Society during its
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factory. The suims assured tor in that time totalled
up to 3iJU.251). or an average of a hundred thousand
pounds a year in round figures. The amount of as-
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Nw. remembering that this is a Jamaica So-
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And its position is rendered all the stronger by the
decline in the death rate among its clients. During
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spicuous financial strength.

to put a stop to lies. Well, aren't we going to be
friends as before?"
"You had better say good-bye before the boy
conies back. Mr. Steinway. I don't want any bother-
arion with my people; even as it is. someone may
tell me father they saw you speaking to me here."
"Let's hope not. though I see no reason why you
yourself should not mention to him that I endeav-
oured to explain to you that I had uut meant to
offend \ou."
"And cause me father to enquire why you should
be so particular to explain that or anything else to
me? No, thank you! Please go away. Mr. Steinway.
I don't want to have anything more to do with you."
"But you will say at least that you have forgiven
"Do you want to get me in trouble, Mr. Stein-
"No, but-"
(Continued on Page 3.6).



0br the 24 Lyear
has again fulfilled
this promise-

See the
Now on display







The Sins of the Children
IContinued from Page .J't.
"Then please go away."
"It's no use. You can't hurt people as you like-
you and yours. And, anyhow. whatever my father
lnay be. he had no difficulty in beating yours at the
"But look here, Vi-"
"Do you want me to drive off?"
"Very well, Vi. There is -nothing more that I
can say or do. Good-bye."
She turned her head resolutely in the opposite
direction, giving no answer.

M R. Proudleigh gazed abstractedly from the ver-
andah of the rest house upon the wide road
that ran in front of the building and was lost
in the sun-hazed distance. The view to his right
,was supremely beautiful, had he chosen to see it.
From where he sat he might have glimpsed the
silent river, copper green, fringed with bamboo and
banana and with banks draped with rushes, which
here seemed hardly moving, but miles lower down
broke and foamed into miniature rapids, and grew
in volume until it poured into the sea. In front of
hinm, some way beyond. rose the hills out of whose
sight .ou never are in St. Catherine. and every-
where there was luxuriance of foliage and the cheep
and cry of birds. And air and earth %%ere lighted
wirh the golden radiance of the sun.
But Mr. Proudleigh saw nothing of all this. or,
seeing. heeded it not. It meant nothing to him. He
was but conscious of the sun. for though it was
afternoon and the worst heat of the day was over.
it still was warm, and the old man was attired in
his best and thickest wearing apparel, which did not
make fur comfort.
He had alighted that day at the Bog Walk Rail-
way station. He was waiting now to get "a lift" in
a little buggy--e and his small trunk: the owner
of that trap had agreed to deposit him at the farm
and bouise of Mrs. Primrose, to whom he was making
a vi,it suggested by himself. He had arrived by
train. he was to be conveyed by horse power to his
detination. and this latter arrangement had been
rendered necessary by his own pr-. ipitaui.y Had
hb writ-ten to let Mrs. Primrose know the exact date
anti ime of hi.- coming. she would have sent to
meet him. But Mr. Proudleigh loveld unexpected,

dramatic descents upon those whom he had deter-
mined should be his hosts. Once. some time be-
fore. he had actually gone from Jamaica to Panama
to visit a daughter of his without previously inform-
ing her of his coming. It was not quite the same
in the present instance, for Mrs Primrose was aware
of his early advent: but he was about to make his
appearance somewhat sooner than she anticipated.
That was Mr. Proudleigh's way
It was some six weeks since Mrs Primrose had
left Kineston for her country home. and Mr. Proud-
leigh had received from her one brief but kindly
note. Vivian had also written to him. for Vivian
wished to retain Mr. Proudleigh's silence if not Mr.
Proludleiel's services H ie had replied to both let-
ters, and the-n a silence of four week's had fallen.
Meanwhile the old gentleman had been pondering
upon the possibilities of friends in the rural regions
of Jamaica and the uses that might be made of
them- so. about live days before we find him at Bog
Waik. he had indited a letter to Mrs. Primrose ex-
pressing a deep desire to see her. the sorrow and re-
gret tee felt at being so far away from her. the blank
there was in his life because he could not have 'sith
her any more of those delightful conversations which
were ..u helpful to his happiness, his longing for a
week or even for a couple of days, in the country,
and so forth.
On receipt of this communication. in which the
spelling was of such a character that some of the
words had to bh- ;uestsel at as though they were
written in the alphabrt of a lost language. Mrs.
Primrose had laughed and had sairl to Vivian. "'hat
old man beegging for a invitation He's a regular
"What you going .t do?'" had Vivian asked, al-
though already guessing bhat her aunt would
do. For hospitality i., a.mnion to all classes of
Jamaicans. and to iine mn.re than to that middling.
comfortable order to with Mrs. Primrose biloneed.
To have friends and relative, from the town .onie to
."spend tjie" is almost part of the ritual of their
life: always there are a bed and a seat at the table
for one or more of these True. Mr Proudleigh was
not a relative. and t.ould hardly be dignified with
the social status of friend. But th:- old man was
amusing and harmless: so the upshot of it was
that Mrs. Primrjo-e wrote to Mr. Proudleieh saying
that he could come anml spend some time whenever
he liik-d. anti he had jumped at on'e at the offer.
He made his se,.anty preparation:.: put himself on tile
trail, anti here he was. tl-day. awaiting the buggy
that was to take hini the last stag~- of his jour-

ney. The one thing he had neglected to do was to
write or telegraph to Mrs. Primrose. Perhaps, at
the back of his mind, was a haunting feeling that
she might telegraph back to ask him to postpone
his visit for a while. Mr. Proudleigh had had dis-
appointments in his life and was not disposed to
pave the way for more.
The calm and peacefulness of the scene now
spread out before his eyes touched him to a sort of
rumination; not since his return from Panama some
years ago had he been outside of Kingston. and
this change from straight dusty streets and houses,
relentless. untempered sunlight, the bustle of crowds.
the clanging noise of tramcars, the hooting and put-
puttering of automobiles. appealed to him as a de-
lightful change, a wonderful refreshment of the
spirit. The mild but cunning old face wore a look
of beatific enjoyment: Mr. Proudleigh felt that the
world was going very well with him indeed. He
had some money. the remainder of presents given to
him weeks before by Gus Steinway and Vivian: in
truth, h had not spent ten shillings in the past
fifty days. He was comparatively rich. He possessed
in the country friends of vast wealth with whom he
was going to stay "for nothing," and for as long as
they would allow him to remain-for the old man
put no definite term to the period of his visit. Here
he would have no trouble, no botheration, plenty to
eat. a little rum for his stomach's sake. and doubt-
less would find plenty of people to whom he could
relate the highly imaginative story of his life. What
a glorious prospe, t' Who would say after this that
he was not a child beloved of the Lord?
The toot of a motor horn brought him out of his
reverie, and he gazed idly in the direction from
which it came. In a few seconds a small car ap-
peared. driven by a omnan; it was being carefully
handled. the driver's eyes were concentrated on the
road before her with the intentness characteristic
of one to whom the manipulation of a steering wheel
is still, a novelty.
Mr. Proudleigh stared, a trifle doubtful at first,
then positive. Yes. there could be no doubt; that
was Miss Vivian Bressley. He felt inclined to hail
her. But she sped on. never for an instant glancing
up at the verandah of the rest-house on which he
sat, and in half a minute had disappeared from
Mr. Proudleigh at once made tip his niind to
entertain her and iher aunt with an account of his
hrst glimpse of her a< a motorist: he would evLen
m-ntion how he hadl called out to her. J11.1 hiuw she
had pursued her wa. without an inkling hlait. with-
in hailing distance, sat an old man to .vbom -ie

C________________________________________ L

2- Kingston, Jamaica.


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20 Duke Street, Kingston, Jamaica.

...^^^^M ................ .... .

20 Duke Street,


was as the apple of his eye. And while he thus
Exercised his imagination. letting it play for some
minutes on the theme with which he would estab-
lish himself more firmly than ever in the good opin-
ion of Vi and her aunt. he heard another automobile
coming from the same direction, and again, for
everything was of interest to him that day, he look-
ed at its driver, and once more recognized the face
of an acquaintance. This was a man. driving easily,
with a cigarette between his lips: and Mr. Proud-
leigh felt that he would have known Gus Steinway
even had he been much farther off.
"Miss Vi and Mr. Gus! So them is still cour-
ten." thought the ex-knieht-trrant. hut with a dis-
tinct feeling of uneasiness. Even to Kingston had
travelled a version of that wordy encounter between
the young man. the irate aristocrat, and Mr. Wil-
liam Bressley, who had fought the last election as
the poor man's champion. It had been said that a
bodily encounter between them had actually taken
place, or been but narrowly averted: it was certain
that high and bitter words had passed between them.
That was nothing but good electioneering. to those
who knew nought of the secret friendship of Gus
and Vivian. But Mr. Proudleigh knew of it. and now
he became suddenly alive to the unpleasant possibili
ties of the situation.
That Gus was following Vivian this afternoon
he was convinced. the possibility of a )oincideu.:e in
the two passing along the same main road within a
few minutes of one another he did not entertain for
a moment. "Them arrange it." he thought. and then
wondered if he would again be brought into their
plots to circumvent Mrs. Primrose andtkeep her in
the dark. He did not want to be. It would not only
be a woman now with whom he should have to deal,
albeit a very formidable woman. but Vivian's father
as well And experience had taught Mr. Proudleigh
that men were iery prone to proceed to violence
where their daughters were cun earned.
From an abstract point of view. he entirely
agreed with this nmasuline and paternal tendency, but
he wished no con,-rete exemplirication of it where he
might personally be concerned. He was far from
home, alone and unprotected; .- e. would not easily
seek refuge here, lie would be at the mercy of irate
and possibly murderous per~onsr. And yet. but a few
minutes ago, he had be-n iongratulatine himself on
having come to something like an earthly heaven.
Such was life's nin ertaintv' H.owever, there was
nothing to do but o, ahead with his journty now;
he would simply have to be discreet. and, if the worst
came to the worst, indilnanil;. ktinuunce the erring
ones to the propel parental aIluihritie-s. Mr. Pruid-
leigh had heard nuni h about Kine's evidence. He
was prepared to turn Kin'-. eviden,.e whenever the
necessities of personal safety l.-maliuded that he
should show his lo.altyv to any powers that were.
About an hour later he v a.\ call'.d and informed
that the buggy wa\. riadyv. hi. little trunk was placed
therein: he hr.isted him-elf into the vehicle, and
with a slow, jolting cait the hri-e moved forward in
the general direction of tile place to which he was
going. Passing cars warned them out of the way and
rushed by. Iaisinc a 'loud of lust. Instinctively, on
hearing the har-e signal 'if a nmotor horn, Mr.
Proudleigli would tirl hisr head to sc-e what danger
might threaten from the' rar. Thry had gone about
four or live miles when a p-er..tent tooting caused
him to peer backward: it was growing dusky now,
but yet was bright enough for one to see with fair
distinctness. Besaies. he had been supposing that
Mr. Steinway or Vivian might return this way; he
was not surpri-ed rherefure. when lie saw Vivian
coming towards him. He thiru't his arm and face
through the ,oprn window at the buggy's back and
waved and shouted Vivian saw the gesture and
guessed the sound., ntnd'iring what might be amiss
she applied her brake and brought the car to a
standstill a few yarns ahead. When the buggy came
abreast she glanced keenly at the driver and then
at the passenger inside, and at once the reason for
this accosting was clear to her.
"'Devening. Mr. P.." she cried gaily. "I knew
you were coming but didn't expect you so soon."
She jumped out of th- car. and walked towards
Mr. Proudleigh. whoi at nnre burst into a hymn of
adoration to whi h .he paid no attention whatever..
"I am going home now." she said briskly, "and
the place is rather far. You can never get there
early if you keep on in that buggy. Better come out
an' drive with me."
"Y'u think y'u can drive careful. me dear Miss
VI?" enquired Mr. Proudleieh. who was an ardent
believer in the principles of Safety First.
"Let us see." said Vi. ight-heartedly; "if we
don't try we don't know."
"Yes, dat is true." he agreed, with an entire lack
of enthusiasm for enlightening experimentation.
"Quite true. only I prefer that somebody else do de
trying Howsomever, e'f you sey I mu,' go wid you,
I can't do better."
"Quite right." said Vi decisively. and asked the
buggy's driver to lift the old man's box into the
The transference made. Mr. Proudleigh ensconced
himself on the seat next to Vivian and off they rolled,
I:..;to the old man's intense disquietude.
S"Why you didn't write to say you were coming
today?" questioned Vivian.

"I t'oughted as I would-like to give you an' you'
aunt a surprise party," he explained; "but you sur-
prise me firs' ",
"By meeting you on the road and taking you
up, eh? Of course you didn't expect to see me."
"Yes, I did expec' to see y'u coming' back; I was
surprise when you pass dat house near de railway
station little while ago, an' when I see Mr.-"
"Stop, Mr. Proudleigh'" interrupted Vi imperat-
ively. "Now listen. I want you to promise me that
you won't say a word about seeing Mr. Steinway
follow me to-day. You hear? You can say you saw
me pass; that is all right; and perhaps-look here,
you better say I saw you and stopped and took you
for a drive with me. You hear? It is very import-
"But, me dear Miss Vi, suppose you' aunt fine out
dat you didn't stop?"
"Who going to tell her? Nobody at Bog Walk
will even know that you're staying with us, and two
days from now they wouldn't remember whether I
stopped there for a few minutes or not. Leave me to
tell me aunt the story, and \,u back me up. That
is all you need to do, an' everything will be all
So he was in for it again!
"What about de man wid de buggy?" he asked,
with a last effort at self-protection.
"I don't know who he is, and I don't think I
ever saw him before; my aunt isn't likely to know
him either. And if you ever see him again, don't
say a word to him-that's all. If you don't enter
into a conversation with him, he isn't likely to
begin to tell you about how you travel in his buggy.
Anyhow, we mu.st leave something to luck, don't you
There was nothing to do but to agree. And,
after her explanation, it did not seem in the least
degree probable that any doubt would ever be cast
upon her story. He signified his complete assent and
Vivian's %,pirits rose again.
"You are a good old gentleman," she assured
him, "and you won't lose by it. But you must under-
stand, Mr. Proudleigh, that this is only the second
time I have met Mr. St-inway sinie the election, and,
as you see, I met him in broad daylight, and only
for a little while."
-'"es," replied Mr. Proudleigh slowly, "but I did


Che Chinese

hear dat in de election he abuse you' father some-
thing shameful."
"It isn't everything you hear that is true," rap-
ped out Vi. "It was like this. My father was abus-
ing his father, and he answered him. What he said
he shouldn't; but he had been having a drink or
two, and you know how that is, Mr. P."
Having had on various occasions even more than
a drink or two, Mr. Proudleigh knew very well how
that was, .seine that once or twice at least it had
been very bad for him indeed.
"He was sorry for what he said, too," she
continued, "though me father provoked him very
much; he told me so. But for a long time I felt
that I didn't even want to speak to him. But one
day last week, just outside of Linstead, I met him,
and he was so sorry, and looked so sad, that me
heart melted, for I am not one of those who bear
malice: you understand?"
"We mus' forgive our enemies," commented Mr.
Proudleigh righteously.
"That is a divine connmandment," assented Viv-
ian heartily. "So I just said a few words to him
and mentioned that I was going out to-day for
the drive I went for. I wasn't sure he was coming,"
she insisted, "for I made no arrangement with him,
You follow me?"
"Puffectly, Miss Vi," said Mr. Proudleigh.
"Well, he came the same way that I went this
afternoon, an' we met up and had a talk, and I
think you are about the only person I know that
saw us. I hope to God I am riaiht!" she added sud-
denly, ith almost an hysteric break in her voice.
"I believe so," Mr. Proudl-igh fervently assured
her. "Something tell me I was de only person see
"Let us hope so; and, anyhow. you will back
me up that I saw you waiting at Bog Walk, took
you for a drive, and then came on to the house.
If you say that, it won't matter what anybody else
say, for my aunt will know that you have no reason
to lie. So it is really better than I thought it would
be. And you won't lose by it."
He hoped not, secretly, but had his misgivings.
A falsehood more or less might be of no consequence,
but to be found out in one by Mirs. Primrose, Mr.
Bre-sley. and the re't of Vivian's family. might en-
tail consequences of a character not making for the






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Contractors to His Majesit's Hospital, Up-Park Camp.




- ------ -------;------------- ---------------------------------

- ----------------------------------------------...-.-----------..------------..-..-----.-------------.



.. .
,, .* ... ,g -'' :..' ,' %* ,* '* "' .


A new Kingston is steadily replacing the old, much of which till linger.
however. The illustration above depicts part'of Kingston's waterfront re-
built since the earthquake of 1907, and considerably different from the water-
front it has displaced. The pier in the foreground was constructed recently,
and is indeed the last new pier built in Kingston; it is part of the wharf
premises of Messrs. Grace, Ltd., and is one of the strongest and most commod-
ious piers in Kingston. Along one side of it lies a white-painted fruit boat
consigned to the Jamaica Fruit and Shipping Company; behind it are the new
wharf buildings which cannot be seen in this picture. These connect with
a handsome structure of reinforced concrete, the offices of Messrs. Grace. Ken-
nedy, and The Jamaica Fruit and Shipping Co., which front on Harbour Street
and which, with its straight lines and fine proportions, is one of the most

striking edifices in commercial Kingston.
Beyond the first pier, and plainly visible in the picture, is the pier of the
Royal Mail Steam Packet Company, while other piers are also indicated in
the middle distance. In the foreroulnd are to be seen part of the buildings
and tree-studded grounds of the Myrtle Bank Hotel, also a post-earthquake
creation. Viewed from the deck of an incoming vessel this part of Kingston's
waterfront presents a much more attractive appearance than it did in the
pre-earthquake period. There has long been much talk about building a con-
crete esplanade along the waterfront of Kingston: but save for a little bit of
work here and there, nothing has been done in this regard. It may be some
day, and then the new pier and wharves, put up by private capital and enter-
prise, will appear to much greater advantage.


peace and comfort of Mr. Proudleigh's mind and
body. At the thought'of what might happen to his
body especially, the old man could not repress a

MR. Henry Tuke's car slowly traversed the long
path leading from the gate up to the Great
House of Mr. Steinway, the spacious residence in
which that gentleman now lived for the larger part
of each year. Although the scene was familiar to
him, Mr. Tuke never failed to view with apprecia-
tion the spreading fields of fruit on eitherfside, as
far as the eye could reach; broad acres, hundreds
of them, covered with bananas in the pink of con-
dition, thousands of trees being heavy with bunches
that were almost ready for the reaping.
Mr. Tuke knew that farther away were planta-
atipns of cane, and that in the hills upon this prop-
erty grew coffee; and he could see, standing like
sentinels over the lesser plants, the long, graceful
stems of the coconut topped by green and golden
fronds that swayed and rattled: in the breeze.
A fine property and admirably maintained, for
Steinway was an excellent manager if a stern task-
master, and supervised everythingg himself He was
an able man, he reserved his success, thought Mr.
Tuke, and Tuke did not envy him, for he himself
was well provided with this world's goods and he
had been a friend of John Steinway ever since early
Friends, however, though of a lifetime, will feel
somewhat diffident if they have to speak to one an-
other on intimate affairs, not quite knowing how
their words will be taken. Mr. Tuke. with his sixty-
five years' experience of his fellow-men, never cared
to interfere too far in others' family matters, yet
that was precisely what he was proposing to do just
now. Big, clean-shaven save for a white, close-clip-
ped moustache, with pleasant look and genial blue

eyes, he was a bluff old planter whose vigorous phy-
sique and kindly disposition had carried him pretty
happily through life; he avoided unpleasantness
when possible. though he would not shrink from it
when only the alternative of a cowardly silence pre-
sented itself. He wanted now to help his friend
and his friend's family, just as he had helped him
.during an election contest which he had from the
first recognized as hopeless. If John did not like
what he had to say, well, he Would drop the sub-
ject and leave the matter there. But he would not
be acting as a staunch old crony if he selfishly kept
his lips closed and allowed matters to take their
course unheeded. That would not be loyalty to his
ideas of friendship.
The car drew up at a side entrance of the house,
where was situated Mr. Steinway's office. Mr. Tuke
got out agilely and stepped on to the broad veran-
dah, when out of the office came Mr. Steinway with
outstretched hand and real cordiality, for Tuke was
one of the men he liked best in Jamaica.
"Come in, Harry; it iL about a month since you
were here," he laughed. "I hope you have come to
stay to dinner."
"No, my dear fellow; just dropped in to have a
word or two with you, and then I am off. How's
"Quite well; I'll send and tell her you are here,
if you aren't going to stay, though I don't see why
you shouldn't."
"Don't trouble her yet, John," Mr. Tuke hastily
protested. "I'll go inside and shake hands with her
later. And how's the boy?"
"As usual. Whisky and soda, Harry?"
"Yes, I think so; not too much soda, though."
-A generous glass of whisky and soda beside
him on the table near which he sat, in a comfortable
arm chair, Mr. Tuke cast about for an appropriate
opening of. the topic which had brought him to
Barnstaple that afternoon.

Mr. Steinway, sipping his whisky, gave him his
"Gus is as well ,a usual, and acting as usual.
too. He uorks pretty well, all things considered.
but I am not quite satisfied about him, Harry. He
is not like his elder brother."
"Ah? What's the matter now?"
"There is nothing exactly the matter, but as I
have told you before, Gus has no ambition. He is
not idle, he works; but he. doesn't. seem to want to
be anything particular. Of course he'll have some-
thing when I die, but that should not content him. I
suggested to him last week that he might take
charge of Coldstream-my pen in St. Elizabeth, you
know-but he wouldn't even discuss the idea. He
doesn't want to leave this place, which really doesn't
need both of us."
"Hum," said Mr. Tuke.
"I wanted him to study for a profession; he
reminded me that he would have enough money
and didn't see there was anything to be gained by
being a doctor or a lawyer. He won't go into so-
ciety. He won't marry and settle down. He would-
n't stand for the Legislative Council the other day.
and he would have had, as a bright young fellow, a
much better chance of winning than I at my age
could have. But he wouldn't hear of it. It isn't
energy or intelligence, he lacks-you know that,
Harry. It is ambition. What I am afraid of is that
he will be content to remain a country busha all
his life, living on the property, going nowhere, be-
coming nothing. It is not a cheerful prospect," con-
cluded Mr. Steinway grimly.
"Well, that has been my own life, more or less,"
remarked Mr. Tuke with a smile, "and you are a
country busha yourself, John."
"Ye-e-e-s. but there's a difference. We both
had to work very hard; we made our money for
ourselves. If Gus lacks ambition he may lose much
(Continued on Page 41).


Each Quart of

West India Oil Company

I L~PIW~-9sl% ~hh-C~ 1 r




BY the end of the year 192S there will be one thor.
ouzhfare in Kine-,ton that will blaze v.Lth In lit
until midnight anti v.will witness the passing to and
frl of t.rowds such as ,will be te-n at that time in no
other part oif Jamaica That thoroughfare will he
pavd with asphalt, its sidewalks will be in process
of improvement-a r.-forni which ha- already corn-
menit d-it will be thc centre of the nirhliie of the
capital it will be the home of organized popular en-
lertainnim.nt. And -readily it will inmpticve In an-
other inve- tars it will have changed it- app-aranie
greatly. New huillio ngs will have ai isen on ca-h sidle
of it It will aspire to lie known as the .iamaica
Broad way
Having read su far. everyone not a 'ttraneer in
Jamaica will know that it is Eaot Quiien Street or
Victr.ria Avenue that is here alluded to. Called East
Qu-en Street up to a certain point. the thoroughfare
takes on a new name after that and bercome- Victoria
Avenue But this double appellation is needl.-as and
inconvenient. let us all decide that it shall be known
by the latter name. As Victoria Avenue it stands in
memory of the great Queen. Victoria of England. As
Victoria Avenue it will become a street the like of
ahich. for its special purposes and appearance. will
nit hie found in any other British West Indian city
And it is nmovi-n pii tures that have marie and
will make this street or avenue- something unique in
the Briti -l W'et Indies. The stretr of promenade-. of
pleasure, of gaiety: the street of light, of brilliant
lars. of hedge screened ice-cream saloons: the wid-
est street in Kingston and the most frequented aft-r
nightfall-it will have been crearerl by picture shows.
and in it will be concentrated the organized pleasure
of Kingston.
Not so long ago the western section of Victoria
Avenue was ,nt of the dingiest streets of Kingston.
The one thing that could be said of it was that it was
wide. It led tr the read that led t. Rockfort and tlie
highway to thie parish of St Thomas; it partly con-
sisted of tiny dwelling houses and little shops on
either side. and as you went east sou came upon
larger house.- in almost rural surinuundings. struc-
ures hidden behind trees and standing in large plots
of ground It was a street that. in a manner of
speaking. represented town and country in one: the
dingier aspects of the toan, the resitldntial aspects
of the country
Then the Palace Picture Theatre was built. The
buhildin itself wa.- put up in what had been one of
the semi-country residences mentioned. in a big plot
of land in which grew royal palms and fruit trees.
and at once Victoria Avenue began to attract crowds
that had hardly evtr gone that way. The houses op.
nposite hl-came transformed into places watering for
tihe refri-shmnenr cif tlhee crowds. antd shops followed
in due course Then. nearer Lo the business centre of
the t ity. but in the same street. another picture
theatre was ere,.ted. This. was the Gaiety. now under
the general management of the Palace Amusement
Company. When both are lighted up. blaze calls to
blaze, one electric glare signals to the other, and the
flare of the illuminations is seen from affar. Th-se
two theatres decide the future of Victoria Avenue as
the Street of Amusement.
Gradually Kingston mounts electric signs and
advertis-ements: here and there in King Street the
name of some emporium is intermittently spelt out
in tire. at Cro.sR Roads there is a brilliant proclama.
tion of the excellence of several kinds of motor cars
and also of other commodities. It was to be ex-
pected that Victoria Avenue would be in the line of
this development. It not only is. but it will be more
illuminated by fiery advertising than any other spot
or place in Kingston. In a little while advertisers
will proclaim their wares and their names in elec-
tricity in this Avenue. following the example of those
whro have already begun to do s-). Along whole
blocks will blaze out announcements such as make
some, of the streets in New York. Paris. London, an
extraordinary spectacle of illuminated publicity.
When this happens. and even before it happens, the
owners of houses anil shops in the Avenue will feel
constrained to use paint upon them more frequently
than the. now do: they will realise the necessity of
their buildings being in harmony with the lights.
with the theatre. with the crowds of the Avenue.
Just as King Street has improved under the pressure
of condition ns. sn will Victoria Avenue improve. That
was fated when the first step was taken towards
building the Palace Picture Theatre.
That theatre is itself considerably improved on
what it was originally. The splendid sidewalk that
now fronts it did not exist a year ago. And its inter-
nal arrangements are to be changed; the building is
to be enlarged. made more convenient, better all
round. This theatre aims at developing the vocal
and terpsichoreau talent of Jamaica: it attracts and
employs local singers and dancers. actors and actres-
ses of promise, to its stage: it will do more in this



direction as time goes on. Its connection with the
Saenger Company of New Orleans Iby means of
whitlh the best maition pictures and clever. versatile
vaudeville actors and actresses will he sent down to
Jamaica P. and also its control of other local theatres.
will enable it to offer to th.. Jamaica public a variety
of entertainment of a high class: and the more it
does this the larger will be the crowd which will
patronise its enteertainnments. And thi in its turn
will make Victoria Avenue more populous more pop-
ular. brighter. more attractive from tbe viewpoint of
a gay and animated night-life And the more the
Avenue becomes a Jamaica Broadwvay. the greater
will be the appeal of its theatres to thie people.
A ftew years ago there was no night-life in Kings-
ton. Even now there is hardly an.. The,." whu have
been in Havana or even in San Jose of Co(sta Rica.
nave wondered ,hliat the people of Kineston do after
the sun has set: have asked whether they never take

I m "" -ri /m "

]'our home
.-IS worth making

As your thoughts search the
years, a crisis here, a sacrifice
there flash upon memory's
screen and fade out. But-
the struggle won-your home
was worth the making, be-
cause life centres round it.

W'ho would not rather see
smoke from his own chim-
ney than fire on another's

advantage of the wonderful moon lit nights. especial-
ly during the cooler months of the year when the a.dll
of lth. op-.n would sefn to be irrei-tible But who
lould i-are to promenade in streets broken into hi.les
nnd r!tz;. a ith no sider-.alk- diusIy. ill-lighte-d. unime-
tim: mali.dorous? Where would be the attraction
of thi.,.' By th- enod of 192I~. however. tlih scent wiill
I- changed in one important thoroiiehtare. anyhow
All Vit.rona Avenue will be tit to nalk in. The light-
in_ will be bright enoiu-zh for the inmot exigent. Al-
ready one sees the Av.-nue more frequented than it
v.wa even a year ago: in anotlier year or two it will
become the public /Irs'roi of Kingston. And as
rile goes on the picture places in Vi toria Avenue
will keep their show. open to a late hour of the night:
much later than now. That is the inevitable devel
opnmint of a thoroughl'are which may be said to have
been "made" by the building of the Palace Theatre

V"71 r 1' I

'our home

IS worth safe-guarding

To the man who is attentive
--considerate-proud of his
wife and family-to the man
who considers-himself a good
husband and father, surely a
happy home is worth the

There is one sure way to se-
cure its preservation-to
guard those nearest and dear-
est to you.

Life Insurance affords complete protection against life's
changes and chances. Buy all the Life Insurance you
can. It replaces your earning power when the inevit-
able comes, and maintains the home in comfort for
those left behind.





C. L. ROBISON, Manager for Jamaica
C. J. Farquharson. Travelling Agent
T. E. Levy, Agent
J. A. Finzi ,,
F. V. Grosett
J. Stanley Lyon ,,




Black River
Montego Bay
Port Antonio
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So l he IVan Who is rrouc

of His Home

. ...............~..~.~ ~i,~ii~,



The Sins of the Children
SI -',inuu, ited tf .ln Page .'ti.
at I have made for him. and his brother isn't go-
E to help him-why should he? Besides. these are
iw days. and a man must bestir himself if he
esn't want to be left behind and forgotten. I
lMt him to he something in the country. Harry.
.suppose we expert more of oulr sons than iur
others expected of us, do you think bo?"
.. "Perhaps." said Mr. Tuke cautiously; "is that
;: Something in the tone of his friend caught Mr.
btinway's attention. He hesitated, and then 'poke
.. "No. and you know it isn't. The truth is I
a afraid that Gus is drinking a little too much.
Thing serious. of course. anyone who said that
e boy was a drunkard would be lying. But there is
a much drinking going on now:; e hailed none of
ut sort of foolishness in our day."
'i"Not quite the ,anie. anyhow; hut wi- iould
"nk like the devil. John "
~' "We had stronger constitutions-. better heads: w
aren't as weak as the younger Rgeniration. But
su see hon I feel. rlon't you'? Tlie boy is all riylbt.
blt he lacks strenlcih -.anmew here You arc his coi.
.her. what would y3o advise mi to do with him"'
"I am glad you mention this matter." said lMr
ike without directly\ answering the question. "for
It Was about Gus I taint- to peak to you to-day."
S"Ah!" The hot. passionate e3 es of iMr. Stein-
ayf snapped, the querulous lips tightened He had
.h 0ken about Gus and hik shortromines. since this
Sa man to ahomn he iould speak freely. ani. self-
autained as he usually wa,. he needed to unburden
le heart sometimes. especially as he did not care
Discuss Gus with the boy'r mother Yet now
t he guessed Mr Tuke had r.ometliing of his own
say about his son. something not pleasant. he
enly grew angry. not with his friend exactly.
-'with the boy. hur with ciircumstances in general.
th did nor seen to he treating him as he de
ed. It was difficult for Mr. Steinway to under-
-ad that the world was not made for him alone
that things would not shape themselves to suit
p articular desires He resented adverse happen
and conditions as though they were personal.
sianly this feeling by ever so little, and his in-
.ation and dislike were transferred to men who
ht have but a trifling connection with the malig-
y of fate. It was this bitter attitude that had
ee for Mr. Steinway such a host of enemies.
SMr. Tuke knew his friend. He took a cautious
"'us." he asserted heartily. "ii as line a youne
ow as you cau find in this country. and I don't
eve ne is going to drink too much or neglect his
"Neither do I." tried Mr. Steinway with even
eter heartiness and a great gush of appreciation
't misunderstand me, Harry. I am not running
Gus. But I am not quite satisfied with him:
ai not coming up to my expectations."
:.'"No: and I think you should have a heart-to
Salk with him. Just put facts plainly before
John, and everything will be all right. Don't
hard. Just tell him that it won't do him any
Sto be fooling round Bressle.'s daughter-"
"Bressley's daughter." repeated Mr. Tuke firm-
"That is what I thought I'd come to see you
r. Steinway looked Mr. Tuke squarely in the
"Well, what about her, what has (;us to do with
::"Not much yet-but you and Miriam and I don't
t him to have anything at all to do with Bress-
and his daughter. do we?"
"I should say not' But what the devil is all
? What are you driving at? I never heard
lag about Gus and this young woman before."
."No, for I don't think there's much to hear.
If we- had to do with any other man besides
ey, I wouldn't worry my head about it for a
d. After all, we can't expect the boy to be
"You and I certainly weren't at his age." com-
d Mr. Steinway with something of a smile.
:'I have never been." admitted Mr. Tuke with an
;.-t repudiating any claim to angelic status. Be-
a bachelor with more than one family, old
always magnanimously refused to enter his
as a candidate for celestial honours.
't!t Isn't the girl that I an worrying about, but
ltrl's father. I will tell you what I know." he
ed on. seeing that Mr. Steinway was about to
some passionate remark. "Just before the elet-
.one of my headnien told me casually that he
seen Gus talking to this girl at Bog Walk or
-I forget which. I didn't l:now till then
.1ohey were acquainted with one another, and
It think it mattered. You don't like Bressley
re than I dn. but I felt that if the young
wanted to speak to Gus. that was her busi-
snd didn't matter anyhow: so I dismissed the
(Co,,iii, nula on Pogry }2)

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Every Man His Castle The Sins of the Children

MRK. sl'.I NE:y Ml i T( llN. M.ILE.. .1 1'.
HY pay rent? That is the slogan the Victoria
Mutual Building Society has popularized in
Jamaica. But there is no escaping that ,ompulsion
of I'nt paying save by one means. That is, the own-
ing of your own home, the setting up of your own
castle, the proprietorship of your own vine and fig
Ownership has always been regarded as a form
of the highest good, as a benefit and security which
bring permanent happiness, a feeling of independence,
an assurance of a certain degree of prosperity. Then,
asks the Victoria Mutual Building Society, why pay
rent ? Many a man puts aside five or six pounds a
month for his rent bill, others allocate eight or
ten pounds a month to this purpose: in ten years
achl of them has handed over to the house-owner
hundr-il. of pounds-and they have nothing to show
for it. Yet had the renters of houses joined a sound
and well-established Building So, icty they, at the
end of ten years, would have beco-me proprietors.
What Is more, from the very first they would
have ,n neil their houses, for no one can give to the
member of a building society notice to quit the house ?
ie has bought through the society's agency. Aud
every month that he pays the society what he would
otherwise have paid in rent lie is decreasing the loan
with v.hiu-h he purchased his houst He is doing
nlore that that. He i. t',flairg intri l tltl bonus on
lit, mon11 pl iil #it. As the directors of the Victoria
Mutual point out. "Borrowers are charged interest
at the rate of 7. per cent. payable monthly, but in
return the Society awards interest and bonus. Thus
one share on which bonus shall have been paid will
be worth, at the end of ten years. 20, irrespective
of the bonus which may be granted And there is
always a bonus-an increasingly big one, for the
Victoria Mutual is one of the strongest and most pro-
gressive building societies to be found anywhere.
Then why pay rent?
Thousands of people in Jamaica are answering
this question by not paying rent but by joining the
Victoria Mutual Building Society. Glance for a mo-
ment at the progress made by this society in a few
years. In 1921. for instan,.e. it had 2.6i12 accounts.
which represented 26.150 shares. In 1926 it had
5,620 accounts, and these represented 52.335 shares.
An increase of over a hundred per cent.! That alone
shows that sensible. farseeing people are more and
more taking advantage of the opportunity afforded
them by the Victoria Mutual of owuning their homes,
of ceasing to pay rent, for which, up to the end of
their lives, they can never have anything to show.
The Victoria Mutual Building Society is govern-
ed by a body of capable directors, who some years
ago made a point of selecting as their chief executive
officer and secretary a highly intelligent and energe-
tic man, Mr. Sidney C. lMCutchin. M.B.E.. J.P.
Mr. McCutchin was t.hosen after very careful consid-
eration by a hody of able men. and neither they
nor the numerous shareholders in the Society have
ever had any reason but to feel satisfied with that
choice. Thus equipped with a Directorate second
to none in the West Indies. with a Secretary of
marked ability and energy, a capable staff, the
confidence of the public, and a reserve fund lare-
er than that which most insurance companies think
it necessary to have. the Victoria Mutual Building So-
ciety occupies a remarkable position in Jamaica.
And the question it asks all thoughtful people is:
Why pay rent? Why not buy 'your own house
through the agency of this society? The answer to
that question is being given by the ever-increasing
number of house-owners.

(Continued from P',,rpi 41).
thing from my mind as soon as I heard of it. But
yesterday evening another of my men mentioned to
me that he had seen both of them that afternoon in
the parochial road that runs through my property.
She was in a car, and Gus had left his car and was
standing hv hers talking. They couldn't see my man,
furr the liediat and trees are pretty thick there-
abouts, and I guess he didn't want to show him ~efi- "
"He was watching them." observed Mr. Steinway
"That's about the size of it. He kept out of sight
and out of hearing too, I suispI.-t. for he didn't seem
to have caught what they said. But, after what
occurred at the election, it struck him as strange
that they should meet like that. They must have
turned off the mainroad on purpis.%. for after they
had had their talk the girl drove back the way she
came, and Gus waited on the spot for another ten
minutes. It is damned indiscreet in him, if he
doesn't want to be seen, to select such places Old
as I am I could have arranged something better
"No harm seems to have been done; but Gus
shouldn't be seen with this girl, John; it may lead
to a lot of trouble. Two of my men know of it al-
rally. anil you may be sure that if two know, twenty
do. These people talk, and they are bound to talk
about a young man like Gus and Bressley's daughter.
That should be pointed out to Gus. He has got to
stop it!"
Mr. Tuke was speaking warmly now; he felt
that Gus heing his godson, he had a certain moral
authority over him.
Mr. Steinway looked grim and -ombre. His son
consorting with the daughter of a man he at once
despire.l and hated. Meeting her in semi-private
roads! Arranging interviews with her. What was
the world coming to!
"I can't understand this," he protested, "the boy
must be mad. Speak to him? I am going to speak
to him as I have never done before! He ought to
hate the whole breed as I do. He showed himself
of true mettle not long ago when he told Bres.,ley
what lie thought of him to his face; and now he is
running after the man's daughter? I can hardly be-
lieve it."
'"Maybe there's nothing in it-yet," said Mr.
Tuke, "and a quiet word or two from you will stop
it. He has done enough damage already, cursing
Bressley as he did-"
"There I can't agree with you, Harry," Mr.
Steinway broke in. "I never felt so proud of that
boy as when I was told of what he did. lie was al-
most alone in a damned seditious crowd whi(b the
police should have dispersed, and when he heard me
being abused he pushed his way up to the platform
and gave that scoundrel Bressley the length of his
tongue There aren't many young fellows who
would have had the courage to do that. by God!"
"No. he i courageous enough." agreed Mr. Tuke.
"but it wasn't very discreet."
"\\W >an't be always discreet," continued Mr.
Steinway with an impetuous gesture. "Gus said the
finest thing during the whole of the election, for it
must have cut Bresrley to the quick. It must have
hurt him like hell. He'll never forget it."
"He'll neither forget nor forgive it," said Mr.
Tuke quietly, "and that is what we have to remem-
ber, now that he is a member of the Legislative
"I don't care."
"You are not quite calm about the election yet,
John. and that is what. ia the matter." said Mr. Tuke
soothingly. "Don't you see, to curse a man about
olour or rate offends thousand- of other people be-
sides himself? People who have never offended you?
We all have to live together in this country, remem-
ber. and it is madness going about and saying fool-
ish things like Gus did that night. But I admit he
had plenty of provocation, and in the same circum-
stances I might have done the same thing myself.
But we needn't make bad worse. Bressley will be
fighting mad if he hears about'Gus meeting his
"And what can he do about it, Harry?"
"You mean .?"
"I mean that it would serve him damned well
right if anything happened to the girl. that's what
I mean! I don't approve of Gus having anything to
do with her; if she is at all like her father she
must be a pretty bad sort. But I am not going to
blame the boy until I know more about it; if she
didn't want to meet hin she wouldn't do it. I sup-
pose she must have inveigled him into these as-
signations, so if any trouble comes of it she will
be to blame. We can't expect him to be an angel-
he is a spirited young fellow, and she must know
whether she is seeking for trouble or not."
For a minute or so there was silence. Mr. Tuke.
looking at his friend's face, was disquieted by what
he saw there. When first he had mentioned the meet-
ings of Gus and Vivian, Mr. Steinway had grown
red with wrath; now his expression had changed to
one of sneering contempt. An aspect of the situa-
tion had presented itself to him which had not been

perceived or even guessed at by Mr. Tuke. The
vindictiveness in Mr. Steinway's character, his ar-
dent, enduring desire to strike again and again at a
foe, giving no quarter, showing no mercy, was find-
ing evil expression in his countenance at the moment,
and had to some extent found expression in his
Every other man of his class had regretted GCus's
fierce fling at Bressley some weeks before. But Mr.
Steinway had gloated over it. Every other man of
any age and discretion would take the view which he,
Mr. Tuke, took of any sort of entanglement between
Bressley's daughter and Gus Steinway. But Stein-
way, rendered myopic by hate, could not see clearly
or sanely; only the scandal and disgrace that
might attach to Bressley's name did he realise; the
girl's fate did not appear to worry him, or the cen-
sure that Gus might earn. Gus's mother would be
deeply grieved, for she could never take her hus-
band's casual, contemptuoulj view of the episode. But
at the moment at any rate, Mr. Steinway could not
and would not see all this. He was picturing the
titter humiliation of Bressley. He was glad to feel
that there was some weapon by which his enemy
might be stricken to the heart, though even then he
did not care that that weapon should be his son.
All this Mr. Tuke divined as he stared at the dis-
torted countenance of his friend.

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Mr. Tuke's disapproval was too strong. his as-
tonishment too vivid, to be altogether concealed.
Something of what he felt Mr. Steinway must have
perceived: he was well aware too that his view of
the matter was not one which he would he inclined
to blazon abroad, or even openly confess to a friend.
He adopted a tone more in keeping with what was
conventionally expected of him.
"Well. all this is very unfortunate. Harry. but it
is as difficult for me as for you nt talk to GuFs
about it. Indeed. I think it is even more diffit ult
for me; there are some things a man can hardly
briny up Lo his son. What is he going to sa y? That
there is nothing in this report, or that he means
nothing by speaking to third girl. And I can't out-
right forbid him to speak to her, you see. he is no
longer a boy. h-'s a man. Yet I must see what I
can do.-"
'"Yiu could tell him he nmieht injure yuu if he
goes on with the girl." suggested Mr. Tuke. ihotilh
not very hopefully.
'I would never admit that I could he injured by
Bressle. or hi.- daughter. or hi.s sister. or h is wife."
asserveated Mr. Steinway hIotly "They can do us
nothing, and I will take jolly eood re thliat they
never think they tan No; I won't put it to Gus
that way."
"But that is perrhaps the only way that he can
be influenced." returned Mr. Tuke heavily: he felt
that he was wasting his time. "Gus is at bottom a
good boy. a really fine boy. and he wouldn't do any-
thing that he thought might lead to your sorrow or
disgrace I don't know that any other consideration
would have equal effect with him."
"Well. that consideration is not going to be
considered." said Mr. Steinway. rising as his friend
rose to say good-bye. "The sorrow and disgrace, if
any. will be Bressley's. not ours I suppose some-
one will tell him of what is going on. just as you
have told me. and then. perhaps, if indeed he has
not set her up to it he will call off his girl from
Iiinning after (;us
To this Mr. Tuke said nothing; Steinway's sug-
gestion was too absurd and unjust to call even for
denial. Besides. he was not going to quarrel with a
friend for Mr. Bressley. He had done his part. what
he conceived to be his duty; the matter would doubt
less straighten itself out somehow. There might
first be n scandal, and yet more bitter hate between
Steinway and Bressle). But the affair would
blow over: these things did: and ultimately, of
course. Gus himself would not be harmed. Of all
the persons concerned, he. indeed, stood safest: he

was only sowing his wild oats. Still, what a pity
that the girl aa. Bressley's daughter. What a pity!

R Proudleigh was made heartily welome by
Mrs. Prinirose when he arrived with Vivian.
and without waiting until Vivian should say any-
thing lie himself launched out upon a description of
his unexpected meeting with her that afternoon. He
was particularly grateful that Miss Vi had taken him
for such a long and interesting ride he asserted.
and had he not meit her he would certainly have had
to come on in some slower and less jomnodiouts
All this was said in -trict accordance to plan.
ani could not fail to be believed by Mrs. Primrose.
But that good lady was no longer suspicious of Vi's
no\ivenli.nis. for the good reason that nothing hadl ot-
iirred for some time to give rise to the slighrest
supie ion. Vivian herself, after her meeting with
Gus Stcinway in Spanish Town when she had per-
ctuptroiily taken leavr of him. had actually mentioned
the matter to Mrs. Primrose. This was the first
time she had ever spoken of Gus Steinway of her
own initiative, and her candour affected Mrs.
Primnros.e favourably. And not that alone, or even
iliefly. 'ivian had not hesitated to repeat parts of
the tonvcL ation., with part u!ar emphasis on what
she liers'lf ihad said. and even with somein indignant
additions. She made it quite clear to iher aunt that
she had forbidden Mr. Gus Steinway to address her
aain under any i circumstances, and had angrily
resented his insult to her father. Mrs. Primrose was
therefore satisfied that the acquaintanceship between
the young people was ended for ever
Had Vivian heen asked, hb.% someone in her confd-
ent :. why she had related the story of this meeting
to her aunt. she would probably. with perfect sin.
cerity. have dei lared that it was because she had
finishldil finally with GJus and had no intention of
even looking in his direction again. She had thought
so. whin lie left her in Spanish Town. she had made
illu her mind that it had to be so. Yet Phe had fear-
ed that her tliauffeur might have -,-en her talking
to Gus--which he had not-and might mention the
circumstance to Mrs. Primrose. And she realized
that. however strongly that lady might have felt
about the acquaintanceship between her and young
Steinway before. her feelings would now be too fierce
for mere words. they might prompt her to imme-
diate action. she might not hesitate at once to ap-
proach her brother with the terrible tale. Better
then. Vivian thought that she herself should men-

tion what had oo. uriled. and how she had acted. and
she iould do this with the greater freedom and sin-
terity because she was satisfied that she was speak-
iln from her heart and wished to have nothing more
to do with a man who. whatever his provocation and
excuse. hail Hung at her father an insult which could
not hut wound and humiliate herself.
Ever since the election she had been wishing to
Illett Gus Steiuway. She dreaded lest this encounter
-hould be observed. .-[t she wished fcr it: she wanted
to speak out sime of the anger and bitterness ihat
were in her heart. But when at last they came fa.--
to face she had said less to Gus than she hadl
intended: some of the premeditated. hitter thin-e
were left unspoken: her dismissal of him had not
been as curt. as contemptuous. as she had pi tureil
it would be. She had not gone to the extremes ,he,
had contemplated: something had restrained her:
peCliaps it wvas his look. perhaps it was sonic trait.
orois .-'ntlnient in her own heart. Nevertheless she
L-ad sevt-rtcd all relatioushi p with him. had not even
anr'- iredi nis la t word rln that day in Spanish
Tov n Antd she had ridden back homn. in her car
and strai.:htv.ay related what had happened. thus
forista!lluiin her chauiifeur ani anyone else: and by
this f.anknti.-s she iha. put herself right with Mrs.
Pi irm,.. e. wio w'as once more perfectly at ease in
her mind with regard to her niece.
The Innged for interview ovel. the anger expres-
sed. the dismissal given, andt the tale of it all re-
lat d to so sympathetic an audience as Mrs. Prim-
rose. Vivian exper:ted to feel herself relieved andi
-ali.-fild. Sit had been uplifted all during thos.-
days I: which site had not seen Gus Steinway. ex-
alited by her righteous indtination and her determine
tion to speak to hiimr as i.-lie was convinced he
would nrver expect or dreanu that she would do Bui
now that that self-imposed task and duty was done.
Vivian was conscious. not of any sustaining emotii.n
of pride and high justilfiation. but of a dull dep:.-e
sion. a malaise of the spirit, a sickening weariness
which made the days drag through like a heavy
(urse ani transformed the nights into long vigils
of hopeless thought. She told herself that she had
acted rightly, t.ruld have done nothing else: yet she
was not contented or convinced She had felt glad
of the opportunity to rend bonds which were beconi
ing dangerously binding, to pause in a path which
promised no happy goal But now that she had cut
those bonds, had checked her steps. the found her
reward to be miser. and the added horror of it
was that she had constantly to pretend before her
aunt. that she dared nnt let Mrs Primrose suspe t
hiat she was still thinking of the man who had

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insulted her father and whose insult she herself had
declared to be unforgivable.
All might have been well had Vivian removed to
some other part of the country where she would
not have seen Cus Steinway for months: better
still would it have been had she left the island for
some time. She might have suggested a visit to
her aunt's old home. Nicaragua: Mrs. Primrose.
who was always talking about going back to that
country since it held a warm place in her affer-
tions). would gladly have cionsnted. There time
might have worked its healing. some other man
might. in all probability would. have appeared upon
the scene. She was young. with good looks, and
comfortably off. To a man of her own station sh.i
would be in every way desirable. But she made no
suggestion about going away. although their mea did
present itself to her mind. Had it come from her
aunt she would have acquiesced, however reluctant-
ly. But she would not bring it forward. Nor did
.she admit to herself that her t.onsuming desire was-
to see Gus once more. to speak to him aeain, to
hear him call her by all the endearing names that
came so readily to his lips. She would not admit that
even to herself. But no longer did she try to den.,'
to her own heart that she still loved him That
fact. indeed, she definitely faced, with an inten-
sity greater than ever before. I love hint." sht
would repeat to herself, again and again and coll
tinually she thought it. "I love him, and I will
never love anybody else "
Then. by accident as it seemed, but actually by
(;is's contriving, they had met one day. This wa,
the first meeting since that sharp interview ill
Spanish Town. and VJ had spoken but the truth
when she told Mr. Proudleigh that it had been for a
few moments only. Gus had conle up to her-it
was at Linstead-and addressed her in words which
at police she recognized a- an echo of those hich her
own heart had been piteously asking.
"Vi, how long is this to last?"
She had been frightened; here they mniht not
be seen talking to one another. Breathless. she told
him so. But she had indulged in no look of re-
proach: both of them had instantly realized that
their estrangement was over, a thing of the past
entirely, that no longer would they think of ex-
traneous persons and former happenings. hiit of
themselves alone and of matters that concerned them
"I know," he assured her. "But where and when
,.an I see you? Tell me quickly."
Site mentioned a ride in her car which she would
take three days hence; she would d not go before. She

mentioned the road and indicated the hour. and he
had nodded and moved away. And they had met
that after noon as they knew they would, and all the
time she had been with him it was rapture, and it
'wa, with joy and song in her heart that. while re-
turning. she had come upon Mr. Proudliigh on Iis
way to her home and realized ilith sudden terror
the risk l-he had run on e niore. Mr Proudleigh.
ilowe rtr. hy readily i:onsenting tu support the story
she hail i:on.uc-t-d had again proved a helpful ally.
and now Vi thought that he miaiht still Ie made
of further use. His coining juet unw might actually
be regarded as providential She ic ouEnisid how
this visit of his might be- turned to helpful purposes.
"I amu Kgoing to ake Mr. Proudleigh nut for a
drive tilts evening." -ie 'aid ito hl-r aunt. after the
(old man had been a ._oiiple <.f days at the farm.
"lie likes i.to o driving and he will be company fur
Mr. Proudleigh's pleasure was certainly not ex-
pressed in his ,ountenance just then: indeed, bad
he not been forewarned that he twas to receive this
invitation anid must ai:cept it with something like
enthusiasm. he would have protested a prefereni.e
fir remaining where he was. Even Mrs. Prinrose,
who had no reason tio suspect the true state of his
niind. noticed that he was not particularly cheerful
at tlie Ipro,-pert f a long motor ride.
"Why don't you leave tMr. P. alone?" she asked
plea-aantly "Perhap he would prefer to remain
quiet He and I n.-t as young as you. you know."
"I are not too young. dat is de trute. !Mrs. P.."
agretEl Mr. Proudleigh. hut lie kn-w that he must not
eo Ia'.k on Vi. lest his dlays might be few in this
liume of plenty. "*But I are not too ole either, an'
I lo)\,v to drive about."
"It i, Mr. F'roudlleith him-.elf w ho be-gged me to
take him out.' asserted Vi. with a look at the old
man which quite plainly suggested that denial on
hi, part would lie hii i treason
"Yes. I be lMiss Vi to pie me a drive now an'
then. Mistress Primrose. for dat is good for me
health." corroborated the old man. who feared great-
ly that some day a serious motor car accident might
indefinitely deprive him of the use of his limbs.
Meanwhile it .-s Ined wise to choose the line of least
resistance. but he was begininng to hope that some-
thing would occur to put a stop to all this love-
makinig between Gus and Vivian.
For he had no illusions as to why he was being
taken out that afternoon. He was to play chaperon.
or rather, excuse And whn this was discovered, if
ever it was. the least he .could expect was to be fired

out of Mrs Primrose's house with every sign of
ignominy and contempt. And if Mr. Bressley should
lay hands upon him-but he preferred not to contem-
plate such a hideous contingency!
At about four o'clock Vivian brought her car
round to the door and took up Mr. Proudleigh. She
said hardly a word to him: slhe knew he must guess
that she vas going to meet (;us Steinway And she
knew that he did not like the situation. She was
wondering how she could bind hin to her service
more strongly. when. on turning a bend in the
road -he saw, a tar coming towards her and recog-
nised in the driver her father
She slowed down and stopped. as did Mlr. Bres-,-
lky also. and she introduced Mr. Proudleigh. of
whomn. or course. Mr. Bre-iley had heard hefiro.
Mr. Proudleigh. staring at the stalwart form i, the
man of whom so much had been heard in the l:Ist
tew weeks, and noriiing the truculent 4et c- his
mouth and belligerent eyes. was convinced at voice
that he was tine of the nost formidable and danger-
ous persons within the radius of whose infnueupi. an
old man named Pr-udleich had ever come. This
enrount,-r upon the road. indeed, struck Mr !'roid-
leili as something nmre than a mere happening. it
seemed to hin an omen. Here was Mr. Bressley's
daughter going out to meet Mr. Bressley's mortal
enemy. unknown to any of lier family. and here
,ras he. Mr, Proudleigh actively aiding and abetting
in that conspiracy. And here was Mr Bressley com-
ing upon them in the road: and if in this road.
why ntot somnewberet else? Why not when the young
man and Vivian should he actually together. with
Mr Proiudleigh in such proximity that no attempt
on his part to prove an alibi nr even innocence of
intention could possibly avail him aught? Mr. Proud-
leieh. fear .sharpeuing his wit-. perc-eived all the
ihrrible possibilities of the situation. Meantime. so
a.- to appease the future wrath of Mr. Bressley, he
launched forth at once into a paean of praise of that
zentlenan's athievements in public life. achieve-
nients known apparently only to Mr. Proudleigh of all
thel world. .since no one else had yet heard of them.
"Proud to meet y't. sir: I are a proud man to-
day. to bow to a gentleman who is not only a hon-
ourable. hut who stand up for de poor an' don't
t'raid to talk to de Governor himself tto protri t us!
When I hear dat you going' to run for elei tion, I
say to you' darter, which is de soung lady beside
me. 'ef a man like you' father is elect. we can all
feel safe. for *lere is not goin' to be no moire op-
pression You thinks I dnan't know what you do
fo' wt poor people. Mr Bre-ley?' I knowv it all!
Tongue cannot tell %that we owe to you. an' we







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'iiin' to owe irmore. Gawd bless y'u, sir, an' may
you continue in de good work, world widout end.
Such a spee.bh was pleasant to the ear; Mr. Bress-
lcy hail enormous vanity, and to be hailed as a public
hero by one from Kingston whom he had never seen
before. suggested the spread of the Bressley fame
even to the colony's metropolis. He thanked Mr.
Prourllcigh graciously, but with a touch of condes-
"'here you going, Vi?" he enquired casually.
"Taking Mr. Pruudleigh for a little drive," she
answered promptly. "He doesn't know our part of
the country. so I am showing it to him."
"Certainly Do all you can to make him happy."
"You gon' for a drive yourself, Mr. Bressley?"
asked Mr. Proudleigh. He hoped to hear that Mr.
Bressley would soon be miles away in an opposite
dire, lion.
"Nor exactly a drive; not for pleasure anyhow,"
replie-l Mr. Bressley. He became pompous. "The'
fa(t is that when a man is a member of the Legis-
lative (Counc:il. Mr. Proudleigh. he has to visit his
Loristituents frequently. I have to devote a lot of
my time to them. and that costs me a great deal of
money I have to be here to-day and there to-mor-
row. now at one place and now.at another. I am
all ab.-,it I am all over the parish. So if you go
around frtlinently, I am sure to meet you some-
linies. liss V'i must bring you up to see me some day,
when I hav- a little time. Well, I am off."
Hr ni,,ddlt to Mr. Proudleigh, smiled at Vi, and
disappeared in a cloud of dust.
Vivian started her car a few seconds after her
father hail left. driving slowly and ihouphtfully, as
though something was on her mind. There was also
something on Mr. Proudleigh's mind. It was painful
to him to entertain thoughts if he could not express
them. and these were thoughts which he felt, out of
rtparfi t ii s unon bodily safety, he ought to com-
muni(ate at 'anrc to his companion.
"You notice what you' fader say, Miss Vi?"
S"About what?"'
Abutit bein' here to-day and next place to-mor-
row. About movin' about all de time; goin' up and
down like Satan seeking who he can devour."
"[ didn't hear him say anything about Satan,
Mr. Proudleieh."
S "No. ma'am: it is me dat say so, for it come into
me head dat you' fader is a very devil of a man-
meauinc n, dii-r-espect-and he himself tell me he
is all about lie place. Ef he was to see you an' Mr.
"And i.:u"' added Vi, with a tinge of contempt.
l "May Gawd forbid!" exclaimed Mr. Proudl.igh
feivently. "yet. to tell de trute, dat was just what I
was thinking "
"'Well. what would happen?"
"You must know, Miss Vi, but it wouldn't be
nicr. I see you' fader's eye, an' a man wid a eye like
dat i, a dan.zvrou, man. I afraidd for him for true!"
"You 'fraul for him, and you 'fraid for me aunt,
and you afraidd for Mr. Steinway. and you 'fraid for
me," said VI sarcastically. "You live in fear, Mr.
Proudly Iich."
'"Yes. Miss Vi. I sartinly do," the old man ad-
mined without hesitation. "But don't you 'fraid
too that them may find you out?"
"I am nut toing anything so wrong as to be
afraid." ise replied tartly, "and please don't talk
about anybody 'finding me out.' I don't want them
to knii anything about me movements, for they
aren't reasonable That is all. But if they go too far
with me they will find that I am a grown woman
now an' not a :hild, and they can't do just what
they like % ith me "'
'No. I quite understand Miss Vi; but preven-
tion brtt-er dan cure, an' if you meet anybody too
often by de roadside, somebody goin' to see you an'
tell you' people Something tell me so."
Vi did not reply, for the fact was that he had
put into %word. her own thoughts on the situation.
She was defiant and sarcastic precisely because she
herself s-nsed the danger that had appealed to Mr.
Proudleigh; and it appeared to her very imminent.
She was annoye-d with him for.corroborating her
secret fears Her father was moving about now as
he had never dnne before, would be on the roads
often. vould meet many people whom he might not
know. but who would be eager to accost him to tell
him of their grievances or present to him some sort
of petition. The roads were few, after all, and there
would at some time or other be persons on them who
Must see her and Gus together. Just as her aunt
had heard of former meetings, her father would
probably hear of present ones. And she knew him.
He would not ttmporise as her aunt did, out of love
for her. There would be an awful explosion. And
If she carried out her threat and showed them all
that she was no longer a child-well, what precisely
could she do?

V IVIAN took to-day the same way she had travel-
led the afternoon she had, unwittingly, passed
Mr. Proudleigh sitting on the verandah of the rest
house, waiting for his conveyance. She had arranged
to meet Gus at the same spot as before, that seeming
to them the most convenient place. There was no

fear of her father being near them by at least ten
miles, and the place itself looked private enough;
besides she had with her now an old man, which
of itself was a guarantee of respectability, and only
some crisis would bring him to confess that she had
been this afternoon with anyone besides himself. Yet
there was always the possibility of some accident, of
some unforseen occurrence. The fear of that haunt-
ed her mind.
They turned off the main road into a paro-
chial road, passing between hedges of luxuriant cane
over the tops of which large black birds flew and
hopped, a temptation to sportsmen. They held on
for a couple of miles, and then came in sight of a
car drawn up by the roadside, with a man standing
beside it. In a few seconds Vi had parked her car
behind this other one, and was out on the ground,
while Gus Steinway walked up, nodding with sur-
prise at Mr. Proudleigh, who respectfully doffed his
hat to him.
"He's stopping with me aunt," Vivian briefly
explained, "and I thought it best to bring him along
with me. He won't disturb us."
"No, of course not," said Gus, though he did
not seem particularly pleased to see Mr. Proudleigh.
"But," he added quietly, so that Mr. Proudleigh
might not hear. "I hope he isn't always going to
accompany you. Three isn't company, Vi."
"I know," she whispered back. "Let us walk
on a little. Where can we go?"
"In there, if you like." He indicated the prop-
erty, which he knew to belong to Mr. Tuke, his
godfather. There were gaps here and there in the
hedge through which one could slip conveniently.
"We'll be more private in there than out in this
"But that is trespass, an' if anybody should
come "
"The owner of this land is like a father to me,"
laughed Gus, "and nobody, anyway, is likely to be
about at this time of the afternoon; they have all
gone home by this. There's no danger, and the old
man will look after the cars. Come."
She yielded, and Mr. Proudleigh saw them dis.
appear into the field to the left. He stood up anx-
iously, but could not judge whether they were near
or far. As a matter of fact they were nearer than
he thought. Vivian would not adventure far into
land that was strange to her, even though it belong-
ed to Gus' godfather; it came upon, her too with
something like a shock that this was the first time
she and Gus had been alone together in surround-
ings suggestive of privacy and solitude. This was
no longer the open road, even at night, and they
were quite out of the old man's sight. This was
something new, with all sorts of possibilities.
The sun was westering, the huge umbrageous
trees cast-long shadows on the ground. The golden
silence was intense, broken only by the rustle of
insects or little lizards darting among the withered
trees that bestrewed the ground and by the faint dis-
tant lowing of cattle.
Gus noticed that Vi was troubled; more so than
usual. He himself was rather more debonair than
was his wont; some would have said more reck-
less; certainly more joyous. His eyes were smiling
gaily as he looked at her; his good-huinoured mouth
was somewhat smug with contentment: in a word,
he was well pleased with himself and with the world.





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He knew that Vivian was bound to him as she had
not been before that first and only quarrel they had
had; more passionately devoted. She knew it too, and
all her words and attitude showed it. The angry
separation of a few weeks ago, and the agony of it,
had drawn her fiercely to him; that experience of
the possibility of finality to the friendship, of end to
the love between them, had been a revelation to her-
self. She would not voluntarily face it again. She
belonged to him, and he realized it.
"Well, what's worrying your little head now?"
he asked her kindly, pressing her to him and stop-
ping her answer for an instant with a kiss.
"Nothing; that is, nothing much; but I met me
father on the road this afternoon."
"And he asked you where you were going, and
you told him?" Gus laughed.
"You know well what I told him; but he says
he is travelling all around now. You guess what that
"Pretty well. I have been thinking something of
the sort myself."
"That people will find out that we meet some-
"Yes, Vi; I rather think they are finding out
about these meetings already."
"You heard that?"-a sharp cry.
"Yes; my father has been told-"
"My God!"
"It is nothing to get excited over, my dear. He
is the last man to say a word about it to anybody
"But what did he say to you?"
"Very little. Spoke to me as if he were doing
a sort of duty, but wasn't at all tempestuous or over-
bearing. It is just as well that he wasn't, for I
would not have put up with it. He said I should
stop meeting you, but he took good care not to go
too far."
"But what could you do if he was angry, and
what you going to do now?" asked Vivian in a life-
less tone, gazing at him with dull, frightened eyes.
"I am not a boy, Vi, and I am not dependent on
my father for a living. Remember that. Even if
I was I would not tolerate anything like the tyranny
which you seem to submit to so easily! But there
is no need to worry. The old man wasn't at all dis-
agreeable; just said that he had heard you and I
were seen sometimes together and that I must re-
member that people might talk about it. The usual
sort of thing."
"You thought he would have spoken against me,
abused me?"
"Something of the sort; yes. And I expected
him to attack me too. But he was quite decent. He
showed a lot of sense."
"When did he speak to you?"
"And your mother?"
"She didn't say anything; I don't think she
knows anything."
"And you are sure he didn't say anything bad
about me?"
"Not a word; it was exactly as I have told you."
"I thank him," she said simply, and she did
indeed feel grateful. She had always expected cur-
ses and contumely from the Steinways should they
hear anything about her and Gus; but the old man
had apparently behaved as well as could be expected.
She felt grateful and relieved.
She was leaning against the bole of a shady
fruit tree, feeling weak and tremulous. Already it
seemed to her that the scandal which "she had al-
ways dreaded was throwing its shadow over her. She
felt chilly though everything around still radiated
the stored-up heat of long hours of hard and bril-
liant sunshine.
Gus sat down on a projecting root of the tree,
and pulled her down beside him. He drew her
head against his shoulder, passed his arm around
her waist and kissed her. She smiled and was com-
Gus had something on his mind, too; though it
did not depress him. She knew that look in his eye
which always signalled some idea or suggestion. She
wished to ask him what it was, but was consumed
with anxiety to know, if she could, precisely what
his father said and thought, that she could not touch
at the moment on any other subject.
"I wonder why your father didn't abuse me and
curse me?" she asked, her eyes searching his face
intently. She wished for the truth, -even if it
should sear her.
"I don't wonder at all, little girl," said Gus
tenderly. "He must have heard about you, and that
there is nothing at all against you. He must have
heard that you are a very pretty, nice, respectable
little girl, who everybody speaks decently of; and
not because he and yottr father are enemies would
he dislike you. Why should he?"
"But my father dislikes you, though."
"Well, I am a man, and so that makes a differ-
"And what did you tell your father about me?"
"I told him that no one could point a finger at
you; that not one word could be said against your
character; that there was nothing wrong about our
speaking to one another and that I was not prepared
to stop it at dictation. Oh, you may depend upon

it I said everything rine about you. and it was all
true ti(,. Don't I knoiw that. darling?"
She ,"a- intensely gratified. His arnm was
around her \aist. bi fatc.e close to hers. andl not
many hours aco he had stood up for her to his sown
father-who. to do him justice. liad evidently spok.
en of her as a gentleman should. This was different
and infiuitel.b heit-r than -he had ever dared to an-
ticipatt. She felt kindly toward. olid Mr. Steinway:
more devoted than ever to Cus
"Still." sllh said. all that won't help us now It
is worse than it was in Kingston. where nobody
knows me. What you going to d,. G;us'"
"I kuow that you don't want to give me up-"
"No." she said softly; "I lo e you toA much for
that. and you know it."
"Yet you are so suspicious of me!"
"'I am not: blit why d-, you say that? What is
in your mind '"
"I was thinking that inst-ad of our meeting
every now ani then in a place like this. for a few-
minutes. or in a street by a roadlidle. and even in a
wretched cemetery, as if we were dead people. per-
haps w'.. could see each other in a house somewhere.
sometimes. That--"
"'That would be much worse. my love! What



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you thinking of? Everybody would see us going
into it. and then what would they say? You don't
.-cm to remember that people are always watching'"
"It would depend on where the house was. and
how %xe went their, .Vi I have thought about it all.
Resides. what el-e is there to do"'
She thought of one thing that he might do. hut
wNuldl not. And bhe had not courage enough rto
say it 'outright, feeling that it would he futile and
mitlit result in another estranen.ment Then. he
Ihadl jii toll hl Ir v. li he had protested to his father
that there was na i utie who could say a word against
lihr character. whi(h %was rrue. there was none who
should know that better than he. So what he was
suggesting %as but another sort of innocent rendcz-
vous. as innocent as this present one: she had no
right to think otherwise.
*"Wc*ll said he. watching her face keenly. "don't
w\r.icry your little head about difficultie- now. We
niust rind a \vay out of our troubles Leave it t.
Im,: I will lintl a 'good. ay. You can depend on me.
ian't you?"
"Ye.-. for I love you."
"That is right. Now let's kiss and forget"
"And I must be going back now." she said. "How
will I hear from you? Am I to come back here?"


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"Perhaps better not for a while: we will find
a better place. That old man is living at your aunt's.
you said ?"
"I will write to you through him. as I did in
Kingston. Tell him so."

THE bungalow in which lived and which was own-
ed by Mrs. Primrose commanded a view of the
parochial road which ran by it about a hundred
yaids away. From the level of the road the land
sloped gradually. a decently-kept path leading up to
the house, which stood upon a sort of eninence. with
wide verandahs running al.ung the whole length of
the front anti the richt side of it.
A creeper with broad leaves, whith flowered in-
to purple at its season, had been trained to run on
wires arranged about these verandahs: this creeper
protected the house from the fierce rays of the sun
and tempered the occasional force of the evening
Many trees stood in the ground in front of the
building, fruit-hearing tree-, that had long since
come to maturity and afforded a welcome shade as
well as rest and refreshment to the eye. The land
to the right and left. and to the rear. was cultivated;
it formed the farm of Mrs. Primrose. where she grew
bananas for one of the Colony's fruit trading eom-
panies. with some cocoa and coffee, there were other
economic plants on this property also, but these
were grown mainly for domestic purposes, for. as
muth as possible, and as a thoughtful farmer should.
Mris. Primrose lived on the products of her soil She
had poultry, goats. a few cows. and the men she
employed knew better than to negle t the rare of
these Mrs Primrose was not a hard but was a
very strict employer. She insisted upon adequate
service. Because -he knew what good service was
and could handle men. she obtained it There was
hardly a year when she did not find herself some.
what better off than she had been before.
The house itself had four bed rooms. two of
Ihese being situated to the front, with a drawing
room Irather larger between them. The bedroom
to tile right. looking towards the main entrance to
the farm. was Vivian's. that to the left was occu.
pied by Mrs. Primrose; the two others to the
left of the building-one opening into the other-
were smaller and as a rule were untenanted; but
just now one was placed at Mr. Proudleigh's dis-
posal. and out of it he could step off into the back-

yard and roam about at will. unquestioned and un-
Behind the hittingg or drawing room was the
dining room: next to that, on the rieht, na- a sort
of pantry and storeroom in one.
Vivian had planted out a flower garden before
the house. and there flowering shrubs and English
loses bloomned. A grateful shade was thrown upon
it by two huge mango trees that had seen more
years of life than Vivian herself.
The sitting room contained a cottage piano.
steamhent rocking chairs. a couch. two rattan arm
hairr. little tables of polished Jamaica woods and
a large t.rex carpet. On the walls were hung framed
prints and photographs. and a mantlepiece carried
casess which were filled with flowers culled from the
garden: it was a pleasant room and the pride of
Mrs. Primrose.
For comfort. too. Vivian's bed room matched any-
thing that could be found in larger houses owned
by people in a much higher social position. Vivian.
indeed. could be trusted to see to that. One of her
windows opened upon the front verandah, another
upon the verandah to the right Curtains were
draped over these windows, hut still the room's in-
renor was revealed when the -ashes were thrown up
for the purifying breezes to pass through, and the
cleanliness and neatness of the little habitation
tiuld be seen even at a casual glance. It was. in a
wa\. a sort of show room. though utilised all the
tinime: it was something which Vivian could be proud
of. espe ially as she contrasted it with similar places
she had known in Kingston and the country, not
usually to the letters' advantage. Vivian was a tidy
person with an inborn love of cleanliness and order;
she did not believe in making a good appearance on
the outside only Some girls of her acquaintance
did this. For them she had nothing but a good-naiir-
ed contenlpt.
This afternoon Mr-. Proudlleigh sat by the open.
ing in the main verandah through which ,)ou de.-
rended, by a short flight of three steps. into the path
that led towards the gate: sitting there he si:anned
the bhite road lazily. sometimes lifting his eyes be-
yond it to tie opposite plantation and allowing them
to roam over the expanse of green cane that rolled
away until. as it seemed, it reached the low-lying
grey-green hills that fcl.rned the boundary of this
verdant landscape. The sun was to lthe left and
sloping rapidly, in a little while it would he coni-
pletely gone and darkness would des end upon the
scene. but with the coming of darkness would also
iome the moon. anti then the landscape would lhe
bathed in silver and lie subdued to that sadness

whi-ch seemed so much a part of a tropical rural
It was a dull life. this at nights. Mr. Proudleigh
thought: out there, even in the moonlight everything
looked ghostly, all the earth was still. one felt touch-
ed to melancholy and to wistful reminiscences. Then
it was that he missed the human-like comfort of his
little Kingston suburb, with the noise of passing
motor tars. the clamour of quarrelling or merely
hilarious voices. the bright lights of the little shops.
the feel of c.mnpanionship in the mere proximity of
hundreds of other men and women. But there were
,:onlpen-atlons here, he had been here for hut about
three weeks, and he had never felt so well before.
so restored to comparative bodlily vigour. ao cvontent-
ed. It was as though he had had a new lease of life.
and this delighted him For the old man fervently
wished that he mieht live for ever. though he often
protested his readiness to depart immediately to his
Heavenly Father's ho ite.
Vi was not at home just now: for the last couple
of days she had been with her parents Somewhere
to the hack of the premises was Mrs Primrose. Riv-
ing a last look round to see that everything had
been properly l:okeil after and sheltered and put
away. tor the day was over and nothing must be
left to take care of itself during the lonely night.
Presently Mr. Proudleigh saw a lad riding up
the road. posthaste. on a mule. The lad paused
when he came abrea.st of the gate. swung down.
pushed the gate open. drazved his mule inside.
lh,-,ed the gate behind hint-he evidently knew Mrs.
Primro.ne well'-and rode up to tie house Jumping
off. hie questioned Mr. Proudleigh: wa. Big lMissis
in? She was. indeed. at that nmonm nt -he made her
appearance, asking immediately why Charles had
not ridden round to the rear as he usually did?
Charles explained that he had been bidden by her
brother. his master. to make all haste, and his idea
of making haste was to career up to the front door
of her residence. He produced front somewhere in
hi-s hirt bosom a nite that Mr. Bressley had sent
to her: she took it. wondering what it could be
about. broke the seal and read it. In a very few
lines her brother onilmanded her presence at his
house as soon as she could possibly get there. She
read the note a second tine. aloud on this occasion.
fur the peremptory tone of it puzzled her. "Anybody
sick?" she asked the waiting youth.
No: so far as he knew no one was sick.
"Miss Vi is there?"
"Yes. na'am. but I didn't see her jus' before I
'Very well. say I am coming at once."

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The boy touched his forehead-he had come all
the way bareheaded-and rode rapidly away. Mrs.
Primrose turned to Mr. Proudleigh.
"Me brother want me to come there at once,"
she explained "He says it's something important.
but I can't think what it can be. I hope it's nothing
A faint sensation of sickness at the pit of Mr.
Proudleigh'.s stonach. a decided trembling of his
linlbs. w-vt_-e the- phli1y'.l concomitants of his per-
tluhati.,n of mind. Did this note, thii request to
Mr, Primrios-. indicate dis-.1very? The suspicion
whliii haunts the guilty mind was his, he had always
bc(-n expet ting danger from one quarter or another.
But Mhs Primco:se was ti.,, mul:h ,.trupied with her
own thought., to ijotice his anxious. frightened look.
"I will have to drive meself over in the trap,"
she said, "for Vi have the imtcLr car viith her "
She went into the 1-aikyard to give orders to a
boy to harness an old niar- :if lirs to tthe little
buggy which she and Vi lhat uted I b,-ore their ac-
iuii-ii-ion of the more s-ervieabl- Ford She had
already dined. When the buggy war. ready hlie told
Mr. Proudleigh that in all probability .li-e would
not be late; hlie dlid not invite him to go lith her.
for she judged that she had been sent for on im-
portant business matters, probably of a private char-
acter. "The snake you afraidd for is well put away,"
she laughingly assured the old man, "an' no one is
likely to come in here while I am away. Anyhow.
the boy is in the yard; I am leaving him to look
after you. Take good care of yourself till I come
He nodded acquiescence, not daring to trust
himself to speak. The yellow snake did not worry
him very much any longer, thliouh it lived in its
box on the verandah almost within arm's length.
No one ever seemed afraid of it, and it could not be,
as once he had thou-bht, a familiar spirit of its
owner, for it had suigpe-tei nothing to her about
the doings of her niece or of his connection with
them; he feared Mr. Bre.-ley's eye far more in these
day- than all the snakes there might be in Jaraii a.
Mr. Proudleighl had enough intelligence, too, to per-
ceive that Mrs. Primrose's success in life had been
due to her energy and prai.ti':al sagacity far more
than to any luckc" ahi.h an obeah animal could
bring her He would rather be left with any snake
(safely locked away in a box or cage, of course than
accompany Mrs. Primrose this evening on a journey
towards unknown but perhaps terrifying perils.
meanwhile Mrs. Primro.-e took placidly but
quickly the way to her brother's house. She knew of
nothing to worry about, and she hardly ever elected
to imagine disastrous events.
Arrived at Mr. Bressley's residence, she ordered
Charles, who was there in waiting. to hitch up her
horse-and-trap near at hand as she would not be
long. She noticed that no one called out to her from
the house though they must have heard her as she
drove in. and might even have seen her, for the
moonlight, was bright enough now for a recognition
of any familiar figure. Again she wondered what
could be the matter, for this absence of greeting, this
peculiar silence, surely signified something unusual.
She went up the steps to the verandah, passed
through the sitting room into the dining room.
which was lighted, and there found her brother, his
wife and Vivian. One glance at them, and she knew
that she had been summoned for no ordinary pur-
pose. strong woman as she was, her heart leaped
and a wave of apprehension swept through her.
Bressley wa- sittin_ at the head of the dining
table, which was bare, his right elbow on the table,
.his face resting on his hand with the look of a
wounded wild beast on his face. The thick veins in
hits nec-k were pulsing; his eyes were filled with
bitterness and rage. Facing him sat his wife, her
arms folded across her ample breast, her chest mov-
ing convulsively: she looked like one who tries to
repress on outburst of fury, though knowing that it
must have its way at last.
Mrs. Primrose's eyes fastened themselves on
Vivian. The girl was standing, her back to the wall
whi:h separated the dining from the sitting room;
like her mother-a touch of resemblance-she had
crossed her arms over her breast, her fingers dig-
ging into her flesh, her lips compressed, her head
thrown back, her air reckless, defiant, yet frighten-
ed. Her glance darted here and there, as though
searching for some means of escape; her whole body
was tense with fear and passion. How long they
had been grouped thus, Mrs. Primrose could not
divine; but it seemed to her that their pre-sent silence
and postures indicated a lull in a storm that must
have raged sometime before; a storm that was by
no means ended, but was even now gathering
strtength for another furious demonstration.
"Well, what's it; what you all looking so for?"
she questioned sharply, not seating herself, for. it
seemed as though some action on her part was neces-
sary, and that she must Ie prepared fior it. But as
she voiced her question she felt :-he knew the reason
of this ominous scene. Her mind flew to Gus Stein-
way. All her old fears returned with a flash like
lightning Her brother had heard something, that
was beyond all doubt; yet perhaps it could all be ex-
plain'd satisfactorily. If it were nothing recent. .
'Whal's the matter?" replied her brother, glar-
ing at her with eyes in which the red veins stood


Our Coming Men


Who are the younger men to carry on the busi-
ness of the country? is a question often asked by the
elders, a question put pessimistically, the idea being
that the answer must be, "none." But the truth is
that similar lqueetions have been asked as far back
as the knowledge of man goeth; the elder genera-
tion has never seen who are to succeed it; the old-
sters gaze with doubtful eyes into the future and
with more than doubtful eyes upon the younger men.
Yet somehow the work of the world is carried on;
the young men step into the shoes of their predeces-
sors; they are accepted, and in time it comes to be
perceived that they are doing very well indeed. There
are always youngsters to get on with the job, and
sometimes-forgive the heresy-they do it better
than their forebears did.
We have many of these younger men in Jamaica,
in the professions, in the Civil Service, in business.
This sketch refers to one of our younger business
men, a youth still in his twenties, Mr. Joseph de-
Cordova, better known as Joe. Joe is a very quiet,
unostentatious fellow, and perhaps is the better liked
on that account. He is in his father's business, he is
a steady worker, he is an observant, industrious
young man, possesses intelligence, and undoubtedly
has character. That is, he has a will of his own; he
knows how to make up his mind and to'stick to the
course he has chosen. Having selected business as a
career, Joe is devoting and will devote himself to
it; he will not b e noisy, ill not make a fuss, but
he will succeed because he has set his mind on suc-
cess and has the will to pursue the path towards
that goal. His very quietness may deceive the super-
ficial observer. But Joe has brain. And brain, char-
acter and experience must carry any man far. With-
al he is a very likeable youth, he has the affection
(if his friends and the good-will of his seniors. He
will play an adequate part in the business life of

out more prominently than ever, "ask her. Ask the
girl you brought up these last ten years. Let her tell
you who she passed the night with on Monday, for
she don't tell us yet, though she will have to do so
if I have to choke the truth out of her!"
"Monday night? Passed the night with?" repeat-
ed Mrs. Primrose blankly, as though the words were
in a language whose meaning she could not under-
"Yes," breathed Mrs. Bressley heavily. "Yes.
That is what we want to know, That is what we
got to know!"
"But Monday night Vi was in Kingston; she
was to stay with Ethel Cosmore and then come on
here ito you. like she did. You know that.
"There was no secret about it. She went to
Kingston Monday to buy some things she wanted,
an' which she couldn't get out here. True, she never
sleep out in Kiniiton before,, but I know Ethel; she
an' her people are quite respectable, and Vi is. a
young woman now, Bill: she must know what she
(an do and ain't do."
But even as she spoke Mrs. Primrose felt that
there was something which she had not yet heard.
"She went to Kingston. and she told you she was
going to Kineston," said her brother slowly; "I
understand that. for she toll us so on Tuesday when
she came back here--late. But what if I tell you
she wasn't in Kingston at all Monday night? What
if I tell you she passed the whole nieht at a sort of


a lodging house two miles out of Spanish Town:
stayed there all the night, and never went on ti,
Kingston until Tue.sday morning?"
"My God!"
"You may well say My God! It is only God that
is keeping me from committing murder to-night!
Listen, Gertrude! This morning I was going t.:.
Spanish Town when I met a man I know. W\v were
talking, and he mentioned to me that Monday even-
ing he had seen my daulihter at Simupsou't place.
near Spanish Town. I told him. not thkikng any-
thing, that he must have made a in take. but he
auciked me if I didn't think he knew Vivian well and
could make such a foolish mistake She anl a
young white gentleman were at the Ildging house.
he said, and an old man. didn't understand it.
but I knew Vivian had gone to Kings-ton that day
and I thought that perhaps she hadi stopped for a
little at Simpson's: anybody could do that. Bit this
man lives near to the place, and hb said he .saw
Vivian and an old man leave it early I',iflidi miorn
ing. The old man-"
"Proudleigh. He went with her." broke- in
Vivian's mother hotly; "he never said a word to
Mrs. Primrose shook her head: -ihe dlared not
trust her voice.
"It was because the man I met spoke of an
old man and talked about Tuesday morning that [
felt puzzled," Mr. Bressley continued "I ei-nt un
me way to Spanish Town, but I couldn't get what I
had heard out of me mind. It sounded very funny
to me. So, on coming back, I called at Simpson's. I
ask him straight if Vivian was ther-e Monday, night.
He said he didn't know the young lady'- name. hut
one had stopped there, with an old man. ant the way
he describe the old man I knew at on.e- who it was
I asked him about the young man who was there
also, but he wouldn't even describe him. said h
didn't know him, and that they all had nothing to
do with one another. He asked me why I was en-
quiring; and so I had to stop. I didn't want him to
think I suspected anything."
"But perhaps it wasn't Vi at all." cut in tMrs.
Primrose. "After all there is plenty of youne girls
and old men; and what if they have to stup at a
lodging house for a night?"
"With Spanish Town just a little way off, and
Kingston so near?" asked Mrs. Bresaley. shaking
her stout body fiercely. "You know you not talking
from you' conscience, Gertrude. You only trying' to
shield Vivian."
Mr. Bressley rose. "The thing worried me so
much," he went on, as though no interruption had
taken place that I went on to Kingston. I know
where Vivian's friend lives; I went there, as if I
just dropped in to say howdy-do because I was in
the town, and I talked a little till I got to hear what
I wanted. Vivian.went there for about fifteen min-
utes on Tuesday; she never was there on Monday
night at all. Why. Gertrude? And why did she
stay at Simpson's place? And who was the young
man that stay there that same night? My God. if
this is not enough to drive me mad. I don't know!"
Mrs. Primrore sat down heavily; her head bowed
and her features twitching. This-this was %hat
she could never have imagined. The man-she
knew only too well who it was. Vivian all night
with him at a strange and lonely place, meeting him
by appointment no doubt, meeting Inm to be with
him alone .
Everything surrendered in an hour. Everything
wrecked and ruined. Her name gone. her reputation
besmirched, her future-merciful God. what was to
be her future?
Alone with Gus Steinway ... with Steinway who
but a ray of hope shot through the woman's
black despair. Had Vivian really been alone? Mr.
Proudleigh had been with her. Perhaps ;us Stein-
way had called at the same place by merest accident.
and, seeing her there, had remained. He might do
that; but that did not mean that they two had ar-
ranged to meet. that anything had happened. Yet
why had not Vivian or Mr. Proudleigh mention ed this
incident? Why this secrecy? If there was nothing
to hide, why not a word about it? Mr. Proudleigh
had said ie had spent. Monday night with his own
people in Kingston. It was a lie. Why did he join
Vivian to deceive her people? How could anyone
.believe anything but the worst; and yet. that might
not be fair to the girl. Perhaps Vivian, knowing all
that had gone before, had been frightened and so
had bound Mr. Proudleigh to silence. That was a
"Who was the man, Vivian?" The father's
voice was menacing in its quality, menac.in even in
the quietness of it.
"I told you already I don't know'" volleyed
back Vivian fiercely. "I told you before Aunt Ger-
trude came that the car got damaged and I had to
stop somewhere to get it looked after. Did you ask
Simpson that? If you did he would have told you.,
Did you ask him?"
"Don't put any forward question to you' father,
you worthless wretch!" rasped out Mllrs. Bressley
"But it is a reasonable question, Eliza." Mrs.
Primrose contended. "Did Simpson tell you any-
thing about the car, William?"
"I didn't ask him, but who is going to believe it?"

S 1928-

"It is true." (ut in Vivian impudently. "That
may be why you don't want to believe it,"
*Go on." said her father grimly; "you will be
talking another way presently,, if you still have a
mouth to talk with!"
"Proudleigh is at my house," said Mrs. Prim-
rose. "He will know all about the motor car."
"He said anyIthing to you about ,Monday night
SThEn don't yo)u see what happened, Gertrude?
Don't you see the whole thing? Fancy a man like
me having a daughter like this! We bring her up
to match with the best; we do everything in the
world for her: and now she bring upon us this scan-
dal and di.sgrace. Good God! If a man knew what
was going to o'me later on he would stifle his chil-
dren before they aie a week old.
"Ye',. .ir?"
"Is this man going to marry you?"
"I don't know ahich man you talking about,
papa; you have your mind set on a man, and nothing
I can say will take him out of you' mind."
Mrs. Bresslev rroae; all of them were standing
"You i mine and I know you're lying," she said
with sini-t-r int -ensity. "I brought you into this world
and I know you e\en better than you' aunt. We been
too good to you. too kind and indulgent; an' you have
taken an advantage of it. But you going to tell us
the name of this young man to-night."
She approached Vivian deliberately. One arm
suddenly shot out and seized the girl; the other arm
came heavily down upon Vivian's face. She dragged
her daughter furyard. seized a stick from a stand
nearby: with urprising activity for so stout a per-
son she raised the .stick and brought it down furi-
ously again and again on the girl's shoulders. One
shriek rang out and then Vivian silently but with
desperation struggled to free herself. Her father
looked on grimly. approving. Mrs. Primrose gasped
and gasped, as if every blow were falling on her own
One heavier blow than the rest splintered the
stick upon the girl's hack; Mrs. Bressley threw the
stump away. reached for another weapon, and in that
instant Vivian wrenched herself loose. She sprang
for the door. reai.hed it, rushed through the sitting
room, and paused one moment on the verandah, her
eyes streaming tears. her hair dishevelled, her
clothes ripped and disarrayed. She shook her fist
in the direction of the room in which her people
stood. Her rice, passionate with pain and shame
and anger. denounced them. "You will never beat
me again." she screamed, "for I will never have any-
thing more tI do with you. You take a mean advant-
age of me because you are me parents and I can't
strike you back. But something else will strike you!
Damn you!"
She rushed down the steps, none following. She
lifted her voice .(, that her words should reach them.
"You want to know who he is? It is Gus Stein-
way! Now do what you like!"
She fled out into the road.


STEINWAY"' Gus Steinway?"
Mlr. Brt-esley repeated the words Vivian had
flung up at them with a sort of blank, utter incred-
ulity. "It was Gus Steinway? What can she mean?
What is she saying?"
He might have started to rush after the girl,
to drag her back by sheer force and compel her to
his will. but that the name she had screamed with
Suter defiance from the foot of the stairway outside
had paralysed his initiative. He stared at his wife,
at his sister, as if for enlightenment. Mrs. Primrose
said nothing. After that screaming confession she
dared not. at this time and place, admit to her bro-
ther and his wife what she knew about Gus Stein-
way and Vivian.
Panting and trembling Mrs. Bressley broke in.
"Don't you see. Bill, she only putting you off?
She tell us a name she know will provoke us, and
she think she shield whoever it is. She is a bad little wretch!"
"Yes: she don't care what sort of disgrace she
S brings upon us," cried Mr. Bressley fiercely. "In a
few days this story may be all over the parish, and
What will people say? How my enemies will laugh
at me! How a man like Steinway will rejoice over
me! What am I going to do?"
"You can try to prevent a scandal, William, if
you only act calm now," said his sister wearily.
"After all. we don't know yet that anything bad has
happened: even if it bas-which God forbid!-we
Swill only make it worse by talking about it and
spreading it. You have your position to think of.
And then there is Vivian-"
"I won't have her in me house again till she
tell the whole truth: and if it is true she was with
any man Monday night, she got to marry him or
never look me in the face again!"
"She is gone." pointed out Mrs. Primrose, "an'
she herself say she is never coming back."
"But where can she go to?" demanded Mrs.
Bressley. "She can only come back here or go to
your house. where she been all these ten years. And


you had the rearing of her, Gertrude; she was under
your care all the time she was growing up."
Mrs. Primrose nodded slowly: she had expected
to hear ,something of thbe ort. sooner or later. On
her would the blame be placed for what Vivian might
do; to her faulty training of the girl would be at-
tributed this lapse on Vivia.n's part. Vivian's mother
was already disclaiming responsibility, later on
both parents might be bitterly accusing her of ne-
glect or shortsightedness, and would feel that this
thing could not have happened had Vivian been en-
tirely under their protection and care.
Well, it was what was to be expected. It was the
way of the world.
"We must try an' keep it quiet," she insisted;
"whatever happen, we must go on as it if is not
true and we don't know anything about it."
Mad with anger though he was, the force of this
advice struck Mr. Bressley. He felt inclined to roar
out denunciations against the girl, against the man
it was said she had been with, though he did not
know him, and even against his sister; but he real-
ised that if he were to publish this incident abroad
he would suffer as much as Vivian. His impulse
must be held in check. His wife must be brought to
silence and she too must pretend that the story-if


it should ever get about-was a mere canard. Mean-
while, what to do with regard to Vivian?
"You think she gone back to your house, Ger-
trude?" asked Mrs. Bressley, who had collapsed into
a chair, exhausted by her unusual display of physi-
cal activity and now suffering from the reaction
brought about by a vague but terrific fear of the
future; for tlitre might.be (onsequeni.es of that one
night's adventure of Vivian's which it would be diffi-
cult to hide.
"I can go after her right now!" exclaimed Mr.
Bressley, starting forward; "she can't be far, and she
must be made to understand that I am her father
and have authority over her."
"An' if she won't come?" asked Mrs. Primrose.
"I'll make her!"
"You mean y'u going to fight her in the open
road, William? Remember, Vivian is younger than
you, an' if she want to escape you she can do it.
There is plenty of places right along that she can
hide in. An' if she think you going to force her to
do anything she don't like, she may not go to my
house at all."
"She couldn't be going to that, to the man .
No, she wouldn't do that-she couldn't!" Mrs.
(Continued on Page 52)















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The Sins of the Children
(Continued from Page 49)
Bressley's words were a protest against a fear that
had suddenly formed itself in her mind.
Her sister-in-law did not answer. She believed
that that was just what Vivian, feeling that the
hand of every member of her family was against her,
burning with rage at her beating and with shame
at the discovery of her guilt, would do that night.
What else indeed would it seem to her that she
could do?
"I will go after her," she said; "perhaps she is
gone right back home. And don't make any more
noise, William. Even as it is; Charles and some
other people here must have heard something. Try
to put them off; look like you always look. We have
got to trust to God to help us now, for there isn't
much that we can do."
Bressley nodded his agreement with something
like consternation in his face; Mrs. Bressley lowered
her head upon her arms and began to weep loudly.
Mrs. Primrose had no tears to shed just then, though
something seemed cruelly to be constricting her heart.
The worst that she could ever have imagined, much
worse than she had ever actually believed possible,
had come to pass, and now, in a dazed, wounded,
hopeless sort of way she was wondering how to deal
with it. She had thought that should Vivian ever
give cause for open scandal she would cut her off
completely, refuse to have anything more to do with
her, close her doors to her, curse and condemn her
as one utterly unworthy. She would hate her. In-
deed, at this moment she did feel that she hated
Vivian, hated her for her base continued deceptions,
her reckless sacrificing of reputation and future, her
callous bringing of disgrace upon a family who
might be disliked by many but about whom little
of a scandalous character and description could be al-
leged. Yes, she hated Vivian now. And yet she
was going forth into the night to seek for her, to
take her back home, to hide if possible her fall
from all the world.
She went downstairs and found Charles, goggle-
eyed with curiosity, standing by her horse-and-trap.
"Miss Vi gone on before me," she forced her-
self to say; "I will pick her up. These young people
too fond of quarrelling with their parents about no-
thing at all."
She took the reins and drove out; after a few
minutes' driving she turned the horse up a road
which led to Barnstaple, where Gus Steinway and his
people lived.
If Vi had gone on to her own house she would
be found there later on; if, in her rage and terror,
she had taken the way to Barnstaple, she had some
hours of quick walking before her and could easily be
overtaken by anyone in a vehicle before she got any-
where near to the Steinway plantation.
Vivian would almost certainly push on towards
Gus Steinway, Mrs. Primrose argued. She would
naturally turn to him now for protection; it would
be an instinctive act. But when she should actually
come in sight of the house where his parents lived,
indeed, even before she drew close to the gate that
opened upon the path leading up to the house, she
would surely falter and hang back. She surely
would not dare to press on, to awaken servants and




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others as well as the young master, to advertise her
coming and thus make it plain to all for what reason
she had come. No. If the girl was tramping now
on the way to Barnstaple, she would pause after a
while, and realise that she must pass that night in
the open, under the skies, homeless, an outcast. In
the morning she might contrive to meet Gus, and
he would doubtless do what he could for her; would
undertake to provide for her, as perhaps, Mrs. Prim-
rose thought bitterly, he had done for many another
This had to be prevented. Whatever happened,
such open disgrace must be averted.
"Vivian!" It was a cry of anguish that rang
from the woman's lips as she thought of all this
again and yet again. Vivian on this lone road to-
night. a fugitive from her father, a girl without a
name! How she had thought for Vivian, worked for
her, planned for her, bestowing upon her a wealth
of love which, perhaps, even Vivian's mother had
not to give her, and had never shown. She had
adopted the girl; Vivian was to her as her daughter;
indeed, she had loved her more vividly, more jeal-
ously than she might have loved a daughter of her
own; for she had always recognized that Vi was the
child of another woman who might wish to claim
her some day; she had always feared that the closer
blood tie between Vi and her mother might eventu-
ally draw the girl to the mother, leaving the aunt
but the second or third place in her affections.
Up there in the house she had felt that she
hated Vivian for what she had done, for the wreck
that Vivian had made of her life. Here under the
stars she began to realise how hungrily, how devot-
edly, she cared for her niece; how little everything
else seemed to matter in comparison with the im-
perative need of rescuing her, still aiding her, of
preventing further harm from befalling her. The
father might think of his name and his position; the
mother's anxiety might be divided between Vivian's
plight and what might come to her husband in con-
sequence of what the girl had done. But she--she
felt for Vivian only, thought of Vivian only, had
but one solitary impelling motive to-night. She
must find Vivian and take her back home. She
must stand up for her, shield her, fight for her, even
against father and mother.
"Better she was dead!" she tried: "better she
was dead and buried. Oh, my God, my God!" And
suddenly she felt herself shaken by a siorm of sobs,
and fought and struggled against a wild impulse to
scream. She dared not give way; she had to act-to
act; weakness and repining would be of no avail
now. Pray God that she would come upon the girl
and that no one else would be witness of this wild
flight towards the Steinway home.
In the light, of the half moon, a clear light that
revealed the scene with silvern distinctness, Mrs.
Primrose caught sight at last of the figure of a
woman outlined against a hedge to the left side
of the road. The figure was standing motionless.
Mrs. Primrose guessed that it was Vivian, alert and
watching to see if the buggy coming along contained
people that should be feared. She guessed Vivian's
plan. By passing through the hedge, as she could
easily do, Vivian could make her escape before any
pursuers could come up to where she stood. She
would not be taken unawares.
Mrs. Primrose brought her horse to a slow trot;
moving at this pace she would indicate that it was
not as a pursuer but as a friend that she came,
and Vivian would easily see she came alone.
In another minute there could be no doubt that
the waiting woman was Vivian; she too recognized
Mrs. Primrose, and swiftly debated in her mind
what she should do. Already she had begun to
wonder where she should pass this night. Already
the impossibility of appearing to Gus in person, be-
fore strangers, perhaps in the presence of his father
and mother, had occurred to her. She must walk on
and on, or sleep beneath a tree, and then somehow
get to Spanish Town in the morning, from where she
could write to him. She had a few shillings in the
tiny purse in her bosom; enough for a day or two.
But to-night she must be homeless, since her people
would never have her back again, and she had cut
herself off entirely from them.
But now her aunt was coming in search of her,
that was quite apparent; her aunt who knew more
about her and Gus Steinway than her parents did.
Shame possessed Vivian; how could she face this
woman who had been even more than a mother to
her, and who, as she well knew, loved her so strong-
ly? The flame of her rage had died down some-
what; other emotions now had an opportunity of as-
serting themselves. Besides, it was her father who
had abused her with bitter words, her mother who
had struck her; in her aunt's face she had only seen
a terrible expression of grief and despair, from her
aunt's lips she had heard only an effort at a falter-
ing, hopeless explanation of her conduct-and yet
her aunt must have guessed far more, known far
more, than her father and mother ever could.
Should she evade Aunt Gertrude? The question
flashed swiftly through her mind, yet she moved not
an inch. She still stood motionless by the hedge as
the little trap halted in front of her and Mrs. Prim-
rose's glance rested upon her face.
(Continued on Page 54).

Growth of The Manufacturers

Life Insurance Company

The Manufacturers Life Insurance Company
has been established fr or forty years. having conimmen
:ed business in August. 1587. The Right Honourable
Sir John A Maldonald. P.C.. G.C.B.. D.C.L. first
Prime Minister of Canada and one of the founders
of Confederation. was the Company's first President
and held this office until his death in 1S91. Though
Sir John and the nationally-known group of men who
established the Manufacturers Life have passed to
their reward. the commanding position of the Conm
pany is eloquent testimony to their foresight and en-
The Manufacturer., Life has always striven to be
one of the best. For forty years this institution has
written ea>.h year an ever increa-sine volume of new,
business. due to the faith that it has always endeavor
oured to give the insurer the best in life insurance
The Manufacturers Life is both expansive and
progressive. Not only does the Company do business
throughout the Dominion of Canada and Newfound-
land. but it is established in a number of the States
of the United States. and is licensed by the Board of
Trade to do business in London. where a Branch
Offie is maintained. The Company transacts busi-
ness in the West Indies. South Africa. Japan. the
Federated Malay States. as well as in Central and
South America.
The Jamaica Branch of the Manufacturers Life.
whlih was one of the first agencies. opened outside
of Canada. was e-tablished in 1S'j4. While figures
are easily read and soon forgotten. a word or two
regarding the progressiveness of the Company should
not be amiss. In 19,7. practically twenty years after
the inception of the Company. the Manufaiturers
Life had insurance- in force- of approximately ten mil-
lion pounds. In ten and a half years from this date
this amount was doubled. Two years later the in-
suranie in force had grown to thirty million pounds.
and a year and a half later to forty million pounds
In January. 1921. the fifth. million pound mark was
reached, and in June. 1'25 the sixty million On De-
(ember 31st. 1926. the Company had over seventy-two
million pounds of insurance in force. At the rate
the Company is writing business the eighty million
pound mark should be reached by the end of the
present year.
The Manufacturers Life is well and favourably
known throughout the West Indies Its business.
here progresses by leaps and bounds. Those insured
in it are pleased with the bonuses they periodically
receive. The Jamaica Ofice of the Company is
located at 116 Tower Street. and is in charge of Mr.
C. L. Hobison. Manager. Other well known represent-
atives in Jamaica are Mr. C. J. Farquharson. Travel-
ling Agent. Mr. T. E Levy, Black River, and Mr. J. A.
Finzi. Montego Bay.


Established 1906.

U(ur Firm tstahili.hi.d .iin. tlt-
2 ,th M nclh 1 6.;, ili a, iit- aiet.l tit.
I, i .i1'uld i liT N H ill' .1

i. well iit s il~Iru .IT T lt- t, .ck f'
V)ry li;il that we c a 1rry i es Ie ,ft
thR. l'e in IF O ,i. ;BO.1 ,r
l.,ri.es ,kl y ( 'li, ln titiri ,.

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The Sins of the Children

(('olltitllld friomi Pao r ,'i.:.)
She knew the tone: there was no anger in it, but
only intolerable anguish. And in the light of the
moon she saw the signs of her aunt's great suffering
and sorrow.
The reply was muted, muffled, and Vivian's voice
broke in a sob
"Come. Vi, let us go home You can't stay out
here all night. You will catrh cold. Colme!"
"But papa-thbey will want to beat nme an' rule
me. Aunt Gertrude. and I can't stand that any more
at all. I am no longer a child: I won't have them
do what th(b. Ike with nm!" The words ended in
a hysterical ga-p.
"They can't heat you in my ihouo. Vi. and you
know that as well as I ido. I don't think they want
tn do anything more than he-p you. if y.tu will let
them. Andy you taii't see how you look now. You'
dire.- is torn. 3.iur hair is pulled up. you haven't on
a hat. And how\ an you. tuit a touutry w-oman but
a young lady, tramp about all night or sleep under
,a tree? Come. Vi. \We must get home
Slowly the girl talked over from where she
-tooid ani climbed int., tlh litln- buggy beside lier
aunt. Without a w!nd M1r.-. Priir-i.se turned th.e
horee's head and the piltriniace homenjatil began

M RS. Printloi'p kept her e'ye- ri\id -Irea.iily before
her. speaking no \iri.'l. ni.t even dealingg a
glanci- at the lJun.-he-d tip rin-url at hb r Fide. She
felt Vivian traublinit violently. presently -hlI- heard
the gasping -tobs that seemed to i rend the girl's body.
aiil then ilow nroiilning sounds. Shaum and grief
-eemled lo find !i eart-breakinr ept'' j.i -iii in those
Soundisb They \wtre a lamen- station i'.v\ tile irrtni di-
able past.
The moans died away to sileni-:: hut for the
clar.k-clark of the horse's hoove, and thle -,tady grind
of the wheels on the metalled surface of the road
tlleri was albsolute quiet. Hartily a breath of wind
murmured through the tree-' on either hand and in
the pastures the tattle were asleep. The moon flooded
the landscape with soft light.
"Aunt Gertrude"
"Yes. Vi.'
There rwa- a paise. This .len.e Oin hir aunt's
part had become intolerable ti Vivian. in a way it
:. w;a worse than reproat.hes; it was. as it were. a

burden of unspoken reproacth well nigh not to be
"After I ran out. what did they say?"
'"Nothing much."
"About-about Gus Steinway. I mean."
"They didn't believe you. Vi."
*Oh! And you. Aunt Gertrude: did you tell them
"Then "
But Mrs. Primrose spoke no word to encourage
her to tinirh the -eutenct. After a littlA while she
was forced to Iresiume of her own initiative the halt-
ing conversation.
"Then if they don't believe it they can't make
any confusion, he ides'"-m ior rapidly-"there's
really nothing tio nmike any confusiion about: nothing
bad. I mfean. thoueli I am ,orry that." her voice
trail-i awa.-y into silence.
"You say there is nothing bad. and God knows
I want to b-lit.\- y',o Vivian, but what am I to
think. Me heart is broken. 0. my God. that I
should live to sI e t -ULh a night like thi-' O. Jes.us!
ivhat hait I dinno. or this, poor -irl b-sider mie. that
all th0, should iri:i- utipon u! Ohl-hl h lh-"
"Hiih. Aunt Gertrutdl. hu-h' Don't i.iv ;ii. It's
-it's all rigehr it will bh: all right. Hush' Hush!"
Viviahn .wai tfrightiu-,Il. N\ve'r before had -ho?
kuon,.n hIir aunt ti weiep. N-ev\i-r had hle witne.-sed
ui :h apony. Tie reins hadi fallen from the elder
n,'man's hands: tIre Ilood-pate-i we-re ,lown. -ehe had
r)ipokti tirul.vy .litll -ie -aid li-r heart wat broken.
Ancl it s-,tnmeii to h-r at thi.- .ni:.ielnt that buth slie
and the ziil wiEri' au.it in -thme eizantit. i.o-.-piratVy
"I circu:mutanii... in the cgrip of which they .e re
helpless anil ft'rei.t-iomn il
Avain Mir-. Primrose mastered her ft-linas. antd
acain tlwee \a sile-nce till 'Vi\lan spoke. hi.-itatin.-
ly. ointe miore.
"II wa-s llir Sttiiuway. Aunt GCtllrirle: iurt lit
and I there i. untliing to worry ablioit. I .milIln't
see him any otwier v.ay: anI I am .iuunC. Aunt Ger-
trude. anti I love Liini "
"That i i thel worst of it, Vi."
"I can't help it."
"Am.i yiu we\-l arine to him to-.night'?"
'i.i-in diiil m t reply
For the -alure thiioulit tlatr was in her mind. was
in lier aunt'-i ToInight she cou ld not see GU-. but
what of the future? Would Vivian c.onsent never to
-*ee him atain'? asked ,Mirs. Primnro-e of hi -relf, and
follunl her answer in 'VI' alr -ady spoken totnfe-..i-in:
"I lotv him. I ran't help it Could she agree never
t, see him again? was thi- query in Vivian's mind.

and she knew that there could be only one reply to
But years of handling practical matters as they
tame up for consideration and adjustment had given
to Mrs. Primrose an almost automatic faculty for
dealing immediately and adequately inith a situa-
tion as it arose, leaving contingencies of the morrow
to be attended to later. The thing to do now was to
get Vi home. Her attitude towards Gus Steinway
could he considered to-molrow or next week. Vivian
was not mad: she could nut he a holly Inst to a -ense
of decency. That sense of deeutl.: woaould surely
keep her from lo utine all decent opinion and trail-
ing her name in the mud. Unly if driven desperate,
as she had been to night. aould she openly goi to her
Nothing nmre passed between them for the re-
mainder of their journey. It was late when they came
to Mrs. Primnrose's property, and there, for the first
time -inm:e he had been with them. they found
Mr Proudliigh anake and still sitting on the veran-
dah A lantern hanging from a nail in one of the
verandah posts revealed hinm. an anxiojus-looking
old man who strove to appear normal and at his
~ i- \' When he saw[ them. and noticed especially
the dishevelltd appearam.e of Vivian, his worst fears
.'ire at oin e t Inrrnmeid.
Mr. Prourlleilh had passed a night t.f awful ap-
prehen-ion. Foolish in many rI'spe.:ts. he et reach-
erd now and then to some shrewd and correct ronilu-
sorn,. and try ,as he mni-Lit hi- hlad not Ieen able
hllif ng the last fi'%w itours to preri'sl tle himself that
lMrs. Pri'nros-e hadt h-een sitt f'or on any alc"'unt
a.t the in ii.:-nt of tiat Mnnuiay night when Vivian
had mi-r G.;u Steinv.ay at thle little Iriuste outside of
Siani-.th Town Fronl tiht rirst le na.il la.l a pre-
t:.nt!mentt that lia epi-iiie naiild lead to trouble.
All hlii lit'- lie had been havirti: prt--.entimn tins and
r teful Jlreanii-. tiiatly all of : .hi.h hail t ome to
nothin-I lbut [! tine his presentiment na- hased
upon iiappi-irigsl of a nlaturt- the signiticanit and
uupi.-aiaurn.--, iLf whii.h he had rerigunied and
i.ull n ot niin ii-c. In the tirst pla..e. Vi\vita liail not
wanted him i to ni i ,ith her on h.-r rly!in, visit to
K ingitn. Site hail nenmtin -d to li].-r auint that she
neiedid some things a hi-h eni ldl only be purchased
in the city: --lie proposed to go there on the Mon-
day, sleep at Ethel Co'uiorr's. and return thle next
day. As ht-r father had .suggested that she should
spend a few day.. with her parents. ihe had arranged
to go from Kingaton to his house. Consequently she
had not included Mr. Proudl-igh in her arrange-
But Mrs. Primrose had not relished the idea of

I .a






I ____j



a girl going all the way to Kingston without some
escort; she had suggested Mr. Proudleigh or one of
her boys. hinting that the latter could look after the
car, which Mr. Proudleigh was indisputably not able
to do. Vivian had seen no good reason why she
could not go alone. but her aunt stood firni and so
she had elected for Mr. Proudleiah She could stop
off at her father's. she said. and send the old man
on to her aunt's on her return
Mr. Proudleigh had gladly availed himself of
an opportunity of a brief trip to Kingston. especially
as he was to iome back to this haven tof plenty.
where the food was muth better than that he ob-
tained in Kingston. But lie had noticed that Vivian
would much rather not have had his company on this
She had been silent and preoccupied on the
drive: then. a short distance front Simpson's lodging
house. she hal complained that something was
wrong with the car which had to be attended to.
She had driven into Simpson's. decided to stay there.
and had requested tile services of someone who
could take the car on to Spanish Town for repair..
The host had promised to tind her a boy to do this.
she stipulating that the car should tie brought back
that night. This had caused Mr. Proiidleigh to won-
der if she intended to make the rest of the journey
by night; he had asked her: her reply had been:
"yes, about nine o'clock.'
A couplee of hours later. when it was afternoon.
Gus Steinway had driven in He seem-d to know
Simpson. bhu greeted him with great respect. Then
Mr. Proudleigh understood. This was an assigna-
tion; the trip to Kingston for the making of pur-
chases was but an excuse. Now was made plain to
him the pre-occupation of Vivian, her restraint. her
nervousness-for she had been nervous. though that
had not been horne in upon him hbfore. She hadl
Arranged to meet Gus Steinway here. perhaps in one
of the recent letter which had been lnnveyed to heri
S through him. M1r Proudletih.
So tar there was no more in this than in oth.1r
meetings whit h he had a-.i tetd at. bir .evidently
the young people did not proposE to leave the lodg-
ing house hiefore nightfall. They had dinner. and he
noticed that they dined tlu--ther at a table by them
selves in a private room. while he had his meal cuir-
Bide in the hall ,where everybody else ate ah-n tiler,-
were any to dine thero. After dinner Vivian's car
was brrugcht back from SpaniEh Town. and he -x.
Speed her to start for King-ton within a reasonable
time. But she came out and told hini quietly that
they could not go on that night. that they would
leave early the follow ing morning. and she warned
him seriously and solemnly that he must not let this
be known to anyone whatever.
AMr. Proudleigh had protested. fteebly hu earnest
ly. Vivian had overruled hi. objections. and he had
yielded, as he always did. Then AMr. Steinwav had
come out and spoken to hint kindly and given him
a pound as a present It \a- a.ain impressed upon
Mr. Proudleigh by Mr. Proulleigh's own mind that.
whatever might be the intintlion-s of M Sreinnay
towards Vivian. he was a very noble young gentle-
man and one with a proper appreciation of the merits
of old age.
Anmong tlhe moral qualities of Mr Proudleigh an
objection to spyine anid -ave-sd-iroppina w-a noit It

seemed to iint self-evident anti

indisputable that if

you wanted to see what was happening and it was hid
from your sight, you were entitled to pry about un-
til your curiosity was satisfied, provided always that
you could do -o without any grave personal risk.
And if you wanted to overhear a conversation. which
it sometimes was very natural you should do. what
other nieans could you adopt save that of secret lis-
tening" He had made a habit of this kind of thing
for years: he perceived a pius-itive virtue in it. Sa,
when. that evening, after dinner was de~patched andl
the darknetss had fallen. Gus and Vivian had with.
drawn to tile little verandahI to the rear of the up-
per story of the house. MNr Proudleigh stole forth
into th.- ard and. among the concealing trees, kept
himself well out of view and stared upwards to see
whliat might he seen.
It wa.s not muclh. He could make out the figures
of a man andl woman sitting very close- toge-ther. so
that their two heads looked likp one. What ihey
were saying cuoul not possibly he heard by him
front where he stood: indeed he suspected that it
could not possibly bir heard by anyone a few yards off.
since they were probably whispering. Mr. Proud-
leigh was never conscious of any attitude of con-
dmc-nation on his part towards his fellow creatures:
if lie thought the worst of -it em in certain circum-
stances. it was only beciil-e he lblieved tile aorsi
to be perfectly natural and that anything else would
be strange. A-, a matter of factt it would not have
appeared to him to be the worst at all. but ouly as
something inevitable and thereftrw to be rationally
Expected. "Him trying' to pi-rsluade her." was his
comment on the s. ene he ilinly witnessed. and he
was convinc.el that tGs Steinway' would .Suceetld.
Mr. Proudleigh knew that Vivian cared for NIM
Stein~aa. .and hi- ci.mment was perfectly character-
i-.tic. "Dat touing gentlelnan i- young an' \white ain' a
pretty tman. An' woman weak like water. Besides.
t ihe love hinl. --.xell. it idnan't ny business, but I
afraidd t'' true. Ef lher fadtr ever catch me. dawg
wouldn't pick up tim" bulne'"
Tle ol i man ,elepr in a iloom on tie rirslt floor:
v.hat happ.--nd above he ie ulid onlly fell-ss and spe'
ulte ron. He f-Il asleep. not morally li.turbel tiut
mentally apprehensive for hibs own sat' ;-r3 .:1 hen
be ~wuke early the next mtorninel hr d-. 'lhi that ho
would not return from Kineton faith Viviau.
O(lue arrivi-il at a pla'e of refuge. he ;would pursue
the nobhl- policy 1of" saf'-ty iirst: nito quetCt, )n, s ..ul
hie asked of him in a city far from ihn j.i -i-dicrion
of an ileful. dreadful man like Mr Bressley.
Yes. he would say good-bye to Viviii in Nilps-
ton. She had burned her boats. hail crossed her
Pubicon th..-ugh of that river NMr. Pruil. i-li l I;t.
never heard : she hati Ietter proceed 'iir.on. I:ut
wivien he saw her in the nmorninu. neirvotu-, excited.
ii th a startled look on her fare. with roin- tL'iii like
.ai t expressed in all her movement- alti..-I th- liirst
thine shtle s.ali to him was that there uiiiii i lie no
Iimn- for him to go and st, hi,' people in tr'l. -ity.
thouLh he imu.t in t mention that to lih r fnilie-" i1 her
auntt. She \vat hEcl him keenly as she spokl-. as ralso
(lid NIr Stein wa. they were able t, read i- inta]d
like an open book. Gus gave him another pound.
titld him how helpful anti kind h. had .- e-n. pro:m
is-tl him mu lit. and insisted that he nmu-t return
humin from Kingstonn with Vivian Th,-\ still wuul-l
have uFi for him as a post office.
And Vivian had seen to it. with h-r strou'- er

will and powers of persuasion, that he went back
with her.
And now, as he looked at Mrs. Primrose and
Vivian, he knew that that last meeting, enduring for
a whole night and containing the most tremendous
possibilities, had been discovered. Any other meet-
ing would not have mattered so much; there would
have been blame, but there could hardly have been
grave suspicions. amounting to practical certainty, as
to why those two, Gus Steinway and Vivian, had
passed a night together miles from her pretended
destination, and had maintained a profound silence
about it. Mr. Prrmileigh did not put the matter in
such words, but the gist of what he thought was
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what was going to be done to him now, since his
part in this business could not be concealed?
Fear had kept him awake; he had remained on
the verandah with the feeling that his room was no
refuge if Mr. Bressley wanted to hunt him out that
night. The yard could not shelter him, for at his
time of life it would be impossible to climb a tree;
and even if he could he would be discovered the
next morning and commanded to come down to re-
ceive his punishment. Mr. Proudleigh, for some
hours, had been thinking of himself as the unluckiest


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of the sons of men. as one whom misfortune was
never tired of dogging. He did not see why sub-
stantial virtue and the best of intentions should be
thus rewarded, for what had he done save try to
help two unhappy young people--or been forced into
helping them? There was not justice in this world.
He would become more convinced of that, he feared,
when he felt the lash of Mrs. Primrose's tongue, and
had the weight of Mr. Bressley's hand upon him.
But all that Mrs Primrose did to-night was to
pass by him without a word, and Vivian muttered a
.good-night. He knew their attitudes fairly well by
now. evidently there was not war between them.
The girl had gone through some severe ordeal; her
f ace. h.r clothe< were eloquent of that. Yet the at-
mosphere. if gloomy. was suggestive of peace. Mr.
SProudleigh was puzzled. Well, he would know his
fate next morning He had always believed he would
suffer martyrdom by the light of day.
SNE forenoon, about three weeks after the occur-
rences recorded in the foregoing chapter, a
number of men were standing about on the piazza of
a building in Spanish Town which, among its many
purposes, served as the office and meeting room of
the St. Catherine Parochial Board.
It would be a little ahile before the Board as-
i enabled far business. ant there were three or four
menihers ydt to arrive.
Spposite was a still larger edifice, which in other
Times had neen the Governor's official residence; a
big yellow tone pile of Georgian architecture, com-
modious. pretentious, but with no claim to be con-
sidered imposing or beautiful.
To thd right. as you looked across from the
piazza of the Parm, hial Board, was a rotunda of stone
in which stood a heroic statue of Admiral Rodney,
clothed as an ancient Roman. with two brass can-
non captured from the French at his feet, on the
left hand were the Court House and law offices; and
in the centre of the square formed by these build-
ings, a railed park. filled with the variegated flower-
Ing shrubs of the tropics. and with a fountain play-
Ing in the middle. relieved the harshness of stone
and brick ant tempered the glare of the hot, white,
dusly streets.
Among the waiting men four were conversing on
more or less terms of intimacy, and their voices
were lowered as though they did not care to be over-
"I can't understand it.," one of these was say-
Ing. "They say that iGus actually has gone to see
the girl at her aunt's house; the very first time he
went there it was talked about. Naturally. too, after
hat happened at the election, and considering how
Bressley hates Steinnway."
"I have heard it nmys-lf," remarked another, "and
what is more. it ij perfectly true. There is no
secrecy about it at all. The old woman seems to be
encouraging Steinway ru visit her place, though
what her object can be I ian't divine. He goes there
at least once a week. What does she expect?"
"Well. old Steinway has money, you know, and
Gus can get what he wants," observed the third of
the group.
"Yes; but tihe .ouun woman's aunt isn't a poor
woman, and for all I have heard she is a decent
woman and has brought up her niece respectably."
(It was the first man who now spoke.) "Now she
could never expect t;us would want to marry her
niece; she wouldn't think it. And her brother and
old Steinway hate ea.h other so badly that you
would expect their children not even to know one
Another by sight. Yet there you are. This young
fellow goes to re.' the girl and the aunt receives
him. and the father don't say a word. It beats
me hollow."
"There' nothing in a boy dropping in to see any
girl. is there. even if she isn't his equal?" The fourth
member of the -rouip. Mr. Tuke, had now spoken;
ie had put his rmatlk in the form of a question
Which could admit of a favourable reply.
"No. that's true." replied one of the prevoius
speakers. though M ith a ghost of a smile; for Mr.
Tuke's visit to rsom ladies, in the days when he had
Seen younger had hardliv been of that entirely in-
nocent and even Ilively. character that he was now
.suggesting Gus Sttinwa''s to be.
"It may ih.- sa." .aii the man who had spoken
about old lMr. Steinway's money; "but it also may
not be. You nutit rmnwtmber Bressley. That young
fellow iursed him ,ff -.-:i'l and plenty not long ago;
called him a hiior.i. barbarian or something like
that. Bressle\ is ni t h.- kind of man to forget that.
Besides. didn't I hear somethingg about Gus and the
girl spen.ldin some day or night together in this
Town the other day? Something of the sort, I
know. for I heard it: but it was vague and I didn't
enquire too closely After all, it is not my business."
"And it woul'l have been very low for a man
.1.ke you to go n,-sim into all kinds of dirty rum-
Sours." cut in Mr. Tuke severely.
"Quite right: but the story went about all the
same, though it nima not have been true. And there
is Bressley gomin and coming-he was sworn in as
a.. member of the ('nunril last week-and Ili daughter
carrying on--ell. that is not the right word, per-
ha ps. but I think hli shouldd stop it. It's not doing


her. or him any good. unless he expects to get some-
thing out of it. There. Bressley now!"
Mr. Bressley. who as a member of the Legislative
Council had the right to a seat on the Board, drove
up just then in his car, alighted, nodded to those
men with whom he was on speaking terms, and walk-
ed into the Board chamber. A keen observer would
have noticed that he looked slightly aged, that there
were lines of worry, of apprehension about his mouth
and eyes, a questioning look in his face as though
he were searching for something. probing to see
what was in the minds of other men. Yet his ear.
riage was even more defiant than it had been be-
fore. There was a sort of challenge in it; it might
have been said of him that he was carrying a chip
on his shoulder, was trailing his coat to see who
would dare tread on it; his self-assertiv'enets. which
had long since made him disliked by his social sup.
eriors, was now over-emphasized. Yet always in hisz
eyes was there that look of dread, that fear of what
others might be thinking and saying about him.
-Hullo. Steinv.ay is attending to-day," said one
of the men to Mr. Tuke; "it's some time since he
ante to a Board meeting. I thought he was going
to reign because Bresley had become a member."
"Don't see why hi.- -hould," laughed Mr. Tuke;
but he himself \was _irm&ewnat surprised at this ap-
pearance of Mr. Steinway.. It would be the first time
that Steinway ani Bressley would sit at the same
able together.
The meeting tediously dragged its trivial way
al.iut, for a couple of hours. ihen the ciLok struck
and word was given that thli rEi tould be an adjourn-
ment for lunch. Mr. Tuke had sat opposite toi Mr.
Steinway and next to Mr. Bressley, with whom, in
the course of the meeting, he had exchanged a word
or two pleasantly. Mr. Stein wa had sometimes al-
lowed his eyes to rest upon Mr. Bressley, and always
it had been with a co:ntemptuous balf-.mile. or rather
with a semi-sneer whili ,-pressed loathing even
more than dislike. Bressley had been keenly con-
scious of it, and there were others upon whom it had
not been lost. Most of these had heard the tale that
Mr. Tuke and his acquaintances had been discussing
on the piazza. They connected that story with Mr.
Steinway'S glances and with the hot, menacing air
of Mr. Bressley.
"I am not coming back after lunch, Harry," said

Stiiiuway to Mr. Tuke. "I am going back to the
"And how is your boy, Mr. Steinway?" asked
une of the menibers ljbsequiouly. as some of them
began to rise. "Haven't seen him for some time now,
"He's getting on very well. thank you," said Mr.
Steinway. "a bit wild. I suppose, as all of us are in
our youth: but nothing to give me any concern. I
can depend upon him for that."
"You must feel proud of him. sir," added the
sycophant. pleased to be able to converse with so
great a personage; "a nice, up-standing fellow like
"Thank you, Mr. Gregory. yes, I am proud of
him. He will never do anything that could disgrace
me. You know what the good Old Book says--the
sins of the fathers are visited on the children. but
I am not conscious of having done anything to bring
any terrible retribution down upon my head. Any-
how, I should prefer my sins to fall upon my own
hlad than that any child of mine should go down
into the gutter."
Every man there heard, and most of them under-
stood. Mr. Tuke's eyelids fluttered; this was not
worthy of his friend John; even hate, even justifiable
hate, should not bring any man to insinuate, more,
to fling into a father's face, a suggestion that a child
of his nas gr.ing down to the gutter. And that child
a woman. It was an ungentlemanly act, and Henry
Tuke was a gentleman. The mean vindictiveness of
it sickened him; it wasn't sane; it was positively
dangtrou. He would have thought John too proud
to condescend to u. ili depth uf personal word-throw.
ing; tius was a thing for market women to do, not
for a leading man of the country.
Mr Tuke. fumbling in his mind for some means
of purif. ing the foetid atmosphere that had so sud-
denly thickened around them, turned and asked
Bre-sley. who had not yet risen from his seat, if he
could come and look at some grapefruit that he
had heard Mr. Bressley was cultivating: he, Mr.
Tuke, would feel deeply grateful to be permitted to
look over the trees.
Bressley muttered something about being only
too pleased, and Mr. Tuke continued the conversa-
tion, lagging behind so as to leave the room with the
man. He had seen Bressley's hands clench and a

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murderous glare leap into his eyes at the conclusion
of Mr. Steinway's remark. And he knew quite as
well as Bressley the precise meaning and significance
of that remark.
For to Mr. Tuke had come a whisper of that
Monday night's episode at Simpson's lodging house,
and also a report of the scene at Bressley's house on
the night when Vivian had fled away. That report
had been confused and vague; Charles and one of
the women servants in the house had talked, but
they had not heard enough, and understood too
little, to be able to do more than suggest that Miss
Vivian and her parents had had a terrible quarrel,
that Miss Vivian had screamed and had rushed out
of the house saying something about Mr. Gus Stein-
way, and that she had not been back to see her
father and mother since then. Those who did not
know the other parts of a hidden story would make
but little of this incident; but Mr. Tuke knew what
to conclude. What he did not understand was why
Mrs. Primrose, whom he had always heard well
spoken of, was e-n curagiie or allowing Gus to visit
her niece. What could possibly be her object?
Unless she and Bressley thought that there really
was nothing serious, nothing reprehensible, between
the two young folk, and they wanted to hurt the
pride of the Steinways by letting them and all the
world see how their son hung around a girl whom
they would affect to despise? But that was childish;
it was playing into Gus's hands--damned young
scoundrel!--it was giving Steinway an opportunity
to stab Bressley in what must be a man's tenderest
spot. No; that was not, for it could not be, the
explanation; there was something behind this extra-
ordinary conduct. Mr. Tuke did not like Bressley;
Mr. Bressley, he always felt, was far too bumptious
and aggressive. But now he actually was sorry for
him, pitied him from the bottom of his heart, es-
pecially after that studied, atrocious insult of Stein-
Mr. Tuke also was one of those who did not
return to the Board meeting on the expiration of the
luncheon hour. Mr. Bressley was another.

HE Steinways, father, mother and son, dined at
the small dining table when there were no
guests; Gus alone was not dressed for dinner to-
The delco lamp, delicately shaded, lighted up
the polished mahogany surface, upon which mats of
worked linen for the plates and dishes were placed.
A bowl of cut glass containing white and pink roses
was a delight to look upon; the two heavy decanters
on the table were also of the best cut glass. The
setting of the table was of itself an incentive to appe-
The large dining room, with its big table form-
ing a parallelogram in the centre, its two massive
mahogany sideboards laden with silver and glass, its
comfortable chairs and the pictures on the walls, was
a handsome apartment quietly suggestive of opulence.
Portraits of four generations of male Steinways hung
on the walls, all of these except the first bearing a
striking resemblance to the elder Mr. Steinway.
The first was much like Gus, who did not favour
his father. The original name of that first Steinway
had been Maitland. His wife's maiden name had
been Steinway; he had taken her name with herself
and her fortune; that had been a stipulation. Her
descendants had been much like her in disposition
as well as in appearance; but Gus had reverted mark-
edly to the looks as well as to the general tempera-
ment of the Maitlands. That accounted largely for
his more genial, likeable character, and perhaps also
for the strain of weakness in him.
Mr. Steinway's elder son, Robert, now in India
with his regiment, but shortly expected in Jamaica
on a visit was different. He was pure Steinway, yet,
curiously enough, was not the favourite of his father
or his mother.
Mrs. Steinway was a thin woman of middle
height, tight-lipped, with blue eyes, scanty, greying
hair, and rather haughty demeanour. Unkindly
critics said that no one could preserve a happy dis-
position who had to live a lifetime with the im-
perious John Harrington Steinway; but a happy dis-
position had never been Mrs. Steinway's. She was
prouder even than her husband; her opinion of her-
self and of her family was extraordinarily exalted;
she lived a narrow life; being great in her district,
she felt that she must needs be great in all the world.
And Gus should be even greater. For he was one
of the Steinways, and, in her eyes, the handsomest
and best.
Gus knew his mother well, therefore he was cer-
tain that, this evening, she had something to say to
him. He could not possibly mistake that look of
hers when her eyes fell upon his face: it always sig-
nalled an interview. Old Steinway knew the signal
too, though his wife was not anxious that he should
perceive her intentions; he guessed what Mrs. Stein-
way wished to speak to Gus about. There was a grim
little smile bout the corners of his mouth not al-
together pleasant to see; only that day he had flung
an open insult at a man whom he despised as an
inferior, and he was glad that he had done it. May-
be there were those who heard it who had not under-
stood; but some must surely have. What he had


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hinted at would b more an'd milre talked abc'lt. for
Bressley was now in theI ILjblih eye. andi Ihi domestic
affnirs. of no particular interest three months be-
fore. would form a delectable tit-bit in these days
for those who delighted in gon-ip
Mr Steinway would have preferred. from certain
points of view. if the man visiting Vivian. for what
would d hb but one well-understood reason, had been.
siille other than his -.n. H.e did n.t 'are that Gus's;
name should b mixed up in a fashion. not exactly
(redlitable. with that of any woman siomnething in
him. in his feelinEtus a- a father. made him wish that
his boy -hilld b- rewarded as above reproach. But:
he thought of hiitmelf as a piactiial man: he -aidi
that these thing- mu.-t happen where young men
were coni-rne'l and that it was. the business of
yvuiing onmen anti their parents to look out for them-
selves. Besides. he had spoken to Gus about it; had
nxarned and advised him: his conscience was quite
clear on that point, and he set great store in &
isnscience which he iouldi consider clear. Then It
was luite apparent that th, boy was being encourag-
ed by Bressley's sister. so that the blame must rest


with Bressley's family. He looked on that family as
common as well as hateful; their punishment would
be well deserved. Their sins were being visited
upon them during their lifetime.
But lie knew that his wife. who at last had
heard of Gus's liaison, would revolt against the very
idea of it and would speak to Gus about it to-night.
He would not be present at that conversation. And.
If he knew anything at all about young fellows, his
wife's remonstranct_-s would not have the slightest
Dinner over. Mr. Steinway went into what he
called his office to smoke. iGus helped himself to a
final whisky and oida and was about to rise when
his mother stopped him
"Are you going out this evening. Gus'"
"Yes. mother; I think I'll take a spin."
"There's something I want to talk to you about."
S Mrs. Steinway hesitated. then took her courage
in both hands.
"You won't mind. dear. if I mention it: it isn't
a nice thine to talk about. but--but-"
"But?" he queried smiling, for he was genuinely
fond of his mother, who was devoted to him.
"But I have to do it. dear. You see." she went
on quickly, "a lot of people here are beginning to
link your name with a youne woman of this district.
that man Bressley's daughter. They say you go to
see her. Well. you know. dear. what that sort ef
thing means, and I anm sure that 3ou would not wish
to hurt your father or me "
"Father?" cried Gus sharply; "but father has
known for some time that I am acquainted with
Bressley's daughter.
"He has .aid nothing to me. not a word." said
Mrs Steinway with rsom asperity. "Not a word. or
I should have spoken to you before. It doesn't suit
you. dear. it doesn't herome you. to mix with sluch
people. Apart from their being our enemies. there
is your position it consider. Anil I don't want you
to be wild. Guq. I want to feel proud of yoju always.
You understand that. don't youl?"
He came round to her side. ,at on the chair next
to hers and put an armi over her -lhoulder tenderly.
"Nuow. mater. don't you worry about me. There 's
not a bit of harm in my dropping in to see some of
the humbler folk living about here. even if they are-
not of our set. They never presume on it: and it is
nite to be popular Dad isn't exactly that. is he?"
"No. we are nit popular, but I don't see that
that matters \Why should we want to be popular
with these penpil??"

"Do you mean. mother, that you wouldn't care
to see me liked?"
"No-o-o. not that exactly. I should like every-
body to have a high opinion of you; you know that.
Gus. But going to see a girl so much your inferior
in station and different from you in every way has
nothing to do with that. has it?"
"Well. if I am polite and sociable, that helps a
lot. It's dull as the deuce round here, and it-who
told you about this. anyhow?"
""Many people are talking about it. Of course, I
know that the girl is encouraging you, and so is her
aunt. But that alone shows what sort of people
they must be The young woman must be a foolish,
designing creature with no regard whatever for her
good namei-if she ever had any. Do stop having
anything to do with them. Gus, for my sake."
"Now look here. mother, let us be fair. You have
quite misjudged Vivian Bressley. If there is any
fault it is mine: lbut I don't see where the fault
coies in. What is there to be worried over?"
"A good deal." responded Mrs. Steinway firmly.
"It makes me unhappy to hear people talking about
you as liking to associate with your inferiors, as for-
getting what is due to yourself and your family. And
it is the girl's fault. You wouldn't have thought of
such a thing if she hadn't encouraged you: I know
you too aell. I haven't a good word to say for her.
Now. are you going to try to do what I ask, Gus?"
He laughed weakly: he would not willingly hurt
hi-, mother by anything like open rebellion.
"All right mother: I'll see what I can do."
"What do you mean by that, dear?"
"Well. I mean that I'll try to devote myself to
a life of dullness in the highest society if you are
keen on that. But I can't cut suddenly people who
have done me nothing. can I? That would be snob-
ilih. I nmu.t go gradually."
"'It would not he snobbish; you could not be
sn.:bhi,h with su h p.-eple; and it is the only thing
to do in this in-tance.'
"WV'il e.-. mother Don't worry. And now I
inut he off "
H- bent over and kissed her, then walked out
of the room before -he could say anything more.
But l-he had said evcryvthlin she could think of; she
coull only hope that her words would have their
iniend.ed erfe.:t upon him. They might not im-
mediately. but now tlihat e knew that she was aware
of Ilis visits to th., young woman he might put a
stop tn them. She thought he would. She would
not rnag him: she would depend upon his affection
frI: her. He had taken her admonition very sweetly;

what a splendid, handsome boy he was! Of course,
it was the girl's fault; she alone was to be blamed.
It would serve a girl like that right if anything ser-
ious happened to her, but Gus should not. be mixed
up in it. That would be a humiliation for him, even
though no one in his or her senses would blame him
much, if at all. Everybody who counted would surely
know at whose door the blame must be placed.
Meanwhile Gus was in his car and on his way
to Vivian.
His mind was full of the conversation with his
mother. It did not matter so much to him that his
father knew about his visits to Bressley's daughter,
though he would have preferred that the old man did
not. His mother was a different matter. He.wished
to please her. He had half promised to do what she
asked, though he knew in his heart of hearts that
that promise had only been made to satisfy her for
the moment. He could not see what all this fuss
was about, why his private affairs should be made
so much the concern of other people; why couldn't
these mind their own business? There was trouble
all round; he knew only too well that he was not
really welcome at Mrs. Primrose's house, except by
Vivian, and that it was only because Mrs. Primrose
feared that Vivian might refuse to remain with her
if he were forbidden the premises that that good
woman allowed him to enter them at all. It was
clear, too, that this situation was not permanent; it
was bound to end sooner or later. He wondered how
it would end.
Fifty years ago there would have been nothing
in this little love affair of his. Nobody would have
thought of even mentioning it. But fifty years ago
Bressley would not have occupied his present posi-
tion. Everything had changed. Ever body was
thinking of position and reputation and public opin-
ion in these days, and a young fellow who meant no
one any harm, and a girl who had a heart of gold
and a passionately loving iispositiou. could not be
left alone. It was all a damned nuisance-but he
was sorry his mother had heard of the affair. It
might be very awkward for him to continue to live
at Barnstaple.

AN I speak to you a minute, Mr. Steinway?"
Gus hated worry and annoyance, but to-night
nothing else seemed to be in store for him. He had
had with his mother, less than an hour before, an in-
terview he would gladly have avoided had that been
possible, and now here was Mrs. Primrose asking
for a talk with him, and emphasizing that request by

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holding in her hand a letter which, quite evidently.
had to do a ith the subject to be discussed.
'Certainly! Where' Here?"
"Here," was the sitting room, and a keen glance
had already shown Gus that Vivian was not in
sight. She could not be far away, however, and in a
few minutes this conversation would be over.
He seated himself, smiling pleasantly, and Mrs.
Primrose also took a chair and faced him. Her face
wore an expression of sadness which hardly ever
varied in these days; the lines about her upper lip
were drawn and deep; she had aged, and every ges-
ture she made indicated restraint; she was holding
her spirit in check, was keeping a firm hand upon
"You know," she began in a low voice, "that, be-
cause you say you like Vivian and Vivian likes you,
I don't interpose any obstacle to your coming here.
But I don't pretend that I like it, an' you know it.
I don't want people to talk, and if Vivian and you
have to see each other, it is better you should do
that in this house, where she live, than anywhere
else, so that even if people whisper and wonder, they
can't go too far. I am thinking of Vivian's name,
Mr. Steinway."
He nodded understanding; he had heard some-
thing like this before. It was decidedly unpleasant.
The world contained more than its due proportion
of disagreeable in idents and persons.
"I got me brother to agree to this arrangement,
or, really, for he don't agree with anything, not to
interfere with it."
"Well, it's quite proper and respectable, isn't it?"
Mrs. Primrose smiled mirthleszly. a mere bitter
twitching of the lips.
"So it ought to appear, Mr. Steinway; yet to-day,
at the Parochial Board meeting, your father insulted
me brother openly about it. I got a cruel letter from
me brother only this evening; he abuse me and
Vivian for bringing disgrace upon him, and he writes
all that happened to-day. I am being accused of
encouraging and harbouring you here, and your
father say things about the sins of the fathers fall-
ing on the children, which can only have one mean-
ing. Do you think that is fair to Vivian?"
"I do not'" protested Gus warmly, "and I shall
speak to my father about it. He had no right to
make any allusion to you or Vivian anywhere. I
am surprised at him! You can depend upon me to
speak about this; I am really very sorry it hap-
pened, Mrs. Primrose."
"I don't know whether I am doing right or
wrong," the woman went on, "but it seems to me
to be the only thing I can do to prevent worse; but
when your father make a talk of it, and me brother
attack me because I have to do with it, it becomes
too much."
"It does," agreed Gus indignantly.
"And the only two people who can put every-
thing right are you and Vivian, an' it is no use ask-
ing you to do it."
Gus was silent: here was the most disagreeable
aspect of the matter now coming into full view.
"If your father insult Mr. Bressley again there
might be trouble," pursued Mrs. Primrose, with a
note of warning in her voice. "I kv w me brother.
He may do something g dangerous if anybody taunt
him. He has enough to bear with now, and there
is soum things he won't stand. I am trying me best

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to prevent scandal, and your father is deliberately
spreading it."
"I can promise you that I will speak very frank-
ly about this to my father," repeated Gus, and meant
it. He was honestly outraged at what he heard.
"Very well."
Mrs. Primrose got up and left the room; the
door of Vivian's bedroom opened and she stepped
out and up to Gus.
"Now don't give me another lecture for some-
thing that isn't at all my fault," he implored: "it
won't happen again, or my father and I shall have
a serious quarrel."
Vivian made a quick movement with her hand
towards the verandah, where they sat always when
Gus came there. They passed out of the sitting
room. At once it became apparent that his appeal
had had no effect upon her.
"You told me some time ago that your father
spoke decently about me, Gus, yet look what he did
to-day. He is the chief one that's taking away me
"It's infernal-a damned shame, Vi, but leave it
to me and say nothing more to-night about it."
"It is bad enough as it is; you know how bad it
is; and then to have a lot of people talking about
"God help them if I hear them!"
"They're not going to let you hear them; and
even if you did, and took any notice, that would only
be making bad worse! I am getting afraid now,
Gus. I feel as if something is going to happen."
"Like what?"
"I don't know, and that's the worst of it. My
aunt gets more moody every day; this-friendship
between you and me is preying on her mind. She
isn't like she used to be. Every day after you leave
here she walks about silent, as if she is quietly mad,
and it gets upon me nerves so much that I feel as if
I also am going mad."
"And you tell me about it again and again, until
I too feel that I am going crazy! A very pleasant
state of affairs, I am sure."
The same old selfishness! thought Vi. He would
not try to see the situation from her standpoint; at
any rate, he never wanted to hear her talk about it.
They could meet now without going to out-of-the-
way places; there was, on the surface, the sanction
of her aunt and the protection of a sufficient chaper-
onage. Once a week Gus came to see her; she knew
that it would be twice a week before long, for he
had said so. She it was, indeed, w ho had dissuaded
him hitherto from coming oftener, but she too was
weakening: she wished to be with him more often.
Yet though what she had once thought impossible
had actually come about through her aunt's own con-
triving and acquiescence, she was not much more
happy than before, for tongues had begun to wag
and at any moment her father might do something
desperate. But Gus put aside any suggestion of hers
that serious trouble might be brewing. He wouldn't
see that. Perhaps it was because he knew that he
could not be seriously affected. Which was dread-
fully selfish of him; and yet how she loved him!
Always the same conclusion.
Gus, on his part, took what he considered to be,
not a selfish, but a practical view of the matter. Since
he could think of no plan that would cause the situa-
tion to be better than it was, why talk and worry


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abl:ut it? That could nlny make them both mirIable.
and he wanted to be happy and joyou,. Hi. one ,.nav
,ut of the dirffiultv would only seem to bi-r an in-
finitely wirte way into it: yet it he .iould be sh,ein
some way of acting that would not c(impel them to
pait with eah other. and would not imply the doing
I,' him ,If somen imprnolsible thing. be would readily
adopt that means lMeantimen- they were both :,uug
and ljie ta. \ver. intere-.ing and they bth' would d
have an ex\cellent time if they didl not pay muui.h
att,-nri..n t'. rakt' niil i.i-.rank F lr his part i.h
i-R, n. t prl'rpa'r.td II p\- 'Vivan up to plea.-: an: ,.u..
AlUay the 'anme 'conlu-ioln.
Tlity .at in twio ianuva. ea-y hair, to the rieit-
lianid -ie -. [ trli 'i : iran l.dnA upon '. hil.h ...pe-n.'-! ,.u-
',f tl(- n idoi s f Vivian'- rue ni.. andl whih ii v.,,
-,''-en, -l t'fron tli-. -ardenu h. the purple-i,.,vh i...l
S -reperi'. The-. hald 'ele, l tr d that spi't on the- n ii-
i-.n uof u-.'-. rir't visit, when h lt.- hadl .coint t. .r- in
:ins'.'-r 1. a no)ti. f-t'r.r Vi \' an. She thl nmornine aft--r
..li.- hal Dt(-.n braii-.lit bj. k b' lMrs. Primirose-, l'-it
-p.,ken vry:, -inirpli .ind plainly hlier Iaunt. Sin.
-.rill rper.-..-r l trial lhlre wria II..thine in 'v-ha1 -!i.
hadl don, fi- or her pe',le tI. be alarmed ahrut. s..:-
inig blank ini re-diilt. in lMrr. Prinirni-se' eyes. -:i
had turned fr,'m that tlpie ro state what wao e-.r
dentl heir settled determination. She Ineil ..us


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Steinway and wished to meet him sometimes: with
less she would not he satisfied. Nlrs. Primrost knew
what that meant. she realized alo that it -iould be
fatal for Vivian to outiniue to meet the young rplan
in bye-ways and lonely rest houses. It was she who
had said to V\- "If he wants to see you in a decent
style. let him come here." and Vi had informini. him
that he could come to see her at her aunt's.
She had wondered hoow he would tak.- this in-
vitation: would he he ti, proud to accept it, know-
ing what the people of his olass micht say? But
Gus had shuow n no reluctaiiie. no hesitation. The
very night of the day on which he received the
letter saw him at her house. He had frankly. thank-
ed Mrs Primros.- for her invitation and had ;iriVLen
to make himself agreeable When Mrs. Primrose ask-
ed to he exinised for a nl,,nient and went into the din-
ing room. the\ had both repaired to the verandah,
where. since then. whenever lit was thi-re. they sat
together and were usually left alone.
They could sometimes hear Mrs. Primrose mov-
ing about in her own room And sometime.- she
sat in the sitting room, sewing. or reading the Bible.
She had always been a reader of the Bible: now she
perused it more diligently than before. it was the
only book she ever opened. Beyund- saying good.
evening or good-night to Gus. she hardly ever spoke
to him She was never obtrusive. And yet both
Gus and Vivian felt that everlastingly she watched
and waited. waited and watched, vigilant and expect-
ant at one and the same time. To night she had
spoken about Mr Steinay''s action. hut this was
the only occasion that she had ever approached Gus
on the subject of hi- unsatisfactory relations with
her nite e.
First the talk with his mother, then his brief
colloquy with AMrs Primrose. and lastly the recur.
rence of Vi to her old complaint as to her becoming
the theme of people's spiteful chatter, had worked up
Gus to a pitch of exasperation in marked contrast to
his usual amiability. After sitting. for the most part
silent. for about half an hour. he said he thought
he would be returning home.
S"Already.'" Vi asked; "you have only just come."
"I am not feeline very bright this evening; I
am not a very cheerful companion."
"You mean that I am not a cheerful companion."
"We are both of u., not very lively just now. are
we? And it is hot here and I feel out of sorts."
"Don't go now. Gus." she whispered.
He settled himself back in his chair, in which
he had moved as it to rise. She passed an arm
round his neck.
"I will try not to talk about unpleasant things."
she murmured after a while. "I know they distress
"And you too. Vi. and I hate to see you dis-
tressed "
After all was he really selfish? she asked her-
self. He too thought that he had unfairly hurt her
by his petulant protest against her harping on un-
palatable matters. Would that have mattered to
anyone really selfish?
It was. as he had said. a warm night. and where
they sat what little wind there was the creeper kept
from passing freely to them. He still felt restless.
and in her too there was more than ordinary excite-
ment. She had seen the letter written by her father
to her aunt. She had iursed old Mr Steinway for
his brutality. And once again fear of her father had
stirred within her mind and made her apprehensive.
Suddenly Gus said: "'It's too warm here; let's
go for a little walk. Vi"
He stood up as if taking her consent for granted.
He had spoken loudly enoua h for Mrs. Primrose.
then in her own roonn. to hear.
Vivian strove to render her voice matter-of-fact
as she called out
"We are going for a little walk. Aunt Gertrude;
just out here: not far"
She could not fail to be heard, but no answer
They left the house.
AMrs. Primrnns fell on ler knees and prayed.
prayed to the God of the H,:brens to protect her nie'#r
and to smite anyone soever that might seek to injure

HIDDEN from view of the road by the hedge
which separated the farm from the road, and
obscured by darkness and the many trees which
stood in the grounds that fronted the house, Mr.
Proudleigh was safe from observation. while he him-
self could indulge muderat-ly in that innocent pas.
time of eavesdropping whic-h seemed to him so natur-
al and inoffeusive a means of acquiring information.
His insatiable curiosity was intrigued by events
and developments which he did not clearly unle'-
stand. That night of terror, some six weeks ago.
when it had come upon him that all was discovered
and that nothing now remained for him but punish-
ment and ignominous ejec.tment. had been succeeded
by a day of quietness during which no savage father
appeared upon the scene with whip in hand and
something not far from murder in his mind. He
had not been brutally attacked: he had not even
Been (ensured by Mrs. Primrose. He had merely

been ignored. No one had asked him anything about
that night at Sinipson's: no one had breathed a
word as to what had happened at Mr. Bressley's.
though it was quite apparent that some crisis had
occurred He \\as being deliberately kept in ig-
norance; yet he had not been commanded to take his
departure as one who had abused the trust and ton-
fldence of the chief lady of the house. But that. he
felt. would have been one more injustice to Proud-
leigh, for he had abused no trust, betrayed no confid-
ence, but only had been obliged to aid in the happi-
ness of two young people whom unfortunate circum-
stances wer- conspiring to keep asunder.
Mrs. Primrose had no faith in hint. though she
did not suspect him of having been more than a
pa-,-ive instrument in the hands of GuIs Steinway and
Vivian on oine occasion only. She believeil that heI
had been compelled by their stronger will to main-
tain a strict silent ,as to that meeting anii all night
dalliance; and now she hoped that his presence at
Simpson's lodgings that Monday. the circumstance
that he went there and left with Vivian, and still
lived with her and Vivian as though a member of
the family, would be regarded by any who might
hear of that occurrence as proof that there could
hardly have been anything reprehensible about it.

Vivian had not. gone alone to a strange place. remain-
ing there all night wihl a stranger: she had been at.
tended by a protector. and who was to know that it
had not been arranged by her people that she should
!tray at Simpson's? Simpson himself might talk.
but also he prnhably would not; and save for the
scene at her brother's house there was nothing much
else for rumour to feed upon. No one would believe
that Mr. Proudleigh had hben a party to an assigna-
tion. His age and his loudly-expressed piety were a
guarantee of respectability. It was a blessing that he
had tiavelled wiih Vivian on that awful day. And
by remaining with them still he could stand as a
contradiction of reports of a damaging and dangerous
So, without knowing why, Mr. Proudleigh found
himself as welcome as ever; but he could not help
notiing the change that had come over Mrs. Prim-
And the appearance as a visitor and the subse-
quent visits of Gus puzzled him greatly. Could
Mrs. Primrose bf iicuorant of what must have hap-
pened at the lodging house? What was the cause of
this acceptance of a young gentleman whom, pre-
viously, Vivian had been severely forbidden to meet?
That he came as an avowed legitimate lover Mr.

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Proudleigh did not for an instant believe; he was
too high a gentleman for that, the mere suggestion
was not to be entertained. Was it then as a lover of
another sort that he came, and would Mrs. Primrose
ever agree to that? Mr. Proudleigh hesitated to
think so. He was a person who viewed these matters
from a practical, material, and not particularly a
moral point of view. Mrs. Primrose was not a poor
woman. Had she been, her encouragement of the
young man for pecuuiary reasons would not only
have been quite understandable but even in a sense
meritorious. Mr. Proudleigh had an abstract regard
for abstract virtue; but hunger, mean clothing, hard
work. uncertainty as to the necessaries of the mor-
row-those were realities that counted for more
than mere virtue in the scale of his mind. He would
not condemn a girl for refusing to endure these if
by a little compromise with the standard of conduct
set up by religious institutions she could make her
existence endurable. Indeed, he would secretly
have considered her a fool to do otherwise. He had
heard of great men and women who had sacrificed
themselves for conscience' sake. He had greatly
admired their courage. He had wondered if they
had been quite sane.
But Mrs. Primrose was comfortably placed; he
looked upon her as rich. And Vivian wanted noth-
ing that she could not have; all her reasonable de-

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sires could easily be gratified. Therefore it could
hardly be for any mercenary reason that Mr. Stein-
way was now being encouraged. Perhaps. after all,
the old man argued, the influence of the young man's
colour, birth and position had been too great for the
older woman to resist; perhaps she knew what had
happened at the. lodging house and now felt that
further opposition was futile, that the situation must
be accepted. that the best policy was acquiescence.
Such things happened. Well,.if it were so, he had
played a beneficent part in making the course of true
love run smooth, and it was just as well that Vivian's
people had come to realise the folly of making a
fuss about nothing.
Yet he wished to know more; he had a grievance
in that he was being kept in the dark and not ad-
mitted to the inner counsels of the high contracting
parties. Beyond giving him a present now and
'then, Mr. Steinway took scant notice of him now;
Mrs. Primrose did not chaff him as once was her
wont; his presence or absence did not appear to
~natter in the least to Vivian. At first, after that
night when he knew that grave disclosures had taken
place, Vivian had been depressed and dull, even
with Gus Steinway coming occasionally to see her.
Gradually he had noticed a revival of her usual viva-
'city; the resilience of youth, the passing of fear, and
the ease with which she now met the man who filled
her life entirely had had their inevitable effect; her
aunt might brood silently and seem to be thinking
always of strange, incommunicable, distant things,
but Vi was her old self once more; as happy and
as bright as the old man had ever known her.
She and Gus now frequently left the house at
nights and went for walks together, though Mrs.
Primrose had solemnly warned Vivian about it.
"You running a great risk, Vivian," Mrs. Prim-
rose had said, after Gus had taken his departure on
returning from the first of these promenades.
"Everybody do it, Aunt Gertrude," Vivian had
reminded her. "In Kingston. in Spanish Town, all
about the country, gentlemen and ladies go for walks
by themselves and nobody thinks anything of it.
Why should I alone be the one not to do it? You
think more of them than of me?"
"Some people can steal a cow and get off, but
some have only to look over a fence and be caught,"
quoted Mrs. Primrose. "You know why I let Mr.
Steinway come here: it is to prevent scandal. But
if you and he--or you, for he not going to care-
don't be careful, you know what may happen, if it is
not happening already!"
"I don't know what you mean!" snapped Vivian,
with something of her old spirit.
"Yes, you do; and it's no use my talking to you
as if you were a little child. If you ever get into
Vivian started, bridled, then thought better of
any indignant protest. "Only foolish people get
into any trouble in these days," she laughed,
her intention being to allay the fear which haunted
her aunt's mind by day and by night: she wished
the older woman to have done with that particular
dread and to win back toi something like peace.
She realized instantly that she had made a mis-
"So that is it," said Mrs. Primrose slowly. "I
understand now: you have told me a lot."
"What have I said, Aunt Gertrude? Only what

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everybody knows and says. It don't mean anything.
What I want you to believe is that you needn't
worry for there is nothing to worry about, and even
if it was what you think, that couldn't happen. But
it couldn't happen in any case, for I am doing noth-
ing--don't you know what I mean? I can't speak
plainer; I am a young woman, after all!"
But wasn't what she had said tantamount to a
confession? Mlrs. Primrose asked herself. The young
people of these da3s--how much they knew, what
terrible weapons of evasion and concealment did their
knowledge endow them with! They could sin and
escape the penalty, take terrific risks and come
through almost unscathed, do what they pleased and
defy detection. It was not freedom they enjoyed. it
was license, but this license might yet wreck their
lives. For not always would they be careful, not
for ever could they depend upon their skill or fore-
thought; some day a trifling error of judgment, a
momentary forgetfulness, a sudden yielding to im-
pulse might shatter all their arrangements and their
plans, and then would beat upon them the awful
glare of a pitiless publicity and would come upon
them that disgrace which was like an indelible
In some such way did Mrs. Primrose argue;
yet she realized that even what she regarded as an
admission by Vivian had brought to her troubled
spirit a measure of relief.
There was always fear for the future. but at the
moment. whatever the relations between this girl
and Gus Steinway. they were at least careful: Vivian
was alive to the necessity of maintaining a decent ap-
pearance: no one would dare accuse her openly of
wrong. since there would be no tangible evidence of
And so long as there was none. so long too as
no one could swear that they had seen the girl in
any compromising situation. Mrs. Primrose wa- de-
(el mined so to act that, when any slander was
openly spoken ana reported. the slanderer should
he startled into apologies and silence. Let her
hear that anyone had definitely alleged any-
thing about her niee gravely derogatory to her
character. and that person would receive a lawyer's
letter whose meaning there could be no mistaking.
Mlrs. Primrose knew her world. No slanderer would
face an action which he or she could gain nothing by
winning. and which, in this particular instance,
could hardly he won. A threat would he enough. It
would bring about instant repudiation, the most ade-
quate apology, the strongest protests that the words
had never been spoken. or. if spoken, had never been
believed. And that lesson would have its etfect. not
upon one but upon many. But would ,he ever hear
anything? The air might be humming with hints.
suggestions, cruel. lacerating assertions. and yet she
might never be able to fai-e one of them boldly and
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a situation as this.
V'ivian knew more than at Vivian's age "he had
known. But it was dangerous knowlcdge. Yer. for
the time being. it might prevent her from ruining
herself entirely. There was breathing ,pace. how.
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had warned her again as she had done on so many
previous orcca'sion-. and this time more explicitly.
She was exercising great restraint: she was repres-
sing her natural inclination to do something to put

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an end once and for all to this playing with rire. to
this carrying on which she regarded as disgraceful
and knew that she ought not to countenance. But
there was nothing she could do effectively. she must
wait and pray. and trust that God would show her
a way to end it all. and perhaps-for God was all-
powerful-the end might yet be happier. better. than
she dared to believe it could be.
In these last few we-ks she seemed to have
drawn very closely to the Divine Power. she prayed
without ceasing, calling to Him to aid her and to
rescue her niece, and it seemed impossible that her
prayers should be ignored. She would have faith;
she would wait: though to wait and not to act was
a terrible strain upon a woman who all her adult
life had fitted action to determination and scored
victory after victory even in the face of imminent
danger. Once. in Nicaragua. when some drunken
half-bred peons had attacked the lonely farm house
in which lived only her husband and herself, it was
she who had forced the frightened man to defend the
house until morning when help should come; it was
she who had shot dead the first peon who attempted
to batter in the door. And at the subsequent trial she
had been calm and self-possessed, and, though a
stranger and a foreigner, had left the court with the
compliments of the presiding judge. She was strong.
and she knew it. But now she must act a weak. ac-
quiescing. helpless part, for there was no alternative.
She could not drive the girl from her. she could not
consent to see Vivian lose in the world's eyes every-
thing that made her what she was. After all. why
should Vivian be the one to suffer, when the blame
was not mainly hers?
She had been tempted by this man. He was one
whom any thoughtless, affectionate girl might love.
She was a fool. yes. bhut were not many women just
such fools at Vivian's age? She was mad. but it was
not through wickedness oft disposition but through
an overwhelming love for Gus Steinway. She was a
vitini. blameworthy. yes. for she was a willing vic
lim. but to he pitied none the less and to be rescued
front so perilous a position; though how she was to
be rescued it was not easy immediately to discern.
S Sin-e that night when for the first time Gus and
Vivian had left. the house together. Mrs. Primrose
had said nothing more to Vivian about the strolls she
took with Gus. But now and then they saw her
looking at them with a strange light in her eyes.
They never seemed to go far; indeed, they
sometimes sat on the bank outside which formed part
of the boundary between the highroad and the farm.
Their voices could at times be heard in murmurs and
In laughter, and because of this circumstance it had
occurred to Mr. Proiidleigh that. by judicious ion.
cealment ant listening. he might be able to learn
something about the procre.a of this idyll and thli.
reason why the barriers whii h had divided Gus from
Vivian had been so qiitikly and entirely rentovedl.
So. on most evening, of th, wee-k. he would leave his
room quietly anti walk to arils the f'er e-. and' whl-n
he was nlissled and called he would appear quickly
and explain that ihe had leetn taking a little exercise
about thi grounds. H- would sometimes remain
among the trees and under the stars long after Mr.
Steinway had taken his leave and Vivian had retired
He K was growing l]._ucly. and now and then it t iame i.
him with unpleasant poignancy that he was grow-
ing very old.

ence. though you can't be too sure about what Aunt
Gertrude feels and what she has in her mind."
"She is very courteous where I am concerned."
observed Gus thoughtfully "but I don't feel that she
likes meu at all. Now and then I catch her eyes upon
me. and there is something in her look that is like
a warning. I suppose it is natural. though: she
couldn't like any of my people. But I don't dislike
her: I think she's a very fine kind of a woman;
she has more brains and directing power than most
uo the men I know I think that if she is your
friend, she would stick by you through thick and
thin if you got into trouble."
"Like me." whispered Vi. hut so softly that Mr.
Proudleigh tould not hear the words.
"But if she's your enemy lhe could be very
nasty." Gus went on. "So could you. little girl; I
think you and your aunt have much the same dispo-
"If I had hetr disposition." observed Vivian a
trifle sadly, "I might be better off. I would be strong-
"Meaning that you would not care for me?"
"lMeaning that I would care so far and no far-
"Would you be any the happier for that?"
"I don't suppose so. Aunt Gertrude isn't happy;
but I am the cause."
"She has been going out of her way to look for
unhappiness." said Gus.
"lWell. that's true enough; but she is like that.
you know. where I am concerned. But you must
go on being nice to her. for my sake."
"You bet: and for her own too, for I rather
admire her. I am glad you think she dislikes me a
little less now tlian at first: it all helps."
"This bank." he said. changing the conversation
suddenly. "is beastly hard: let us walk a little.'
"Come!" she agreed, and their steps soon took
them out of the range of Mr. Proudleigh's hearing.
This bit of conversation had not taught hin
much. yet from it he had gained something. And.
anyhow. it was very pleasant to overhear what was
not intended for you. That made you feel on intim-
ate terms with family secrets and mysteries.
One evening after this lit was a Monday) he
heard Vi say to Mr. Steinway:
"They've stopped staring at ae at church now.
though they used to do it at first. I suppose they
got used to hearing that you come here to see ate."
"Some of them deserve a good horse-whipping."
he muttered savagely."
"Yes." she asserted spitefully. "and I wish they
could get it: even the girls. They are the worst.
They ied to stare and smile, an' even laugh out.
loudl; they wanted to provoke me to take some no-
liie of tinhem or to show, that I knew what theV
nmant: but look at tlihm and look at uie! I am not
a foul. I just went on as if I didn't see them. an'
Aunt GLrtrudel dil the same. But it is really she
h io put a st.p to their forw\ardness"
"Site ."
"Yes; didn't I tell you about it?"
"Can't say I remember."
"I intended to. It only happened the Sunday be-
fore yesterlday-two Sunda s aE,. We went to church
as usual. and when it was over aud we were going to
the car. sonme people came up ani began to talk:

people we know. They must have arranged it be-
forehand, for one of them. a Mrs. Stevenson. who
have a daughter that is ugly as sin and quite full of
herself, said to Aunt Gertrude: 'I hear you have a
nice young gentleman coming to see you in these
days. Mrs. Primrose; Mr. Steinway is really a very
nice young man.' "
"I anm sure I am grateful to her!" interrupted
Gus with a laugh.
"She didn't mean it," .aid Vi dryly: "she would
only mean it if you were going to see her daughter."
"Well. what followed?"
"Oh. Aunty looked her full in the face, and
said. 'Yes. he is a nice young gentleman, and that's
why I have invited him to come to see me and my
niece sometimes. He likes us an' we like him.'
"'Pity.' Mrs. Stevenson said, with her mouth
twisted all to one side, 'that his father and- your
brother dislike each other so. It must be disagree-
able to you."
'I don't see what I have to do with it.' me'aunts
said. 'and I don't see why it should concern other
people. I don't hate anyone because somebody else
hate him; I don't interfere in anybody else's busi-
ness; I mind my own business and that is why I
keep out of trouble. I don't allow people to inter-
fere with me either; when they do they get into,


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LISTENING from hi.- not very comfortable position
beneath a shadow-throwing tree. Mr. Proud-
leigh heard Vivian say one night. on the other side
of the thick fe'n -:
"You know. I think Aunty getting to like you."
"She shows her feeling in a remarkably iiy
fashion. then." Gus Steinnay. replied. "She i.- quite
polite to me. but that's about all "
"No: you're wrne." insisted Vi; I know her
better than you She talks to youi now, not much
perhaps, but far more than she used to, do."
"She's eLttine more u-ed to nim. I iippoee. but
a few words nowe anil th.-n art- liar'll: an milication
of affection "
"Now you're lauchinf at mte!" protestedl Vi, "with
your "indication of ale..tinn I tell yeo sir. that if
she didn't fe.-l a little dliffer-nt trv.a-rd you than she
useii to do. sht \wouldn't say a notI tin you at all
She wouldn't even sep you. She cau be hard when
she wants, believe i, "
"Yet she lets ame come here whene-ver [ choos.e.



"Haven't I
Gus. and I
IHere Mr

told .,ou why? She are-, for in' a
an giviin her a lot of trouble."
Proudleiah priiked up his ears. hop

ing for some illuminating revelationul I
"Which mcans that I aIm rOu. iloe-n't it?"
"Of course."
"Well. shall we stop doing so?"
"You mean that. Gus?"'
"If you will mean it: yes." he tle'asd.
"Talk the truth! You don't mean it a bit But
it is true. what I say about her: she's heen very good
to me. and now she is fretting about me: I see that
In her eyes all the time. Poor Aunt Gertrude! I
am sorry for her.
"But you are very nice to her. Gus; I notice
that, and she must see it too. That makes a differ-



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trouble. That is how I live, and I find it suits me
very well.'
"We could see they had been talking us from
the look on their faces after Aunt Gertrude spoke
like that; but they know her pretty well, and they
are afraid of me father too. ,So, yesterday, none of
them smile or laugh any more, but they even looked
as if they wanted to be very friendly; some of the
younger girls especially."
"Well, that is very pleasant, Vi."
"No, it is not! I don't want any of them to be
finding themselves round here."
"I agree with you; it would not be convenient,
certainly "
"They would only come to see how we get on
and what we do; and some of them would have an-
other reason."
"Another reason?"
"Yes; they would want to take you away from
"You flatter me, Vi; anyhow, they couldn't suc-
ceed." Gus laughed heartily.
"You can never be sure: they might. You know,
Gus, that I love you far more than you love me."
"You only imagine that, though you are always
saying so."
"No; I know it. And Aunt Gertrude thinks so
too, and that is why-"'.
"You were saying," he cut in hastily, "that she
stopped those tattlers at your church?"
"In a way, yes; they will talk still, of course,
but I don't think they'll go too far. They all know
me aunt, and she has told them plainly that you
are her guest and. that she has nothing to do with
any quarrel your father had with mine, or anything
else like that. If she was poor and I was only a
humble member of the church they might want the
minister to do us all sorts of things, or to speak
to us as he likes; but nobody would dare to do that
with a woman like me aunt. and,. after all, my father
is in a big position now." Shite uttered these last. words
with pride.
The conversation drifted to less personal topics,
they remaining where they were for another half an
hour. And as Mr. Proudleigh did not dare to move
lest his proximity be revealed by the sound of his
movement, he suffered agony from cramp and almost
made up his mind that listening to others was not as
good and wholesome in these days as it used to be.
Everything seemed degenerating in these more mod-
ern times! Still. as he thought this conversation
over later on, he was glad he had overheard it. It
made Mrs. Primrose's position clearer to him than
it had been. She was defending Vivian, she was

doing so as a sort of settled policy, she was setting
up herself as a barrier between the girl and those
who would attack her good name. They would at.
task it all the same. refrle.ed the old man shrewdly;
but they would he circumspect in their remarks. and
would be ready to accept the -ituation as normal and
not calling for anything like open insolence and os-
tracism. As Mr. Proudleigh put it. in his own words:
"Them will still smile and love up Miss Vi
an' her aunt, for they afraidd fo,' them. People who
'ave money strong fo' true! Ef Mrs. P. was a pore
ooman, dem would poke out big mouth at her. Now
them talk to 'er sweet and polite. Ef you 'ave house
an' land, an' a motor car, de Governor himself will
tell you howdy-do!".

A couple of weeks after this Vi and Gus had an-
other conversation affecting Mrs. Primrose.
Vi was full of excitenmnt. The moment she
found herself out of the houae -he launched at once
upon the subject that was uppermost in her mind.
"Aunt Gertrude got an important letter to-day
from Nicaragua," she said eagerly. "Her agent down
there wrote her to say that a Iig Amero.an company
want to buy the farm he's looking after for her. and
he says she must come down or send him full power
of attorney. She can get a lot of money for the
land, Gus! She is going to Ibe rich!"
"An American company? Not a fruit company?"
"No. This one is called--l'll tell you the name
in a minute: it's sometuh!ug like-"
"I think I know; The Central American Petrol
Syndicate, isn't it?"
"That's it; they want her laud. They are buy-
ing a lot of property about there."
"Yes; it's been in the papers. They own a lot
of property in the Managua Department now. It's
oil lands they are buying; no doubt they know there
is oil on your aunt's land. It's very likely."
"Good luck, eh? It must be worth a heap of
"That's very probable. Does she think of going
"She hasn't said anything about that yet. But.
"Suppose she goes; she's not going to want to
leave me here."
"No-o-o; come to think of it. she hardly will."
"And you can't go with us. eb?"
"Well. T hardly could. tould I?"
"And suppose she take me and don't come back?
I know Aunt Gertrude; she may do that."

"I see; well. I could come down there after you.
if the worst tame to the worst."
"But that is not Jamaica! You might be killed
there: anything might happen."
"And might not. and probably would not. Vi.
Don't be silly,. my dear. But I see the difficulty.
Here is my home. and here I should have to return.
Still. if she doesn't go down herself. what is she to
"She can let her agent act for her."
'It depends on what sort of man he is. Vi. He
might he inefficient even if he is honest; and he
might he bribed into dishonesty. you know. That
wouldn't be at all fair to Mrs. Primron.,e. She bad
better see a good lawyer in Kingston and send as
her representative someone she (an trust- that is,
if she is satisfied there is much to be gained."
"Why don't you tell her that?"
"I' But she might not like it. I have no right
to interfere in v hat concerns her."
"I don't think she would mind. It would be nice
for you to show some interest in her business; it
might make her like you better. I am sure she
would appreciate it. Gus. and I would like it. Do it!"
"V'ery well. But I shall have to say that you
told me about this letter."
"lt'h no secret. You can speak to her before
me I would like you to do sometrling for her. for
she is very good to me--and to you. too. Gus."
THERE was surprise, there was also something
almost like appreciation. in Mrs. Primrose's
glance at Gus Steinway when he made his offer to
help her. if she needed help. to put her business
through. "'Vivian has told me about it." he said,
"and I fear that you may have some trouble. It
there is any difficulty I should be glad to be of any
assistance." Then he halted a little uncertainly,
ior it was rather a delicate matter to suggest a
personal association with affairs of a financial char-
acter that did not directly concern him.
"It is very kind of you. Mr. Steinway. but I
wouldn't like to put you to any trouble "
"As to that. you need not worry." Gus interrupt-
ed heartily. and she saw that he meant it. The
thought crossed her mind that. but for the special
circumstancess which had made her and kept her
antagonistic to him. she could have liked this hand-
some. good-natured young man who, whatever his
failings and faults. had no unpleasant arrogance
about him. As it was. she must remember that he
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The Sins of the Children
(C'onfiinuetd from Poge 66i).
was the greatest enemy she had. and Vivian's enemy
loo, if Vivian could but be brought to see it.
Yet she knew that to carry her business in Nica-
.ragua through to a successful conclusion she would
require the help of a man, educated. intelligent, and
to be trusted thoroughly.
Her mind had already gone to her brother, and
promptly she had decided that Mr. Bressley would
never do. He had not the necessary qualifications.
.This affair of hers was something bigger than Wil-
liani had ever tackled; he could make good speeches
but she was not prepared that he should conduct
negotiations touching the sale of land in a foreign
country about which he knew nothing, a sale evi-
dently involving a large amount of money. She
would have to see a lawyer, that was evident, and
she must have someone, a man. to instruct the law-
.yer adequately and also to deal with the syndicate
in Nicaragua. She might even have to go over to
Nicaragua herself.
"Do you know any good lawyer in Kingston?"
asked Gus.
No: she had had no dealings with the legal pro-
fession these last ten years.
"Well. there are several good firms. I will give
you their addresses; you can select one of them."
"Which one would you recommend. Mr. Stein-
way?" asked Mrs. Primrose almost involuntarily.
She had not intended to accept his offer, yet she
found herself asking for his advice.
S "Well. there's Hemlock and Barton; I know
Them very well. They are our own lawyers and would
ido for you admirably. Would 3ou like me to write to
"Thanks, if you would be so kind. But I don't
think I should put you to all this botheration."
"That's all right!" Gus jerked himself to an up-
right hitting posture in his canvas easychair-they
were all out on the verandah-"And I'll tell you
what I had better do." he cried, entering enthusias-
ticallk into the business. "I will run over to Kingston
to-morrow and see these lawyers with you. Are you
going to-morrow?"
"I didn't think of going so soon." Mrs. Primrose
confessed; "but I can. Vivian can drive me over."
S"The very thing! Meet me at Hemlock and
Barton's at two o'clock and we'll talk over the mat-
ster with them. That is, of course-well." he con-
cluded with a laugh. "I seem to be taking charge of
:your affairs without being sure that you really want
me to have anything to do with them."
"I am sure Aunt Gertrude is grateful to you,"
.Vivian broke in "
"I am thankful." said Mrs. Primrose quietly
"Well then. that's settled. I am off now, but
we'll meet to-morrow."
He drove away. leaving Vivian in a state of high
excitement. She had always hoped. though fearing it
was impossible, that somE day GuI might he able ip
-do something to win her aunt's good feeling, and here
seemed to be the very opportunity. Necessity had
driven Mrs. Primrose to accept the use of bis servi-
ces: necessity and the cordial persistence of Gus.
He, indeed. had in a manner of speaking taken the
matter out of hcr aunt's hands, though Vivian knew


quite well he would never have been able to do so
but for the cir umstance that Mrs. Primrose was
not quite clear in her mind at the moment as to
what she should do. The very next day she might
thank Mr. Steinway for his services and allow him
to understand that they were no longer necessary.
That was what Vivian hoped to avoid. She wanted
Mrs. Primrose to be under some obligation to Gus.
She wanted her aunt to come to like the young man.
who could be so kind and helpful. That would
make life ever so much the happier for them all.
"Gus is very kind. isn't he. Aunt Gertrude?" she
asked, laughing happily.
"Gus? I didn't know you call him Gus!"
"Well, he calls me Vivian,.so it's fifty-fifty."
The justice of this equal distribution of the right
to familiarity with Christian names could not be
gainsaid by Mrs. Primrose. She had heard Steinway
say "Vi'ian" a dozen times and had thought nothing
of it. But that Vi should call the young man Gus
had never occurred to her.
"Yes. he is kind." she admitted.
"So different from his father."
"They are both the same when they remember
they are white men and great gentlemen," comment-
ed Mrs. Primrose dryly.
Vivian recalled the election episode and held
her peace. She must not rush the pace with Aunt
Gertrude. She realized that in spite of her aunt's
disapproval of this affair between her and Gus, Mrs.
Primrose was still endeavouring to please her. as
she had done for more than twelve years: was still
striving to make her happy, to protect her. Her
aunt had even gradually become accustomed to Gus.
whose easy manner could not but make an appeal to
anyone whose nature was not fundamentally anti-
pathetic to his. But her aunt was a woman with
settled convictions. ard that she- would end this
coming and going of Gus Steinway's if she could.
and the moment she thought that she safely could.
Vivian was well aware. She discreetly made no fur-
ther remark that night.
The next day she drove Mrs. Primrose over to
Kingston. and at the lawyers' office they found Gus
waiting for them. He had already explained the
business to the lawyers as well as he could without
documents; Mrs. Primrose did the rest quite lucidly.
Mr. Hemlock was of the opinion that Mrs. Primrose
should go over to Nicaragua herself and engage
there a reliable lawyer to look after the sale and
transfer of her property Or she could send a law-
yertrom Jamaica and give him a power of attorney.
though that would cost her a good deal of money.
"The difficulty of dealing with such matters in .1
ftirei-n country." said Mr. Hemlock. "is that the
diliayi are interminailr. and if they think they can
do you in th- eye thtey v ill dio it Mr Hemnlock had
all the Briti-ler I uoted distiust of the Spanish.
Amei(an and tile s rndjicalt and tin nci ~-lunaires
to be found in Laliu-American countries. He agreed.
however, to put himself in communication with Mrs.
Primrose's agent, with the indicatee who wanted her
land. and with the British Minister to Central
An mrica. whol mieht be able to recommend a firm ot
Nicaraguan lawyers on whom he wouldd depenl.
Mrs. Primrose and Vi left the office feeling that
a cood deal of worry and annoyance lay ahead of
them. The foinir had some acquaintance with the
method: of Nicar.'iuan law: she knew that, as a

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PUNCH 1928

coloured woman, as a woman, and as a foreigner. she
would be at a grave disadvantage in any effort she
might make to negotiate her business in Nicaragua
by herself; yet to do so through strangers and law-
yers might actually be worse. Some such view was
also expressed by Mr. Hemlock to Gus. after the two
women had taken their departure.
That gave Gus an idea He wanted to be still
further of service to Vivian's aunt. He had an un.
easy feeling that he and Vivian were not treating the
older noman quire fairly: he knew what she had
done for Vivian, had a very fair notion of her atti-
tude towards himself, and every now and then. in
spite of his impatience with such reflections, he
would feel that he was taking an advantage of her
peculiar position, and he did not like this sting of
self-reproach. But he was easy-going. self-indulgent.
disposed to drift and not to worry. and he saw no
reason why he should not have a good time like
everybody else. Yet if he could do something for
Mrs. Primrose he would be only too glad to do it.
And here was an excellent chance.
Next day. at about five in the afternoon, he
drove over to Mrs. Primrose's place, to find that both
she and Vivian were out. they had gone to visit
some friends. Mr. Proudleigh explained. hut would be
back at any moment now.
Gus decided to wait: while waiting he played
with the little yellow snake in tie box. as he some-
times did. and noted with amusement the care wAitl
which Mr Proudleigh kept himself at a safe distance
from the box. while professing las he did in these
days a profound indifference to danger from the in-
nocuous reptile Gus opened the box and teased the
snake to wind itself about a hit of stick he had pro-
vided for that purpose. at which Mr. Proudleigh mov-
ed. wtih some precipitancy, towards the steps. and
stayed there talking, but prepared to take himself
farther off. and even outside the gates, should the
snake show any disposition tn tume Ihis wa3..
Gu( lifted the creature rieht out of its abiding
place and called upon the old man to admire its
beauties Willing always to be all things to all men.
Mr Proudleigh agreed that the snake was indeed
most beautiful, hut added-for the thought had lone
bh.en in iis mind and forced itself to expression-
that it was a sinful nbje-t.
"'Why so?" asked Gu(
"Well. y.u know. Mr. Gus." responded the old
mani sagel. "de devil was a sarpent going about like
a ruarn' lion seeking' who hint could destroy, an' I
believe it was de devil dar me.k all snake."
"This one has nothing devilish about it. any-
how." laughed Gu.. "It is harmless and quite tame.

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You just take hold of this stick and see for yourself."
"I wouldn't do such a t'ing," protested Mr. Proud-
leigh in alarm. "I don't know why Miss Primrose
keep it. though I don't afraidd for it. being a Chris-
tian man who sarve me God good an' faithful. I
like Miss Primrose. she very kine to me. but I don't
see what call she have for any snake. It look wicked
to me. Not dat I sey she are wicked, Mlr. Gus. I
don't say dat at all."
"But you think so sometimes. Well, we are all
wicked, more or less. What special wickedness is
there about a snake?"
"It can do you a lot a harm. an' it can do y'u
good. too: but de good it do is bad. for de devil is in
it all de time.'
"You are most unkind to snakes: think they
mean ubeah. eh?"
"Dat's it. Mr. Gus! Ef Mistress P. was a obeah
woman, all she would 'ave to do is to tell dat snake
what she want. and she would get it. But as she is
a Christian soul and go to church. she don't 'ave
noten to do wid obeah. Dat is why I sey she wrong
to keep a snake. But don't tell her I say so, do. me
good young massa. for I are a peaceful man an' I
afraidd for her!"
"A candid confession." smiled Gus. "But I guess
that many people have been afraid of her in her
time. so you are not the only coward. Can you get
me a drink?"
Mrs. Primrose. being innately hospitable, kept
whisky as well as rum in the house. though she her-
self never tasted either, nor did Vivian. Mr. Proud-
leigh went inside to get the whisky, and when he
returned with it Mrs. Primrose and Vivian were driv-
ing up to the door.
'i's eyes lighted up with pleasure when she Eaw"
Gus: she knew that something special must have
brought him there at that hour. and from the look
on his face she grasped at once that his was no un-
pleasant errand.
He informed them immediately of what was in
his mind.
"I have been thinking. Mrs. Primrose." he said.
"that perhaps I can be of some little use to you. Sup-
pose I went over to Nicaragua inybelf to enquire into
this business? You could give nie letters, and I could
get plenty of other credentials, if necessary."
"That is too much. Mr. Steinwa.'." said Mrs.
Primrose. but Vivian tried: "We could all go in.
Mr. Proudleigh. who was lingering in the vicin-
ity. saw at once an opportunity of taking a trip at
someone else's expense, and concluded quite gratui-
tuusly that he was included in Vivian's projected ex.

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cursion to Nicaragua. He could nor refrain from
"Nicaragua? Dat is de place dat me one and
only son live in. the same which send something for
me every now an' den. I bin to Panama. but all rme
life I been wishin' to go to Nicaragua. an' now toi
hear Miss Vi sey dat we can all go together-"
Mrs. Primrose turned towards him with the as-
perity which lie knew and desperately feared. "Per-
haps you better take a little nalk in the yard. Mr.
Proudleigh," she remarked, with no attempt at dis-
guising her object. "Exercise is good for the old
as well as for the young."
Mr. Proudleigh meekly proceeded to obey this
Injunction, and the conversation proceeded.
"I an afraid it is out of the question. Mr. Stein-
way. though I thank you heartily for offering."
"But why is it out of the question. Aunt Ger-
trude?" Vivian asked. "You may have to go down,"
the lawyer said.
"I didn't propose that you should go down now,"
Gus explained. "I thought I might see to the pre-
liminaries for you. then. if necessary. you could go
later on. I." he said emphatically-and VI knew
that this information was intended especially for
herself-"would go alone."
"I understand that." said Mrs. Primrose: "and
Vi's suggestion wa,- all nonsense. But I don't see
why I should give you all this trouble with my busi-
ness. Mr. Steinway: you have your own work to do.
and I am only a passing acquaintance with no claim
on you at all."
This was embarrassing: Mrs Primrose meant
plainly to remind him that they were not even
friends, and could never be The social gulf between
them yawned wide and deep-impassable-at that
She spoke acain \ith Iderision. "I shall have
to go nieself, and Vi must .omne with me. unless she
prefer to go to her father." She did not add that
Vi's father was likely to receive her onl on the
stipulation that Mr. Gus Steinway must become a
thine of the past. or that. if Mr Bressley did ome
more permit hi- daughter to live under his roof-tree.
her existence would be painful if not positively miser-
She wanted to make one other thing clear also:
that there were limit., to what even she would do for
Vi. She had gone very far. had compromised greatly
with her feelings antd v ith all social conventions., but
she could not have Gus Steinway travelling with Viv-
ian to a strange couutl'y. nor could Vivian remain be-
hind with Gus. for weeks. to be received back on her
return, with everybody talking afresh about a liaison

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which could no longer be disguised. She had done
enough. more than enough: even if it broke her
heart she must act firmly at last. Mr. Gus Steinway
and Vivian must make their choice: if they did not
choose to sacrifice their personal convenience and
- happiness for a mere few weeks. if Vivian was so
lost to all sense of what was right, what was ex-
pedient. what was decent. what was due to the wo-
* man who had devoted years of life to her happi-
ness. she could follow her own path until she arrived
at destruction. She. Mrs. Primrose. in the event of
Vivian's showing that nothing save her own wicked
way could count for an instant with her. would shake
the dust of Jamaica off her feet forever. There must
be some finality to this eternal yielding on her part.
S"If you go I will have to go with you. Aunt Ger-
trude," said Vivian. with a suspicion of tears in her
voice. "You know that. I didn't think it was any
harm saying that we could all go together."
lMrs. Primrose's eyes gleamed with intense
gratification. So one point was settled; Vivian would
not now go too far. The policy of patience. of for-
bearance. had not been all in vain. Then Gus Stein-
way spoke.
"Of course I understand that Vivian would have
to go with you. that is quite clear. And perhaps you
Share right after all about going yourself. But sup-


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Kingston, Jamaica.

pose you have any difficulties over there. in that
case, if you drop me a line or send me a wire. I'll
come over and see if I can be of any use."
A shout, which was indeed more of the nature ot
a scream, made any further remark from Mrs. Prim-
rose impossible at that moment. Mr. Proudleigh.
from the ground to the west. was crying out in great
agitation and waving his arms convulsively. Some-
thing dreadful had evidently happened. They all
hastened out to see what was the matter and found
the old man pointing to an object at some distance
away from him: he was receding from it with agit-
ated, backward steps and sounds of alarm.
They pressed forward to see. There. obviously
slain by a mongoose. lay what remained of Mrs.
Primrose's little yellow snake.
Gus had inadvertently left open the box in which
it had lived peacefully for so many years. after hayv
ing teased it out of its wonted placidity. The snake
had promptly crawled out of its house and along the
verandah down into the yard, feeling itself at lib-
erty at last and in its normal habitat, after so long
a period of confinement. But where the mongoose
lived there was no place for liberty-loving snakes. and
there were plenty of mongoose in that district. A
glimpse at the wriggling object, a swift pounce-and
Mr. Proudleigh coming upon the scene a minute or
two later beheld the tragedy.
The mongoose had fled at Mr. Proudleigh's ap-
proach, but he had seen it. He now called out a high-
ly inaccurate account of what he had beheld. A
word or two from Gus explained the essential facts of
her pet's escape to Mrs. Primrose. who accepted her
loss with a few words of pity for the snake, and
ordered one of the men on the premises to bury what
was left of it.
Thus the incident closed, but Mr. Proudleigh saw
something in it symbolical. He was still chafing
under Mrs. Primrosr's peremptory refusal to permit
him to accompany her to Nicaragua, and order-
ing him out of the range of conversation. And now
her snake was dead. It was a fit and proper retribu-
tion for the ill-treatment she had meted out to so
good and worthy a person as Mr Proudleigh. and it
might mark the turn of her prosperous fortunes.
Angry as he still was. Mr. Proudleigh experienc-
ed a thrill of satisfaction at this punishment meted
out so swiftly by an all-wise Providence. "Sarve
her dam well right!" he muttered to himself vin-
dictively. ,, ,

RS. Primrose was happier than she had been for
a long time past. Vivian had agreed without
demur to her arrangements, though she did not pro-
fess to like them Mr. Steinway had not attempted
to urge the acceptance of his suggestion, but had
nevertheless left his offer an open one: his services
were at her disposal when and if she should need
them. Her land in Nicaragua was evidently valu-
able, and as a woman with a strong instinct for
business she could not but be pleased with this ex-
cellent chance of improving considerably her finan-
cial position: what is more, she experienced an ac-
cess of personal worth and dignity from the fact
that she was on the eve of being decidedly better off
than she had ever hoped to be.
Mrs. Primrose had a great respect for wealth; if
it could not do everything it could do much; it
might level barrier- apparently insurmountable; it
could exalt what was humble and raise and support
what seemed to be weak. She turned this idea over
in her mind; the more she did so the truer it ap-
peared to her. She might be the owner of several
thousands of pound., later on. thanks to the posses-
sion of some land once regarded as almost worthless.
She was glad she hadn't sold it: the price she could
have obtained some years ago would have been negli-
gible, the price her husband had paid for it had been
negligible. .But she was not fond of selling, except
at a decided profit, and this instinct for holding on
to what she had. for patient waiting, for making
money and for refusing to lose had always hitherto
stood ier in good stead. It might make her more
than well-off, it might alter her whole position. And
Vivian's. For, after all, what she had was Vivian's,
and it was the girl's future that principally concern-
ed her.
Then. as a result of this stroke of good fortune.
and of the new feeling and ideas it engendered in
her mind, she conceived a plan suddenly. It suffused
her whole being with hope. It* held a wonderful
possibility-though, indeed, it might be only a possi-
bility that it held.
She paid another visit to Kingston to her law-
yers. and then one night she surprised both Vi and
Gus by saying casually:
"You said you would go to Nicaragua to assist
me, Mr. Steinway; and you must have thought I
didn't appreciate your offer, but I did."
'"It wasn't much to appreciate.' said Gus. "but
you thanked me for it very nicely. Always remem-
ber it is still open. Mrs. Primrose."
"But you would have to leave your home. and it
is a rather wild and strange country, you know."
"Nonsense! A trip abroad would do me a lot
of good."
"But I can't let you do this for nothing-" A
quick movement on the young man's part warned her


Inspector Herbert Thomas tells us, in his "West
Indian Policeman," that from October, 1922 to May,
1925, there raged a regular epidemic of fires all over
the country. "The total number of them was one
hundred and seventy-five: and the cost to the in-
surance companies was 389.413." Nor was that all.
There were also twenty-six abortive attempts. bring-
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It must be remembered that when a fire starts in
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yond the risk of total loss on account of somebody
else's incendiarism. Then again, many fires start by
pure accident, and if one is not insured his suffer-
ings are serious. There is therefore sound business
sense in being insured against fire: and this has been
so well recognized in Jamaica that the local business
of the Norwich Fire Insurance Society of which
Messrs. Livingston and Alexander are the agents in
Jamaica. has steadily increased with every year.
The Norwich Union Fire Insurance Society (to
give it its full name is 130 years old. It is one of
the great English Insurance institutions. Its head
offices are in London and Norwich: its Jamaica offices
are in Duke Street. in the new, commodious and
handsome building recently ere>.ted by Messrs. Liv-
ingstone and Alexander. In that building Messrs.
Livingston and Alexander iarry on their legal work,
the fire and accident assurance work of the Norwich
Fire Assurance Society. and the life assurance work
of the North American Life Assurance Society.
The Norwich is one of the strongest institutions
of its kind, and its operations are world-wide. Hav-
ing a great reserve of capital. it has been able to
effect fire and accident assurance in Canada as well
as in England. in the United States as well as in
Jamaica. Its stability is everywhere recognized, and
nowhere more than in Jamaica. Its local representa-
tives. Messrs. Livingston and Alexander. have suc-
cessfully pushed its business here, and now. amone
those with property to insure, the Norwich is a house-
hold word.
The North American Life Assurance Society. of
which this firm of lawyers is also the Jamaica rep-
resentative, is one of the most progressive and Hour-
ishing of the Canadian Life Assurance Societies. It
has branches in numerous countries: in Canada it is
highly regarded: and the arrangements it makes for
paying bonuses. lending money to its policyholders.
and promptly paying claims, are such as to have won
the appreciation of the great number of people who
have insured their lives in it. Its standing is. of
course, guaranteed by the Canadian Government.
Among its assets are Government guaranteed and
municipal bonds to the value of over ten million dol-
lars. and the market value of these assets exceeds the
book value. The total value of its assets, indeed, is
:over thirty million dollars-figures which speak elo-
quently of the strength of the North American Life
Assurance Society.
The North American'Life Assurance Society has
been established in Jamaica. through Messrs Living-
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considerable portion of the life assurance of Jamaica.
It expands its business continually here. It is ack-
nowledged to be a most satisfactory insurance so-
ciety. Its future. progress is indisputable.

that she must not mention remuneration. and indeed
she had not thought of that. "What I mean is," she
continued. "that I can't let you stand the expense. It
is my business, and the business must pay the ex-
"Which is business." interjected Vivian gaily.
"So you find. after all, Aunt Gertrude. that you have
to fall back upon Mr. Steinway. Women can't do
everything for themselves."
'You put it wrongly. Vi." Gus said hastily; "any-
body besides myself would do. but of course I am in-
terested in seeing that your aunt is not cheated. You
would like me to go then. Mrs. Primrose?"
"Yes. Mr. Steinway; I have thought it over,
and if you will charge the expenses to me I would be
grateful to have your help. You are going to give
me your time and your work and your interest for
nothing. and that of itself is too much."
"It is nothing: but we'll agree about the ex-
penses. though I had thought of paying them myself.
What do you want me to do?"
'Everything-if you can."
'Yes. I would give you a power of attorney,
certified by the Nicaraguan Consul here. and you
could fix up the whole business for me. Of course,
whatever papers I myself must sign you can send
over, and you can telegraph me about the price and
so on; but if you have full power there shouldn't be
too much difficulty. Mr. Hemlock told me yesterday
that a gentleman like you would have influence with



the people who want to buy im,, land'. and the Britli
Consul over there would pay atteitintn to ytou."
"But, my good Mrs. Primrose.. you are putting a
lot of power in my hands. Suppose I makie iff with
your money!"
He and Vi laughed at rhi., and Mrs. Primro-se
allowed herself to smile.
"That's the one thing youi wouldn't do." -he said!.
"Thank you for such an tv \ el-nt t.lharaiiter."
"It's true. You don't c.unt miiney -11o mut h. an'
you are a gentleman."
"A lot of gentlemen out li.-r,- \vuld' he gladly of tile
chance to become successful i: ue- '"
"They're not like you."
"Aunt Gertrude has a hih opinion otf ",u. ir:"
cried Vivian, bubbling over v th ideli.lit. These tan.
expected compliments from her aunt were to her lik,.
"We can talk the matter ovir. thltn. Mr. Stein-
way," said Mrs. Primrose, and iwetii into her roomil
to think.
She had all the necessary: paper.- madlo out aft.-r
this; she sent a letter and th-n a tallegraiaim iver i.
her agent in Nicaragua advi-iug him iof the early aI.
vent of Mr. Steinway, who v.oilijd represent ih-r in.
terests, and then the date of Gu-.'s -alling va-a rixt-.l.
Why he was going was to bn-' kno\n onily: to the pro,
pie in her house and her l-v. yver-. froimn .ver:,hbod
else it was to be kept a secret She wa.-" glad that hi.
was to be away from Vivian f.r a little while. hi,
departure would be known an'l that might ha\e -i
further effect in quieting evil gos-ip. It is titi
she was putting herself und,.r sonie obligation to
him; but he owed her somethlllna. tuo. 'somrnthin:.
which no service he could render ciul i comirpensant
for; besides, there was her plan. It tnieht fail. it
probably would. But do soni-thihg .h:i muli h-i aat-
quiescence and patience had always hall .inm.n- 'tlil r
end than mere drifting in vi -\ Ani ni. i her iii..i
tion, about to be wonderfully iniprovied. gave liher
new ground on which to stani. It e.niltiwdl iher nor
only with a feeling of superior iwortl. it be-towied
on her a sense of power.
As the time drew near flr (l;iu- to sail. VivinJi
became more and more depr.--ttl Sb.r -a- pl.ua-il
that Gus was about to serv. hlii-r aunatbIt faied tih.
prospect of his absence with i.liiii'. I-i.: hei- ulil
miss him! What would she tl. vI ii- hiue ..- absent r
All this she said to him again and again. anil duiln-
the last week before his iitpartiirt- they weut fir
walks every night, for walit: tlih:t i.itte.i rii h.. alidl
took them far away froiii tti r.uiiingaij.w. atiti
on their return they would -inil Mi- 1'rrimnr.i-, v.-wat

ing for themi with gloomy. hroimline fa,'e ani troubled

It "a- Friday. and G;u.i vaq to Itave otn the fol-
lon t\i2 day i l Pr'iniros e had a kt-d hinl fnor a hrief
inttrvite.m niakine it quite ilear that Vivian n as not
to be prie'etltSo V"\iian had found somnle e.u-e flor
leaving the house rro an hour or sr. anti Mr Proud-
leigh hadl been die-patci.tied fur a walk for the hbeilnt
of hi- lhialth. ani Mrs. l-'rimnro~-. anii I;us sat together'
in ii.- -irting It.,,m. s-e v lith a look of miunglell deter.
mination and enibarra-mnienti. lint wili the detrrmnina
ri.n far nlol'- plainly e:xpr.--sefd.
"Thi land -renis a' if it will brinu me a lot iof
nioney.. Mr StuiL\'way.'" she opened. anti lie agreed
"It is nearly t i lhundredl at rr~. anti thile li-riit
m'her,- it i- situarei i reported to have oil. I under-
stand." said Gu<. "Yes: you are on velvet It
should nican thou-antld of pounds for you."
Fi'r ivian really." S'he remarked iiowly.
"She i- our iheir. of i.tolrs'e "
"She'' mitre than that I already have all I anll
want anti when [ nm tlead it i- lit.r- But this net\
Ill:o'nFy slie tan have at f'n:t:. foi I llon'r need it.
Yoiu will see Nic.araeua Mr Sitriv-nay it i. quit(
diff'erenii Fin.m l re dli[ernt. not .so proud. not
u mni l prejun li-. and -tver.\ bid\ apart XYu'u iiliht
like the plate "
'I plobhahly -halill. I am rath-r taken with lies,.-
1ailf. ili. untiIettlcdl t ountries. I v.a, iti C.:ilombia oum..
anti I likCed it."
"People aan liv. there and nololdy interfere with
ihmni And lif you la.ve ru noupllh Iloney .3ou an lie
liappy anywhere"
"That's what I alwa\, -ay ahl.ut Jamaica": ibir
.u- monili-ed hliat this had to iio ,.'ith hi- special
nii -iirn
'"What you wouldn'tt do in Jamaica .1,oi ..ati do inh
Nicarazua." -he .ient on. l':ookin'- iiito hi,. face fm.r
:,ni- sarIg that hle (umnpreliend'..- the drift of ie-r re-
ma rk-
.SuIch i lias lllniit iiutlrdl r. ori' instant:." lie
--reed laughincely. "'Ye-. I have h. nd-i that a niur.
d, r thlire i:oits ynu onliv much. andl tlia the minllI
d.-adll\ otiint:e i-s prlllmtini acdainit the [Pre'i-Je-rt "
I Imi.'t mean that I ni-an that if a ;et-ntl.nlian
'Or-. a girl. and "he 13 'i1 .. pu.in. lie >an inarri
lii:r .vitho.,t anyhlody makin-a d fu-_" abotir it lik.
rliey v.o ul] ti b .-re "
I* nL-'er hard that." Iioe reported dryly, "but.
uaiti plitbably It i irII.
Shie lpnilileil her baids If." .Mlie c:ontinuald
l i',. i c-illia.. ta .,f y iiour posit ion ani y',,ur t.um
m.aJr v.a- to marry a a.irl lik. Vivian in Naiarazua. it


Vnuld be all right if oiun are ru'lrhi nouhl anti ave
yuIur .i%' n land ito live .oii You wouldd liait .tour ounn
-. rvant-. and if .\ou are a farmer you could eow
3oIur truir anti '-ll iI anld quake your own friends and
be yourr own maLstr .inl and i ai ohat you like. It lu
ni.t jiiite the -ani,- lietre: not so ea.-a. I mean "
Sh pau-ted. and soeemg that lie \wa; \-rj-c"(tl ii)
ay' s-ruinthinv he renmarked v\ry bri. fly-
"'Ye-. It i. different "
"I[ anim trry for Vivan ahll.- sail alirupil:
"Rut. ah. 'he in''t unhappy, y'ou, know YO.
ha'e i-been st kind t.o her "
"My kindnrss donii't matter. Mr Steinway. She
i- a ynoune girl and 'lle :an't be t\lpeted t-o r-minli-
hi'r kindnnes. all the [itnie: and a lli me wouldn't rare
aroutit if 'hle \wantPed '1,llet hilnn else. Tile yi..ung
are ni.t lrartfuil." 31i', Prnimlloe adtl.-li Iitterly
"No." he aTgred. f'.e-l ing liot andt uancomif.ortall-.
and wishinig to? e-ape N. "'. I a1m afraid that i Iarc
But Vivian i4 a g miod sirl. -he i,. lovin- and
t.lthful. I knoll \ slih is dark and people labov\e her
vould say he tan't i- a lady---only fi-y are ladies--
an1 i-h r family is iot g re'at but ohe iS .i '.n,.,d titLl, .
--nt handl:one i irl alid in a d different i'iuiniy -he
"i'uld di beltt-e tliui -he can i.) here."
"I think a whiol. lot of Vivian. Mr.l Prini'o-,.e.
I can a-turire you. I anret- with eerl'ythliiii yu.ij say
about i her. and I kno\ -thp. de-erves. your prai'I [
hope to be ahle toi- ix thbl-- lu-ine- n up nioiely for yiiou
and he. and- if there- i- anvthine mnure ypu want to
-ay 1i. me abuitr it. I hope you 'ill r it I., there
.in. linL.'" TlhuF' Gus laliboured for ;a thane in tihe
ireni, of the t.oniver-ai .ii
No. Mr Steinw.a. n.thlin:." Mrs. P mi"- -. tilet
1, p-rsi.st .d loo:'kirin him in the e'e ". "'I only '..anlite
In talk; about V'i.ian a illtlt Eer, pm-nny thlar I -ell
th.: land fr its hl r-': -lihe ill he independent for life.
:inl if she niarriiltI a maian who iouldJ do -omert-hing
SIth l money- it \,'iuli inriei'tasi and ili:reasf_. And I
'v..-ud lik,- her t,-,i n't married "
if .'uiiji -.." i- .x\cla inel r'lij ine rather hull ii -.
!.- lut y'u krlno. \VI ,: en better than I ido. andl I
Mi 11 'ui' ''ll :- '.u' Iil he .e-Xedi if het- kneiv. \Me were
talkinii allout lii?-' fulitut Shi'- rather touih\ isn'tt
..miu lhink i "' ,ijoite natural. it' :o urs- ell,
ill e Iyou Il-niNLlit l)ef'or.- I 'run ..I.v r to K iI -iC un.
"' [ :,1't a. I.i.. .'lye yet I "
[ILr fa-e harld-ned Slie ir -,L-ni[..-d thit he
hadl lundtller-.l id her perfe. tl.. bit hlad plrefkei m i.d to
r'rotm.nd that lie iamd not. Nothing that Vivian p,)-
--- ie' no han't In1 in- pto) timon. .,u11ii i'ti ak.m
ih: ,h-lht3-st dijifei,:n t he,, hin iti war" not the





same world as Viian. not of tile same clay! He
would be nite anti friendly-too friendly. He would
be helpful and kind. he was being that now. But
she thought she had noticed a moment before. when
she had been talking about the different -otial situaI
tion in Ni ara ua. that his eyes wire smiliua in, red-
ulously anti even derisively: it -emncd to hei that
he was nlruking her. especially n% hen I.- said that
Vivian would be 'exed if 'hie kne-' illt.e wte lise
cum-ing her tuture Well. she had plaiild this aoril
and had lost. Her plan had' failed. She hated him.
He wa bad. wicked, a villain. But again li-e mustL
be patient. since tht re was nothing elke to ite!
Like a flash of lightning another idea flamed in
her mind and possessed it. She stared at him with
baleful eyes. but his hack was turned to her anti he
did no:r see that terrible dlare.
lie had reached the door. tli-n she called out
to him:
"Oh. Mr. Steinway'"
S"Yes?" He paused embarrassed. He had heard
enough that day of social and either conditions in
She walked towards him. striving to compose her
features. to eradicate front her face any expression
of the hate and anger in her heart.
*Y.ou know"-she tried to smile a, slle spoke-
"it was you who let my pet out his box the other
day. so that mioneoose could kill him
"Your snake! Yes. and I am very sorry I was
so careless. Let me get you another when I tome
back. You tan run across them now and then. and
I'll tell my headman to look out for one for you."
"Hie may not find one. But there are plenty in
Nicaragua. Will you brine back one for me?"
*Certainly! Only tuo delighted. Any sort of one
will do?"
No! Why some are as long as this house! I
had one. one time. when I was in Nicaragua. Viva
de la Sangre they call it" you think you will remem-
ber the name?"
"I'll write it down now." lie said, only too de-
lighted that the conversation eas no longer confined
to distressingly intimate topics. "Spell it for me."
She spelt tie name clearly, and tlien described
the snake to him. She preferred a male. she said.
the females were longer and so more difficult to
manage. The male Viva de la Sangre would be abuut
two to three feet long: if it wouldn't be too miii li
**You can rest assured that I will get one for youi
if I have to travel all over the country to get it.
SWell. until to-night."
She inclined her head eravely. and he went with
her silent curse.
On the following day hli sailed for Nicaragua.

GlS heIamne instantly aware that the atmosphere
of the house was distinctly gloomy., hanged in
some definite and perceptible way from what it had
been a couple of months before
Brightness and gaiety he had. of course. never
associated with Mrs. Primrose: but her restraint, the
Impression she gave of a deliberate suppression:of
feeling, whit h made htr demeanour. her conversa-
tion. the -vlry tones of her voit- sunmilirelyr menlhanical.
were- noi nlore marked than they had ever been: he
felt chilled as he expatiated on the result; of his vol.
untary mission to Nit/raguai on her behalf. results
with which she hadl no reason to be d.ls-sati tied.
(inl. that day had he returned. He had com-
municated with her frequently by cable. he had con-
n eluded it-r busiiuss expelltiousl. and It the sati.-
fatlion of her lai e r,.. and. apparently. of herself. He
had congratulated her upon bheinc a woman among
thousands in that she had. by a stroke of rare good
fortune. made a large amount of money of which she
had never dreamed. She had thanked him without
a smile. hiad insisted upon knowing the very last
penny ot hii expenses. so that he should be reimburs-
ed. and then had offended hin hy suggesting that
the work he had done should not be unremunerated.
He reminded her quietly that had th,-r., leen any
talk ot remuneration he niver iv.ouild have left
Jamaita on her account: he had tiot lhsitattd to
show his anno.anmi- at her suggestion. She had
bowed in silence as if expecting su lit an an--v..r. but
as one who had been resolved to dt what she con
sidered as due to her own feeling of ind.ependrtnce
And Vivian too was changed. She was glad to
see him. glad of his return, her little e-stures. the
wistful. welcoming look itn her eyet left him in no
doubt about that. The welcome was genuine, heart-
sincere, hut it was subdued, tearful even, and site
seemed thinner and paler than she had been six
weeks before. He attributed this to her loneliness
during his absence. for lie knew that for hoie time
now she had eiven up all of her friends and would
hardly have sought their society while he was away.
But he had hoped for more cheerful greeting. for
something of the vivacity which always drew hinm
to her. He felt discomfited. "It is as if I had sud
denly happened upon a funeral." he thought t, him-
The three of them were seated in the sitting
room. Mr. Proudleigh stood by the door that led
into the dining room. having been attracted by the
Bound of Gus Steinway's voice.

Mr.- Pi'oudleikh -n;s the only inmate of Mrs.
Pralnict.-.'< nlauge- % ho exhibiited something like en-
thui'ia-U in v.el,.onmiit Gu-. -But even that subsided
into horroi' ani'J icri-ad whi-n. with intent to tease the
ild man a bit, knowing his manifold ftar and super-
stitions, Gus showed to hiim th box in which had
lived the yellow snake slain i1t the mongoose some
time before, and pointed out, cirll-d at the bottom of
the box, a snake- salmon pink in hue, and about three
feet in length. Mr. Prodllietitl gazed at it %Aith dis-
approving stare, then asked:
"It is yours, Marse (;uis"'
"No; I brought it as a present for Mrs. Primrose,
to replace the one I allowed to get away. You re-
member it?"
"Dis one," said Mr. Proudleigh doubtfully, "is a
foreign sarpent." He had a distrust of foreigners
which extended to the lower animal.
"Yes and it isn't at all like our harmless black
and yellow nake-. old man. This one means busi-
ness if he bites you. One bite and you are dead in
twenty-four hours if you don't look after it at once.
How would you like to try a nip?"
"**MeI:tiful Jesus!" exclaimed Mr. Proudleigh,
turning wide-opened eyes upon the creature which.
just at that moment, began, with a sliding, slithering


movement. to form itself into new loops. "Blessed
Saviour of the world! Why y'u bring such a Satan
to frighten and kill we all. Mr. Gus? Doan't you
know that it was de sarpent dat tempted Eve an' dat
hini come straight from hell? An' dis one look like
de devil himself kill it. me good young gentleman,
kill it at ond'e! Something tell me it going' to do
harm "
"I understand,' laughed Gus, "that something is
always telling you oi uerthing: your life seems to'be
one perpetual communication with something. Well.
if you like to kill it, just take it out and perform the
execution yourself. Here you are." And Gus held
the box out to Mr. Proudleigh.
With outstretched, deprecating hands the old
man refused to touch it. "You are young an' brave,
sah, you is a great, big gentleman: you kill it. Or
give it to de mongoose, Mr. (O;i: dere is plenty of
them in ils place. Them is like angel. I really love
But Mrs Primrose. who had listened to this lit-
tle dialogue without comment, now put out her hand
and.took the box, and went and placed it where it
had always stood when it housed her other pet. ana
when, she came back Mr. Proudleigh had wandered
(Continued on Page 76).

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The Sins of the Children
SICont;inued from Page 73).
off to his own place and Gus had begun to speak
of other subjects
"So my brother has come back home for holi-
,day," he was telling Vivian, "and they are making
quite a fuss about him. He is a major and all that;
quite a great man in his way."
"Yes, I have seen him," said Vi, rather listlessly.
"Somebody pointed him out to me in Spanish Town
,a day last week and told me he was your brother."
"Doesn't look much like me, does he?"
"He is tall like you, but different features."
"They say he is a true Steinway, Vi; perhaps
that's why we never get on very well with one an-
"Is that so?" asked Mrs. Primrose, with a show
of interest.
"It has always been so; we are very different.
Of course, on coming over from Kingston to-day, as
soon as I got back I went straight home. I expected
to find Bob. for he was due to arrive some time this
month. And there he was, as large as life, and as
stern as a veteran general-the same old Robert and
nothing new, and I guessed he had been talking to
father about me, for he did not seem overflowing




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with approval of me. Queer fellow. Dry as a stick!"
"He will-he will inherit Barrnsaple?" question-
ed Mrs. Primrose. though she knew that she was ask,
ing a very personal question.
"Naturally; and a good slice of what dad will
leave besides. My pater has the old-fashioned idea
that the eldest son should be left best off, you know,
a view which Robert upholds with rigid devotion. But
I'll be all right; Coldstream is to be mine, and it
will be enough for a man with my simple tastes. I
should worry about dear old Bob!"
"But he worries about you?" queried Vivian,
probing him with her eyes.
"Always has, always will, and he worries about
everything else, too, for he imagines it to be his
business to put everybody right. A very managing
sort of man."
He signalled Vi with his eyes, and she rose and
suggested that they might sit on the verandah as it
was cooler there. They went out together, and at
once he taxed her with her dullness and with her
depressing reception of him. "It almost looks as if
you weren't pleased to see me back," he protested.
"You know it fsn't that," she murmured.
"Then what is it? Your aunt, too, is less cordial
than when I left. I have never known her so for-
"You notice that, Gus? I was wondering if you
would notice it. She is worse than she ever was
before. Quiet and heavy, hardly talking to a soul
but herself; only sometimes she look at me long and
hard till I feel frightened. Yet I thought .she was
pleased with you for offering to go to Nicaragua for
her, and you fixed up her builuess quite nicely. I
"Nothing; but I am frightened."
"Because of her attitude, you dear, silly little
"Not that only; that is not the worst."
"Then out with the worst, and let it be over."
"Gus-but wait a little. I will tell you every-
thing, but not now, not to-day."
"Yes, to-day," he insisted.
"I want to, but I can't; it can wait a day or so,
Gus. You've just come back, and I don't want any-
thing to spoil your pleasure."
"Hum. That sounds serious, but I think you
make mountains out of molehills, you know, Vi."
And because Gus hated to worry or to face trouble
before he actually must, he let the matter lie over as
Vivian wished, though he was intrigued by her evi-
dent apprehension. But sli was like that, he
thought; her crises were always minor events that
could be tackled quite easily.
But what a welcome! His mind reverted to
that. He was annoyed. He had accomplished a very
creditable piece of work indeed for that cold. gloomy
woman inside, and she had been actually rude to
him. Fancy offering to pay him for what he had
done, when he had distinctly warned her before he
went away that that topic must never be touched
upon. She was ungrateful; she forgot herself en-
tirely. Some other man would have spoken to her
as she deserved: it was lucky for her that he never
hurt anybody's feelings ddliberatel y.
It began to drizzle, and that added to the de-
pression of the afternoon. Sitting on the verandah,
with his hand resting on Vivian's arm, he strove to
make talk, and she did also, with an effort at anima-
tion that was pitiful because it was so apparent. He
reflected that if the drizzle increased th h-> would
have to repair to the sitting room, which would not
be so agreeable. He would prefer to drive back to
Barnstaple. where he was expected to dine and spend
the evening in honour of his brother's being at home.
He had not forgotten that significant last conver-
sation he had had with Mrs. Primrose just on the eve
of his leaving for Nicaragua. He did not suppose
she had forgotten it either. Had she mentioned "it
to Vi? Might not that be the cause of Vi's attitude?
He felt sure it was, and an uncomfortable feeling
possessed him. He was willing to do everything he
reasonably could for Vi, but, after all, the impossible
should not be expected of him. It was all damned
unfortunate, of course, for he loved this little girl,
the only one whose company he ever craved; he felt
happy with her; he did not want to waste his time
with any of the girls his mother was so fond of in-
viting to Barnstaple, and who would crowd the con-
founded place now that Robert was back. But Mrs.
Primrose should have known how out of the question
it would be for him to marry Vi-had he not said
again and again that he was not a marrying man,
and did not believe in marriage? Then think what
his people, their friends, his friends, everybody
would say: they would make all sorts of unpleasant
remarks, they would discuss him everywhere; it
would be'said that he had forgoti'u his station, hbat
he had disgraced his father and mother and bother
-0, e\vry thing' Why couldn't folk be pleasant, as
he himself was.' He became conscious of a griev-
ance against the world because of its unpleasantness.
The drizzle grew to a steady rain which began
to blow in upon the verandah: a tropical downpour
shrouding everything in dreary gray. "We must go
inside"' said Vivian.
"I shall run back home," he muttered, as they
rose. "I have to be there to-night."
S "You'll come Lo-morrow?"

"If I can; I am not sure. I may have to run
over to Kingston, and may not return in time. But
if not to-morrow evening, the next one rei mainly."
At the same moment they both observed Mrs.
Primrose standing by the door. The ru.h and beat
of the rain must have deadened her footsteps.
"Before you go, can I have a word with you
alone, Mr. Steinway?"
"With plea.iiur-." he assented, and Mrs. Prim-
rose took him into the dining room, and to the end
of it that was farthest from Mr. Proudleigh's bed-
room door.
"I don't want anyone to hear what I hae& to
say," she explained to him, dropping her voice so
that her words should reach his ears alone. He nod-
ded comprehension, convinced that her remarks were
not likely to be pleasant.
"You remember what I spoke to you about be-
fore you left Jamaica, Mr. Steinway?"
"Yes; more or less."
"And you didn't understand me?"
"Let me see. Now what was it? About Vi,
wasn't it?"
"Yes" (decisively) "it was about Vi. You form-
ed as if you didn't understand, but I an sure you
did. You have been coming around V' a long time
now, and God only knows what may happen. You
see how she looks now, don't you? There is some-
thing on her mind."
"Well, I am very sorry, Mrs. Primrose. but I
don't see what I can do."
"Vivian knows as well as me that sih i being
talked.about9 and she feels that there i nothing in
all this. That is the reason why lshe is fretting.
she has had time to think about it -ince you been
away. She is unhappy, and if you cared for her at
all you wouldn't like to see her unhappy. You can'tt
deny that, Mr. Steinway."
"Well, but, well, I am sure you exaggerate things.
I care an awful lot for Vi."
"So you say, but what does it all amount to Now
I will tell you plainly why I let you ,go down to
Nicaragua for me. It wasn't because I couldn't have
done it myself, even though I am a woman It might
have been difficult, but I would have managed, for
all my life I have had to do with me own bhniness
an' I have pt ilhrouch. But I wanted .iou to see for
yourself that Vi was not a pauper, that this money
I have just got makes her better off than nio-t of
your high and fine ladies in Jamaica, for it i3 all go-
ing to be hers. You know the whole busine-. now.
and I thank you for what you have donE. 'The whole
of that money will be hers and yours if lyou marry
Vi, Mr. Steinway. I will make over every penny of
it to both of you."
So there it was in plain, blunt, and even brutal
Gus, flustered and Embarrassed. took r'-fue>' in a
weak display of sham indignation.
"Really, Mrs. Primrose, you can't deal ith Viv-
ian as if she were property! You put me in a most
peculiar position."
"You have put her in a worse peculiar po-ition.
Mr. Steinway, and you only talking like this to get
away from the point."
"Do you mean," he demanded, "that unless I
say yes to your proposition you are going to ask
me not to come back to your house?"
"No; I don't mean that. You can pomie bark. for
you would meet her outside all the same if you didn't.
But what you really say to me, is no."
"You mustn't draw hasty conclusions-"
"Tcha! Do I look like a child?"
She stared into his face with a grim. fixed look;
a sombre gleam in her eyes; the thought flew through
his mind that she looked just then far more like a
devil than a thild. but even then his conscience told
him that she was sore stricken and regarded him as
the prime cause of her agony. Still, her stare was
one of hate, bitter, terrible hate; she was a very un-
pleasant woman! But she had not forbidden him the
house. That, on the whole, was very decent of her.
"'You can come here still if you like." she con-
tinued. "but mind, I am looking that there won't be
anNthing worse than there is now; you must have a
little mercy on that poor girl, Mr. Steinway. I beg
that of you!"
He rose without a word. and she followed him
to the veiandah. evidently, he thought. to hear
what he might .sav to Vivian. With her eyes on
him he dared not kiss Vi as he took his departure.
Vivian, looking at both of them, knew that some
serious conversation had taken place, and her face
straightened with apprehension.
Only one thing did she say:
"You don't think we'll see you to morrow eve-
ning, then?"
"No, I don't think so; I am sure I shall return
from Kingston too late." .
"Wednesday evening, then?"
"Very well."
"He'll come to-morrow," thought Mrs. Primrose,
as Gus's car sped out of the yard. "He is annoyed with
me now, but he'll want to come and see her as soon
as he can. He'll come to-morrow."
But she said nothing to Vivian.


T rained during the night, but the morning broke
bright and warm, a glorious culden sun lighting
up ith countryside and causing to flash and glisten
the metallic surfaces of leaves and fronds washed
clean of dust by the downpour of a few hours before.
But in the house itself the sombre atmosphere
setinmed to have deepened. Vivian was quieter, more
abstracte-d than ever, Mrs. Primrose went about her
S household duties heavily, mechanically performing
them. her eyes rixed on vacancy, her thuucht, quite
evidentl y on some dark obsessing subject.
Even Mr. Proriilelhh was affected by the atmos-
plhel of hbroodiing and sorrow that pervaded thb,
plan. He was growing tired of it all. and longing
on.e more for hiti Kingston. He dared not even at-
tempt to speak to Mrs. Pii mro.- or Vivian now; he
might not be answered, or answered but in mono-
syllables. H- was becoming perfet'tly miserable; he
felt that no amount of good food could compensate
for such depression and misery.
The day wore throueli to afternoon, Mrs. Prim-
rose being much in her room the while. Vivian, too,
kept to her onn room as much as possible, arlidirng

all save absolutely necessary communication. Mr.
Proudleigh wandered about the premises. lonely, and
excogitating plans for an early farewell and depart-
ure from this house of silence.
Mrs. Primrose went to Vivian's room at about
five o'clock; she found the girl stretched on her bed.
her face buried in the pillow. It appeared to her
that Vi had been crying.
"What's the matter?" she asked.
"Nrtlhing-nothling much. I feel 'down,' that's
A moment's silen-:-. then:
"I want you to do -.-inmerling for me, Vi."
"What is it?"
"You know Mrs. Graham; she is sick; I don't
think she's going to live."
Vivian showed no interest.
"I ought to go and sit up a nicht with her: but
I am really not able to go just now. They u ill ex-
pect you to come too. If one of us go they won't
think we are neglectful. Can y.iu go for me to-night?"
Gus was not coming that nieht. so it did not
matter where she should be. And her effort now was
to oblige Aunt Gertrude in whatever way .-he could.
."Ail right," said Vivian.

"If you leave at half-past six you can easily get
there by seven, and you can come back early tomor-
row. Give tlhei my love and say I will come myself
"Very well.')
Vivian had dinner at six o'clock; while she was
eating her aunt asked her casually if she cared to
take Mr. Piroidleigh with her: Mrs. Graham's family
would not object to him.
No; she would not take Mr. Proudleigh, but she
thought James had better come; she was not feeling
bright and might not want to drive the car her-
James was one of the boys on the property whom
Vi vian had taught to drive her Ford and who washed
and otherwise looked after the car.
: Mr. Primrose said nothing more, but watched
Vivian drive off and then went into her room once
more. where she sat by the foot of her bed, her face
framed in her hands, her brows knit with painful
thought. She looked an old haggard woman just
then, a woman nlnderguine intense agony of mind as
she pursued her way alone, with no one with whom
she could commune, with only herself for counsellor.
The lines of her alvay? firm mnioith were now set

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hard. there was a rigid fixedness about them, about
the stare of her eyes. the poise of neck and shoulders.
as though she were possessed with but a single dom-
inating idea and purpose. Now and then she mutter-
ed to herself. though even in that stillness the words
did not fall distinctly upon her own ears.
At seven o'clock she went outside and lit the
lamps, then retired to her room again. She was ex-
pecting Gus: she believed that he would come, though
-he himself had said that he was not sure he would
return from Kingston in time. He had been even
more positive later on; had said he would not be
there that night: yet she felt he would endeavour to
be with Vi that night. Oh. yes; he would come. And
if Vi were here he would propose another of his long
walks. and still another on some future occasion, and
so on for weeks, months, and at the end what might
not happen? It was only God's mercy. it seemed to
her, that had saved Vi up to now from the ultimate
open, disgrace.
Mrs. Primrose did not think much of the per-
manence of all the plans and preparations upon whih
a young man like Gus Steinway might rely to defeat
the purposes of Nature. He would become careless:
might even be indifferent. He might care very little
for Vivian: might tire of her at last. But not.
perhaps, before her last shred of reputation had been
torn away. Vivian was in terrible danger. She must
be saved from a nicked and unscrupulous man.
There was only one way. one only. though it
was terrible, terrible.
She had given him evt.ry opportunity of doing
what was merely right. He had scorned her offer.
Why should her girl be a plaything of his: who was
he that he should consider himself so superior to
Vivian? Vivian was to become as nothing and as
less than nothing for his sake. tb please his fancy.
to satisfy his whim. She was to have an everlasting
stigma upon her. while he was to go scatheless. hap-
py, even respected through life. Good God! what an
injustice! Surely God Almighty could never agree
that such an injustice should prevail.
She would prevent it. She had made up her
mind to that. God would forgive her, would even
But a warning sounded somewhere in her
brain, a great question foimed itself in that dark
world in which her thoughts had been living and mov-
Ing for weeks. She fought the warning down. silenc-
ed the question: only one thing would she dwell upon.
the compelling, the imperative, the awful necessity of
rescuing Vivian. She had always wanted to do this:
for long she had seen no way. but Providence itself
surely had now pointed out the way. and there 'was
no other. She had read and re-read those terrible
passages in the Bible describing the slaying of Sisera
Sby Jael. She knew them by heart:
"Blessed above women shall Jael the wife of
Heber the Kenite be." she repeated to herself. "bless-
ed shall she be above women in the tent
"He asked water, and she gave him milk; she
brought forth butter in a lordly dish.
"She put her hand to the nail, and her right
hand to the workman's hammer; and with the ham-
mer she smote Sisera. she smote off his head. when
she had pierced and stricken through his temples.
"At her feet he bowed. he fell, he lay down; at
her feet he bohedl. he fell: where he bowed, there he
fell down dead."

It was the judgment of God upon a bad man who
might otherwise have escaped. If those who did evil
were removed, less evil would be wrought in the
world. To ruin a girl was surely as wrong as to
kill a man. yet what punishment was there from any
court in this country for the former? The law had
no protection for a youne woman like Vivian. .
She must take the law into her own hands: she
must save Vivian.
And then she heard the well-known toot of Gus
Steinway's horn.
She greeted him quietly. No; Vivian was not at
home. but she might come in later. He might wait
if he wanted to; would he sit dowu?
But Gus hesitated. The last thing he wished for
was a tlte-a-tt with Mrs. Primrose. Yesterday's
conversation had been more than enough
Mirs. Primrose seemed to guess what was passing
through his mind "You'll have to spend the even-
ing by yourself till Vi come back." she said. "for I
have a headache and must stay in my room. Will
that be all right?"
This was just as he could have wished it. he
consented with alacrity to keep hi, own company for
a while. He had had a Iong spin. zoing from Kings-
ton and returning that day. and he had greatly en-
jo)ed himself with a few a..lquaintances that after-
noon at the Liguanea Club before setting out for St.
Catherine. So he would not be averse to au hour's
rest by himself on the verandah. He had had a few
drinks at the Club. Mrs. Primrose noticed that. But
she asked him if he would have something to drink.
and a hen she returned she bore in a tiny tray a full
bottle of whisky. a jug of water and a glass. She
put these down on a cane-seated chair beside the can-
vas chair in which Gus was already reclining. He
poured out a stiff drink and swallowed it. She left
him and went inside. It was then about eight
Gut sat out there by himself, in darkness save
fir the dim light of the lantern hung above his head.
ieeling relaxed and contented. He had refilled his
glass. the whisky was good. and he hoped that Vi
would be back before ten o'clock at latest. He did
not allow his glass to remain empty By nine o'clock
he had taken a good deal of the whisky and had
fallen asleep.
lMr. Primrose came out again and called him by
name. He woke up. complained of the heat, then
stripped off his jacket, threw it over the back of the
cane-seated chair. and had iome more whisky. He
took no notice of her whatever aud did not even ask
for Vi She looked down upon him with contempt
in which there was wn trace of pity; her lips formed
the one word-drunkard.
Mrs. Primrose went into the dining room, and
observed that no light shone from Mr. Proudleigh's
"*Gone to bed already. Mr. P?" -he called out.
with a great effort steadying her voii.e. and striving
to make her question sound casual.
"Yes, ma'am, everything hein' so quiet. I sey me
prayers an' tome to me bed."
"I am going into my room. too." she said. "but
I can't go to bed. for Mr. Steinway is outside sitting
dow n.
"But-but Miss Vi not coming back to-night. Mis-
tr-ss Primrose?"'
"He wants to remain, but if he remain too late I

will have to ask him to go home. It's not late yet,
so I can't say nothing now."
"No. ma'am." agreed Mr. Proudleigh. "you are
too hospitality to do dat."
"He is out there drinking." added Mrs. Primrose,
"I never see a young man drink so much."
"It is too bad!" exclaimed Mr. Proudleigh.
"Well. good-night."
"Good night. Mrs. P.. good-night. ma'am."
Well. he was in bed. thought the woman, and
went back to her room. But Mr. Proudleigh frequent-
ly retired early. only to encrge later on to repair
to his station near the hedge for an hour or so of
quiet listening: and with Gus Steinway in the house
after an absence of weeks, and Vivian returning, per-
haps. a little later-for he did not know to where or
why she had gone out that afternoon-it would have
been simply sinful on his part to neglect any chance
there might be of overhearing loverlike greetings and,
maybe, plans for the future. Therefore Mr. Proud-
leigh. who had not taken off his clothes. crept out
of his room half an hour later and silently made his
way into the yard by the door opening upon it.
Ten o'clock.. The darkness outside was intense;
the heavy black mantle of the-night lay over the
countryside like a funeral pall: the only sound per-
ceptible were those made by the whistling frogs, a

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mellow but piercing peep. and by the kicalas. stridu.
lant and shrill. The house and its inmates might have
been a thousand miles from the nearest outpost of
civilization, though there was a town not more than
some four miles away
Mrs Primrose passed out of her room on. : movie.
silent as a ghost. She had slipped off hlr shoes.
and tb[ fall of her stockinged feet on the floor was
inaudible: her fare, could anyone have sten it. was
pale and rixcl. her every mtiovemeni v.as mti-lcanital-
ly pr[E.irs She turned down the wick of the large
kerosine centre lamp in the -itting roion. paused a
moment or two to listen to the deep breathing ot the
stupefied man on rthi- veiandali. th. n stepped tuit ti.
the verandah itself. Stretching nut an arm she seiz-
ed Gus bh his shoulder and shook him sharply. Not
the slightemt response. The drink he had consumed
since he had sat out there. added to that which he
had had in Kingston. had thoroughly deprived him
for the time of consciousnes .
She remained there looking down upon him.
Her mind wandered fora a while It came to her that
she could have liked this young man hald he been dif-
ferent or had circumstances been different: he
had many amiable qualities. Vaguely she re.
membered that he was generally popular even
among those who hated his father. It seem-
ed such a pity that-slihe started. These thoughts
were weakness itself: she must choose between
showing him merry and sacrificing Vivian. "To
the merciful will I show mercy." she quoted to her-
self. and Gus Steinway was not merit iful. He was-
inflicting upon her one ewe lamb the greatest \evii
that a man could do.
It was pitch dark. save for the dim light from
the lantern. But that she could not extinguish, for
she needed it for the work. the dreadful hut necessary
work. that had to be done. There was no one to see
her. and somehow she felt that. but for the scandal
which discovery would cause, she did not fear for
herself, did not care much what might happen to
her. She had never been a coward, and in those.
strenuous. wild days in Central America she had
learnt to look upon personal danger with indiffer
ence. But there was no one to see her now; she
was convinced of that. And some light was needed.
Site stole to the other side of the verandah, reach-
ed up to the strap by which hung the box in which
lived the snake, the Viva de la Sangre. took down the
box. and recrossed with it to where Gus Steinway lay
asleep As she did so it seemed to her that she
caught sound of a slight, a stealthy movement in the

.ard: mechanically she paused to listen. Straining
her ears, hie stood still for fully a minute. hut she
heard nothing more: a frog pcrhap. had jumped or a
tree branch rustled.
There Inust he inu more thinking now, no hesi-
ration The- sleeping man's forearm u-a, bared. St!-
opened tile box shook the sihae in it vigorously. il
turned the box almost upside-down She knew she
ran a risk by doing thi;. she could nut be ertmi.-i
that the snake would nut dart swiftly in an opp:,s;;.-
direction and fa-ten its fang4 in h.-r hand. Tlhei
she would be the victim as well as Gus Steinway. it rI
fur him there nimut he no escape. Rut the rick was
worth taking.
There was no miscarria-e. The long. lithe.
pinkish thing. disturbed and anry., tell out of its
cage on the body lying there, fell on the arm upon
which it was shaken. struck venuomously and the-n
glided in a downward direction. She saw this diz.
rnetly. She saw too. that rihe man never stirred.
she had known he would not.
She retraced her steps leaving the lid of the
box hanging open. she re-hung the b.x in its place: it
would be said that. tipsy, he had been fooling with
the snake, unron.-sious of his peril, and that it had
escaped andi then bitten him while he slept. No other
view of what had happened would prevail. That was
And in twenty-four hour: he would be dead.
She knew how the poison would work: slowly at
first. then with more and more deadly effect. It
,would break down the veins anti arteries, he would
bleed tn death internally and through the pores. He
could only be saved by prompt attention within an
hour or rtno. and that was impossible now. He wouldJ
suffer no pain, would never regain consciousness.
the whisk.b he had drunk would help him to pass
away without any suffering; she had always calht
lated upon that.
She did not wish him to suffer. She only wanted
to save Viviau.
And Vivian was saved.
She turned up the wick of the lamp in the sit-
ting room and went back. softly. into her room.

M URDERESS! She stood taut. It was as if some
hidden witness had thundered out the word.
The question she had fought down two or three
hours earlier now flashed into her mind with stun-
ning clarity and force, as though it were a lightning

flash to strike her very soul-a murderess? Was she
that? She had killed a man. killed him cold-blooded
while he slept, and for that there was but one
name. She thrust the thought from her, but it
would not be exorcised. Only that one grim, damn-
in', word seenmul. to bt echoing anti re echoing within
Ih l' brain.
Sie iollapsetl oin ler bed, gripping the horizontal
Ia: .if its liadl with tense shaking lingers: already
lar m-rod of exaltation w as passing, already the re-
actlon. thie inevitable reaction following upon a deed
which :-he had pundi ced and planned and lived for
in these last few weeks. and more especially in these
la-t few hours-that reaction was upon her and she
felt herself staniped i'.ih the curse that man and God
alike had set upon murder.
Murder? But it wasn't murder: it was not for
liheself: it was not for revenge even. it was not-it
was murderr For even while. she denied it she
affirmed the fa t: the act had been accomplished and
h-r former reason., for it could not uphold her now.
She had committed murder. She was a murderess.
And then it came into her mind. bitterly, that
Vivian had brought her to this pass. That Vivian
had been the tause of this thine. Suddenly she saw
her niece in a new light, or rather, in the light she
had persistently striven to obscure. refusing to let
it beat upon the girl to )whom she was devoted. She
saw Vivian as selfish, reckless. wilful, pursuing Gus
Steinway even as he pursued her. responsible as he
was, not thinking of anyone but of herself and her
lover-and she had brought that lover to his death.
This was the end. This was the conclusion of the
girl's miserable self-indulgence and folly and lust.
Vivian had been to blame as much as Gus Stein-
way. Gus Steinway was dyine. but what would be
the fate of the woman who had planned and accom-
plished his death?
She started upright. Was it too late? Could
anything be done to undo the tragedy, the murder-
she faced the word with grim defiance of her own
sudden weakness. Perhaps; hut how terribly weak she
fe:t: she could hardly stand: her knees were trem-
bling. a tierce agony in temples and forehead tortured
her: she almost wanted to scream. She knew what
might be done. knew that there still was time; but
she could not do it alone, and if she called for aid,
summoned the men sleeping in the yard. how would
she explain how she had come to know that Steinway
had been bitten by a snake? Fear. which she had
scarcely ever known, possessed her on the instant:
they might discover what she had done. and she saw


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her own arrest, the long ignominy of her trial, her
dreadful sentence-for the man might die in spite of
everything she might now attempt. Indeed, what
could she do? Her limbs were beyond her control.
She was paying at last for the awful suppression of
her feelings during the last two days, the inhibition
of every emotion save one; she had exhausted her re-
serves of strength: she was conscious only of a de-
vastatiiig weakness.
Yet she must get herself in hand. She must
think out what she should do: inactivity would drive
her mad. She could not leave the man to die; she
could not do it: it would drive her mad. She had
been mad; she was sure of it now; she must have
been mad to have planned and executed this horror:
to have doomed this young man to such a death!
They would hang her for it should they discover
the truth. But whether they discovered it or not,
it was an awful thing, a terrible thing. a wicked
thing. and one for which God could never forgive
her. She tottered and fell back upon the bed. Every
feeling that she had fought down and subdued and
held in straining leash was loose now and preying
upon her mind. Remorse had Come swift upon ach-
ievement. the fans of conscien e were biting sharp-
er than a serpent's. And into her mind crept the lead-
en dull conviction that it was all too late to pity the
man. to regret what had been done. for it surly
was more than an hour since the Viva de la Snp-'rf
had isruLk. In reality it was not ten minutes, but
she could nt correctly judge now of the passage of
Some\ here in the road a motor horn sound'-'d
It honted again, and the sound was familiar, not
to he nlistaken It %as Vivian's iorn. Had Vivian
--.ould she have returned? And why. why? By
this the gate had been opened. the car had pas-dil
into the farm and had stopped at the front eitrai'e
of the house She heard Vivian's voice giving direc-
tions to James.
A oant of paralysis dest.-nded upon the mind of
Mts. Pimnrose. Passively site waited tn see what
would happen next. For the instant she vas d,..-
prived of all deliberate volitinn
"Aunt Gertrude; you gone to bed"'" Vivian's
voice called out to her from the verandah. "I cami.
back. for Mr l- Graham is not so alck that they need
ed me to ?tay all the night with them. She is cer
tain to get better! Aunt Gertrude. you are in your
She managed to make some sort of sound, she
heard Vivian approach the lantern. to take it inside
with her preparatory to lockmine up the house.
"'"Wh is this'? What' Gui.! What you doing
here at think time of night? Gus' Giis! Aunt Ger-
The dull gleam from the lantern had revealed to
Vivian's eyes the recumbent forri of the young man.
She vas calling to him. loudly and more loudly. She
caught sight of the bottle and laass. noticed that her
voice fell upon deaf ears a sudden spasm of rage
and diseust shook the girl. "Aunt Gertrude!" she
called again. "Come here."
.Mrs. Primrose slipped on her shoes and obeyed
the sumni:,ns
"What is it?" she asked hoarsely, but Vivian,
cciupierd with hei effort to awaken Gus. did not
norite her voice or manner.
"Gus is asleep. 1 see he has beeu drinking. help
rme to waken hin up. GC;uI' G;us!"
iMr:. Primros.e became ar\are that Mr. Proud.
leigh was standing hy her side. He was attired a-s
usual. though. ju-t th-n. that circumstance did not
seem peculiar to her, who a couple of hours earlier
had believed he wan in bed. "What's the matter,
Mi-vs V'i?" he aqked. his tones agitated.
"Mr. Steinway is asleep, and I'm trying to waken
him." said Vivian angrily, but also with some alarm,
so deadly inert was Gus. "Hold this lantern for me,
SMr. P.
Mr. Proudlelgh took the lantern and swung it
over Gus's firm; the light fell on the exposed arm.
Vii ian observed a few tiny globules of blood; she
touched then with her finger.
"It looks like blood." she said, puzzled; "he must
have .ut himself. or something bite him."
"It look like a bite. Miss Vi," whispered the old
man: his voice trembled, his eyes were astare with
"That don't matter." said Vi; "what you saying,
Aunt Gertrude"'
Mrs. Primrose was striving to say something,
but the words had difficulty in getting themselves
enunciated. It was Mr. Proudleigh who spoke in-
"Dis bite. Miss 1'i-I don't like it. It may be
anything bite him: de snake..."

"I always 'inking 'bout de snake; you know how
Mister Gus love to play wid dem, and-"
"Great God!"
Snatching the lantern, with a rush Vivian reach-
ed the spot where the snake's box hung; she turned
the wick of the lantern up so that a sudden flare of
light illuminated the scene; she flashed the light on
the box: one glance revealed to her that the lid hung
"The snake is eone!" she cried; "it isn't in the
cage!" She fell on her knees. peering at the tiny
wound on the fleshy part of Gus's forearm. "Aunt

Gertrude, you know about snake bites. Tell me!
What is this?"
"Yes." gasped Mrs. Primrose. "it looks like a
snake has.bitten him."
A piercing shriek rang out. Vivian threw her
hands up in a gesture of despair and sank upon
Cus's body. Her scream brought James, the boy
who had driven her back from Mrs. Grahai's, hurry-
ing to the verandah. It awakened the two other men
who slept in the yard.
But Vivian realized that there was "o thing to
be gained by giving way to grief. Gus was alive,
still alive, even though he might be dying. And he
might yet be saved.
She sprang up. "What to do, Aunt Gertrude,
what to do? They say that if you suck a snake bite
you can get the poison out-" to think of tlhis was to
act on the thought: down she went upon her knees
and lifted the arm to her mouth.
The girl's anguish. the call to action, were hav-
ing their effect upon Mrs. Primrose. The habits of
a lifetime began to assert themsele-s. She had been
dazed, prostrated: a sense of guilt, a hideou- acces-
sion of remorse, the reaction of the hour, had ren-
dered her an all but passive witness of Vivian's dis-
i,''ery; but now her will began to reassert itself.

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once more she felt as she-had always felt when dif-
ficult and dangerous situations had to be encounter-
ed. She drew Vivian's head away from the arm
the girl had seized. "That won't help," she said
quietly: "we must cut out the poison before it go
too far. It is the only way. James, call the other
men in the yard."
"But," tremulously enquired Mr. Proudleigh,
"where is de snake? Ef it bite any of us out here .."
No one paid any attention to the old man's fears.
The other servants hastily summoned by James,
came hurrying half-clothed to the verandah. "Help
me," commanded Mrs. Primrose. pointing to Gus's
inert form, "carry him inside."
She seized the easy chair, motioning the others
to take hold of-it' also; Lifting and dragging, they
hauled it from the verandah into the sitting room,
"My bedroom," panted Vivian, who had aided to re-
move Gus, "into my bedroom; quick!"
Between them they hoisted Gus into the little
iron-and-brass bed, clean and white. "Hurry, Aunt
Gertrude, for God's sake hurry! It may be too late
already," wailed Vivian.
"Get all the lamps," ordered Mrs. Primrose; "I
(c.,a,,ii d ,,f i Pag r f 9)

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TEN native gendarmes. led by a white lieutenant.
all mounted on tough little ponies and literally
"armed to the teeth." broke through the brush and
into the clearing. Joe Travers. who with his partner.
Ed Sweeney. had been trying for two years to turn a
great many acres of wild tropical growth into so
many acres of pineapples, had heard them coming
and was standing expectantly lu the doorway of their
The American lieutenant cantered his horse to
the front porch of the house: but he made no move
to dismount. Horse and rider were alike cov-r'd
with dust and swear. and both seemed wear. With
no otlier greeting than a nod and a tired grin. thi
officer spoke hurriedly.
"You and Sweeney better grab your valuables
and scoot along down to town with us. Joe." he
called. "The rt'os are on the warpath again-
'Death to every white in Haiti' is thi word: and
they're rising from the San Domingo border to St.
Nicholas. The roodoo priests are behind it. of
course, Port au Prince is the only town that is
safe: and we're trying to get all the planters and
their families there before the town is surrounded.
So get Sweeney and corrie along-and hurry. it's a
question of hours."
Travers nodded.
"I've been expecting it for some time." he said.
"Ed was telling me he had trouble with the hands
this morning. "He's down at the spring getting a
bucket of water now.-Here he couies. Hey. Ed!
Ed Sweeney. big-bodied. big-hearted, an ex-Navy
man with thirty years' honourable service to his
credit, plodded into the clearing.
"Afternoon. Loot." he said and he gave a semi-
military salute and put down his bucket of water.
"Thought it was about time for you to show up to
drink some more of our good Scotch. Tie your goat
to a tree and come in."
"Not this time. Bose." said the lieutenant, giving
Sweeney the title he had held in the service.
His fate grew serious, and he hurriedly explain-
ed the reason of his call.
"I knew it." said Sweeney a hen the officer had
finished. "I knew it. I been hearing tomtoms beat-
ing up in the hills for a %et-ck. Anil this morning I
caught a .toar beating it off with a dozen brand-new
machetes from the store house. Had to lay hint out
with a club to get 'em away from him. They be-u
doing a lotta mumbling lately too "
Sweeney stopped and shook his head. then look-
ed inquiringly at his partner
"I kinda hare to lea\e here though." he said
slowly. "Just when the place is beginning ti show
signs of being a paying proposition. Lord knows
what it'll look like after they get through with it.
What do you think, Joe?"
"Looks like we'd be wise to hide out for a while.
Ed." said Travers "Maybe it'll be river in a few
dabs. and they won't have time to do much dam-
He looked sadly at their neat little bungalow.
"Of course they'll tire the house." he added.
"You'll have to leave." said the gendarme officer
quickly. "This looks like it's going to be the hig-
gest uprising we've had. You don't know what you
would be up against if you stayed. Last night we
found old Schoemacher-you knew him; the Dutch-
man from down near Ennery-cru.iired to his owu
front door. His son escaped and got in to Ennery.
Willys' place was burned to the ground early yes-
terday morning. Willys escaped because he had got-
ten too drunk in St. Michael the night before to
get home. You'd be crazy, boys. to stay here."
"I guess you're right." said Sweeney reluctantly.
"We'll go 'long with you--eh. Joe?"
"Righto." said Travers. "You pa<.k. and I'll
warm up the flivver."
Tiavers went round the house to where they
kept their little automobile. Sweeney went into the
house and a moment later could be heard cursing
and throwing things about as he began packing. The
lieutenant walked his horse back to where his silent.
black constabularymen waited at the edge of the
"Say!" Sweeney put his big. grizzled head out of
a window. "How 'hout Jennings. Loot? Why didn't
you get him first and stop for us on the way back?"
"Jennings?" The gendarme officer looked puzzl-
"Sure. Didn't you know about him? Young fel-
low-been here about three weeks-come from the
States-going in for cotton-got his wife and baby
with him. Over that way."
He waved his hand toward the east.
"H'm. Never beard of him."
The officer scratched his head and appeared to
be worried.
"I don't know what the I'm going to do."
he said at length after some meditation. "I've only

ten men. and I've about fifty or sixty people. men.
women and children. to get into Port au Prince. The
men. -i jtrM..e. if they stick together. can take care
of themseFrv-:- .'.-"
"But you can't leave that rma% his wife and
baby out there." said Sweeney trucurerwac- "That
%oull be murder. Ynu can't do that."
"I know it. Bose." said the young lieutenant
quietly. "And that's what I'm worried about. \Ve
have tn get these tamilis to town before we get tut
>ff. These black boys of mine are fighting fools
and faithful to the last whisper. but they're only
good for about ten Ur te apiece. With the planters-
*4ood men too-we'll number about forty-live or fifty
fighting men. If we should run into a thousand or
'i, ai-p every man iouild count "

"Then take your tin soldiers and run along."
growled Sweeney. "Joe and I will look after Jen-
nings "
"That's a good idea. Bose." said the officer short-
ly but not angrily. "I'll give you two men. How far
is Jennings' place?"
"About five hours there, and back."
'(0r' bl Meet us at Ennery-I'll wait as long as
I can for you."
The officer quickly 'detaiTed two of his .men
and gave them their orders in the Creole dialect. In
the act of marching off with his little band he turn-
ed suddenly to Sweeney.
"Say." he called. "'.ou've got a nigger foreman
working for you-havern't you?"
"Yes." aid Swe-eney. puzzled

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Situated in the Love.ly Garden Parish of St. Ann. and
fitted with Electric Light and modern sanitation.

Built on a most commanding site on the hills of St.
Ann. 1.216 feet above sea level, it has an ideal cli-
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Fresh supplies from the Hotel Farm every day.


There is an excellent 9 hole golf course in connec-
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Easily reached from Kingston by motor car or train.
No visitor to Jamaica should lease without spending some time at this hotel.

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"Watch 'im, watch 'im," warned the gendarme.
"Get rid of him. Remember, a nigger's a nigger, and
a vpodoo drum sets 'em all going."
'"How 'bout your boys?" asked Sweeney.
'They're different." said'the young lieutenant.
and he clattered off after his men.
Sweeney called the two negro gendarmes to him.
"Speak English?" he asked.
One of the two, a short, squat. coal-black native,
his face pitted with smallpox scars, nodded.
"Do you know where Mr. Jennings' house is?"
"Yus," said the man.
"You know that the only way of getting there
from here is by a narrow trail through the jungle?
There is no automobile road. You two bring Mr.
Jennings and his people here. From here we'll take
them the rest of the way to Ennery by automobile-
for safety it's got horses beat a mile. I don't think
you'll meet any cacos on the way; they're probably
all collecting in the hills for the raid on Port au
Prince. Savvy?"
"Yus, sir; yus, sir; Oh, yus."
The gendarme rolled his eyes, scratched his head
and looked fearfully off toward the east. He was
afraid, and he made no effort to conceal it.
Sweeney glanced at the sun, which was already
low in the western sky. He knew that it would go
down the last few degrees with a rush, and then,
like the puffing out of a candle, would come the
thick tropic night.
SThe pockmarked negro turned to hi" companion
and began speaking rapidly in the native dialect,
evidently explaining instructions. The other grum-
bled and then shook his head, demurring, aidt
Swpeney caught the name Charlemagne. For years
Charlemagne Massena Peralte, a native above the
average in intelligence, a born leader, had been at
tb- head of all caco uprisings, and no doubt waste the
leader. and the cause, of this one.
"Are you afraid of Charlemagne?" asked Sween-
ey quickly.
i"Nuh-nuh, nuh-nuh." answered the man. "Nub
Me 'traid nobody. Only 'fraidl Voodoo. Voodoo bad."
SHe shook his head.
S"But we go, he added. "Oh, yus, we go. Go
plenty fast."
SThey walked their mount, slowly to the edge of
the clearing, and then. as if determined to throw off
their fear, they spurred their horses and. plunging
into the brush, were soon lost to sight.
SWEENEY, sober and very thoughtful. went around
Sto the rear of the house to where Travers was
filling the little car's tank with gasoline. The ex-
boatswain did not hold the voodoo threat lightly:
and be knew that the f ,ars of the two black gen-
darmes were well founded. Since the wiping out of
the Indians-by, the Spaniards who came with, and
after. Columbus, and the importation by both the
Spanish and French land owners of African slaves
to solve the labour problem, voodooism, or, properly
- speaking, vaudouxism, has been the curse of Haiti.
The creed is of African origin, but there have crept
into it some of the old Indian superstitions and many
of the ceremonies and attributes of Christianity. so
that vaudouxism, in its Haitian form, is one of the
world's unique religions.
Vaudoux, the deity of the vaudouxist. is repre-
sented as a venomless serpent. It is a creed of

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hatred, revenge and debauchery, and under its in-
fluence the natives, their brains on fire with the
fiery drink, ,Iithia. and made bold by the priests'
promises of immunity t'rm harm, will stop at noth-
While the two partners were discussing the sit-
uation there was a cras.kling of twigs being trodden
under foot. and Bim, the negro foreman, came from
the fringe of brush into the clearing. He was a
tall, lathlike man, not a Hairian. but a Barbadian,
a former ship's carpenter who had, while his vessel
was in Port au Prince, run away and found employ-
ment with Sweeney and Travers. e was a middle-
aged man, coffee-coloured, and of a higher grade of
intelligence than the native caco.
Casting apprehensive glances to right and left
and behind hlm. the tall negro came toward them.
His eyes were anxious, but there was a half-angry
set to his chin, and his big, gnarled fists were
"All de niggers is quit, boss," he said to Sween-
ey. "I tol' 'em most explicitly, sah, 'at dey wus to
wo'k to sundown, but dey absolutely refused. sah.
Dey say dey ain't gonna wo'k no moah for nobody."
Bim waited a whil.-. but. his information calling
forth no comments front hii employers. he continued .
"Look to me, boss, lak we wus goin' to hab most
terrible times now, sah. Dem voodoos is out mighty
strong-I sees whole ahmies ob 'em trompin' round
up in de hills. De[y is bad nigger. sah."
"You don't like the voodoo peoples do you, Bim?"
remarked Travers, scrutinizing the negro's counten-
ance for signs of deception.
"No, sah," answered Bim emphatically, but in a
low tone. He glanced cautiously into the surround-
ing jungle. "I don't believe in it-much."
"You went to school in Barbados, didn't you?"
asked Sweeney.
"In Bridgetown. sah. I's a British object."
The two white men laughed.
"Then you." said Travers, "an educated man,
and a British 'object' to hoot. should have more sense
rhan to believe that slop the voodoo doctors hand
"I don' believe it, sah, I don.' But it scahs me,
boss, it scahs me "
Suddenly from the top of a near-by sapodilla
tree came the raucous squawk of a parrakeet. and
Bim jumped into the air and started to run; then
he caught himself and stood trembling and abashed.
Sweeney felt something move at his feet and look-
ed down. A small green snake was sliding acroHs
his shoe. He reached down. caught the reptile be-
hind the head and with a quick jerk flung it into the
"Oh. boss. sab. yuh should' hab done 'at!"
The two white men looked at the negro in
surprise. His whole body was trembling, his face
was gray and his eyes were wide with fright.
"Yuh should' hab done,'at, sah." he repeated.
Travers raised his eyebrows knowingly at
Sweeney, but the latter, not so quick of wit, looked
puzzled. Then at length he roo grasped the reason
for the negro's fright. It was the snake-the ven-
omless serpent held sacred by all true vaudouxmen!
"Hahd luck will most suahly folla youh, sah,"
whispered Bim in a hoarse, unnatural voice.
The partners exchanged glances.

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"You forget that rot." said Sweeney. "I thought
you were an educated -!"
He stopped suddenly and clapped his hand to his
left shoulder
'"Go-ih! What kind of a mosquito was that!" he
He withdrew his hand and held up between his
fingers a sharp-pointed. conical splinter of dark
wood. half an inch lone and a quarter of an inch in
diameter at the bare.
"What do you (all that--'"
"It's a poison dart blown from a blowpipe." cried
Tiavera. Quirk. Ed. into the house!"
With Bim following. Travers pushed the ex-sailor
lead of him into the house. There was a spot of
red as big as a dime on Sweeney's left shoulder
where the dart had pricked him through the tough
khaki of his toat.
THE sun plunged below the horizon, and the sky
darkened and darkened: and then it was night.
A parrakeet screeched. and another: a dove called
and was answered: monkeys Ihattered and filled the
jungle with their insane laughter as they swung
from limb to limb. and all the wild jungle creatures
who love the darkness came to life.







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PHONE 757.



From somewhere far oft in the hills came the
sound of a horn. a long-drawn-out, dismal wail. and
as it died there came from several points the beat
of tomtonLs,. toekinu out the soft. weird cadence
of the bohneht'alur. 'Death-death death. death-death
death." the tomtoms sang: and throughout Hispani-
ola hearts were tilled with fear of Vaudoux. the mys-
lerious deity who stalks in the darkness. in the night
Even the wild things. it seemed, stopped to listen:
only the breeze freshening with tih fall of darkness.
moaned on through the trees
Sweeney's wound had been cauterized with a
knife blade heated red-hot in a charcoal stove and
bathed liberally with iodine: but for two long hours
he lay in a coma. The dart had been dipped in some
powerful poison---the rvio.i are arch-poisoners-- and
only the poor aim of the unseen marksman and the
toughness of the khaki coar. hadl saved the sailor
from a sure death. At length his breathing became
easier and more regular, and he opened his eyes. hut
when he attempt-d to move he found that one ide
of his body. the left. was numb. paralyzed.
"it's only a temporary numbnesss" said Tiavers
reassuringly. "You'll be all right in a few hours.
We'll just wait here until the gendarmes return with
Ihe Jennineses. and then we'll run out the car and
make a dash for it "
"If they get here." said Sweeney doubtfully.
'I'm thinking of that too. but what more can
we do? You're not fit to travel and the rest will do
you good. It would Ibe suicide for you to try to
travel without a couple of hours' resi-you're as
weak as a kitten. And I couldn't leave you here
alone-or with--"
He looked speculatively at Rim. -who had his
back turned toarld them. and shook hIls head.
While they waited Travers and Bim did whar
they could to fortify the cottage. The windows were
closed with heavy wooden shutters. the door was,
shut and barred, and loaded weapons were plated
upon the table for immediate use.
Sweeney's worn Navy-type Codlt were loaded and
placed within reach of his, right hand Travers'
favourite was a heavy, blai.k automatic, which hb
slung holstered from his belt
Biln's weapon was a stranee anti a fearsome nnr-:
a huge simitar-like machete. half again as long as
the ordinary cane knife and muth broader of blade.
Neither of the partners had ever seen sut h a weapon
before, and they were surprised when Bin brought
it from the small room whi h he occupied in the
rear of the house.
Bim was only a few centuries removed from sav-
agery himself, and the eeriness of the night was ex-

erring a powerful retroactive influence upon his half-
civilied mind. He stood in tile rentei of tie floor.
balancing his wickel blade and swinging it viciously
in whistling half-circles from side to side. Gone was
hi, "education." gone was tihe thin veneer of civiliza-
tion. gone was the learning of which he had been so
proud, he was- now merely a savage with a shining
blad.-. a blade lich. on Bint's own little hurricane-
swept isle. had a history. Bim was now no higher
intellectually than the lowest iqto: he was mure -a\-
ag,-. more fearsome. more nearly fearless. more re-
He sat down in a corner and began polishing
his blade. polishing andl sharpening, and crooning
the while to himself a .strange. wild chant An'ce.-
tors of thirty generations ill tile past. called to life
by the nmtnotonous beating of tile drums, were whits-
pering in his ears.
An hour dragged nut-another, anti yet another:
thle fiAe hours allo edl for rle gendarmes ti return
passed wearily. andi still there was, no sign of them.
From without cani i only the eternal Intkiing of the
vaudoux tlrujni and the droning of the wind: %within.
talk hald long since languihed. and there was only
the rubbing of pumice against steel, and the i roon-
ins of Bim When the better part of the sixth hour
had passed Travers. unable trl stand longer the strain
of passive waiting. sta'rtr-d to his feet.
"I'm thinking of Jennings." he said. pacing ner-
vously back ani forth. "and hia, wife and baby Some-
thing has gone wrong. or they would be here by this
time. If those fiends from the hills should get them

"I know. I know." said Sweeney. "Gosh! Let
me get up out of here. and we'll go after them "
He .strained from side to side of his chair. then
raised himself slowly and painfully to his feet He
swayed weakly. staggered anti slid into Traver.' wait
ing arms
"Can't make it. Joe." he -aid. "'.an'r make it."
He swore softly. and then
"'YYu go. Joe." he said. "I could never make it
,n Ilor.-eback--yot go alone. I'll wait here for you
-w ith the- car '
Travers mot.ined inquiringly toward Bim.
'Leave him here." growled Sweeney. lowerin
himself with Travers' aid into his chair. "If he is
with us he'll be a handy man to have around, if he
is with the n.,',--" Sweeney picked up one of his
big Colts and balanced it lovingly in his hand-"well.
when you get back there won't he anything left of
him but a rim. I wasn't nine years on the best re-

vulver team the Navy ever turned out for nothing.
Don't worry about me."
Travers buckled on another automatic, took two
extra clips of cartridges and slipped out of the door.
He saddled one if lit two horses stabled in the rear
of the house anti was away on the narrow, winding
trail that lel to the Jennings' plantation.
He rode rapidly, keeping his body low in the
-addle and leaving the following of the trail to the
intelligent little horse. The trail was devious and
irregular. winding in and out through the darkness
tf the jungle. at times almost closed by the low-
spreading trees and dense tropical growth; and there
was at least one sitieam. a wide one but shallow. to
be cei'nOed.
It took a .stout heart to venture into that sombre
forest at night in time of peace. doubly so now that
all the land was filled with the threat of vaudous.
Still the young planter. his jaw hard and square and
his gray eyes *ue-tioining every tree. every shadow,
every wind-blown leaf. pressed on into the heart of
it. And the wii-.. mongebrel-d little horse kept to
the trall better than any thoroughbred could have
At length he came out of the thick of the jungle
and on to the low liank of the shallow stream. A
thin crescent of yelloww mo.on was in the eastern sky.
and the banks of the stream were dimly lighted.
The pony cantered briskly toward the ford. but
suddenly. almost at tile water's edge, he threw up
his head and almost sat back upon his haunches. And
Travers. although almost thrown from the saddle.
managed som-hlow to brine one automatic to bear on
a form lying proine on the around before them.
ltin, noii" he called hoarsely, his heart beating
a wild ratoo against hi-s ribs.
No answer.
"'l-,ri noIr ."
The form still lay ilent and motionless.
With hib weapon to th.-t fore and his finger ready
ou thce trigger. lie bent low in the saddle. By the
pale moonlight he could see a khaki-clad. Sam
Browne-belted mai. a black man. lying awkwardly
on hit side v. ith trite armt t wished beneath his body.
At one fide lay a Badli3nPowell hat with a black iron
device attrahedd t t he leather band
Tiaterls .-lii flonr his lior.se and approached cau-
tiously He turned the man over. accidentally brush-
inc his hand across the lbla k face as lie did so. He
*;narted bark gasping It was the native gendarme.
the pockmarked one. -tiff and iold. and with a slen-
d.l-r reed shaft, a lan e. buried in his throat! The
Ihlark trooper. faithful to the last. knowing his dang-
er better than did anyone ele. had been murdered.


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SThe Bltmore

107 Harbour St.

- Kingston.

Jamaica's Leading and XCost
Up-to-date Hair Dressing and
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Ji Rendezvousfor Ladies and


Courtesy, Service and J4ttention.

High ('lass Toilet Requisites. Perfunmery.
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6he House of Issa!

F OUNDED in the year 1894, E. A. Issa
& Bros. have had one long unbroken
record of achievement in the Wholesale
Dry Goods trade! By consistently adher-
ing to the original policy of the Organiza-
tion. namely. Best Qualities-Low Prices--
Courtesy and Liberal Terms, E. A. Issa
& Bros. have been able to maintain a repu-
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by any other concern!
All importations from the best markets
abroad, are made on a STRICTLY CASH
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made from the "HOUSE OF ISSA" are in-
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ING -Merchandise, the "HOUSE OF ISSA"
is the Storekeeper's BEST FRIEND!

153-157 Harbour Street, Kingston.


L IH^^ B~ H flfPO P
^tuM ~faHBMninfm

- ~I L



His companion? Perhap- he lay somewhere at
the hottorn uf that stream of water flowing so se-
renely down to the Bay of ;Gonave.
Travers looked apprehensively into the shadows
of the jungle at his back. A wave of cold anger, not
unmixed with fear. swept over him. He climbed
upon his mount and forced his horse into the slug-
gish water As hi. hrse clambered up the other bank
Travers glanced over hi- shoulder down stream.
Somewhere around the bend of the stream a planter's
house, or possibly a native aille, or a number of
them. had been tired. and the under sides of the
low clouded. sailing off toward the southwest were
tinted pink. He plunged again into the murk of the
N TEN minutes lie came out on to a stretch of
land partially ,lhar of pro \th; and the little scrub
horne elad t.) be at last free of the tortuous trail
he had been travelline. swept out upon it like a
racer. Five hundred yards ahead tie Jennings' house
stood outt against tihe gray ,-ky.
Tlier.e was a ztiddrjill tieak of flame from the
house ahead. and rn tnp of it came another. and the
drone of a clos.epa...ing bullet. then aani ii- sound
of the shots Trav'e :iselled a "Hullo" with all his
power. throwing hini;telf at the same time from his
horse ti the ground. where he lay flat. There was
no answer. andt he liftd himself upon his elbows and,
cupping hii hands. called again.
This tine ithire was an answering hail, and a
light l arEl up behind an i-pen window as if a lamp
haid been lighted. Travers arose to his feet, caught
his horse. by the bridle and trotted beside him to
the door. waving his arms and keeping up his cries
of friendship as he ran.
Jenninne. a pale fared % ity man. a lean stripline
with gio.l eyes. a pound chin and an aearessive. aqui-
line nose. met him at the door with a repeating Win-
rhester. Mrs Ji-innigs. brave-eyed, a flaxen-haired
child held right in her arms peered anxiously over
her Ihusbatil'.s shoulder.
The Jenning-t-s had not known Travers, but
they werr- friends with th- bluff, jovial Sweeney; be-
sides in that wildl land anti in those stirring times,
all white, w-ere hrolhers and sisters.
Explanations came huriLedly. The Jennings
house- had been attat ked by .a and of cacos, a small
band. andl they lhad been repulsed; but Jennings ex-
pected them back at any moment with reinforce-
ments The. house wa- a mall one, frailly built, not
nearly so strong as Travers'. and hard to fortify, and
Jennings had grave dinuht. that even with Travers'
aid they iiuldi withl.-tanld another assault.
In addition, and most serious of all, their am-
munition nwa almost exhausted; only a few rounds
remained for the W\in hert.er. and just five cartridges,
already in the chambers. f-.r the small, nickel-plated
revolver whihh Mr.. Jennings carried in the p-ok.-t
of her skirt
To .tay would be hirpeless, so Jennings readily
agreed when Travers advised that they make a dash
to the stronger and better fortified house. Once
there they tould, if it seemed feasible or advisable.
make an attempt to reach Ennery in the atitoniobile.
At the worst. once they reached Travers' house they
would be much better off than here
Jennings had only one horse, a wiry little hill
pon.. which Inked as if it might be a twin to thel
Sone belonging to Travers. and he brought it around
to the front of the hou.e anti began saddling while
Travers was sparinely waterine his own animal. The
horses would have to tartr. double-Jennings and his
wife on one. and Travers with the little girl on the
Soon the) were off acrnss the stretch of open,
moon-lit ground They pasedi through the first fringe
of jungle and forded the stream without interference;
then they sent their horses into the denser growth of
the forest ahead of them. Travers, the child half
asleep in his arms. ledi the way.
The %audoux drums had ceased; the looking,
(ame no more. but the threat of the night seemed
more .olmnou, for its ab-ence The slender moon
was now almost overhead., bt its rays penetrated but
faintly into the think. intertwining growth. Even
the wild things, as if anti ipating the coming dawn.
had silenced: only here and there a creaking limb
the rustle of leave.-. a flutter of wings.
They weret almost at thei- edge of the clearing,
and hope was mounting high in Travers' breast,
when things began to happen. They were making a
short. intricate turn which necessitated bringing
their horses to a walk. and Travers, after ailingg
back a warning, had lowered his head to escape a
low-hangine branch.
There was a flight jar as a form dropped cat-
like from the tree overhead to the back of his horse.
A strong arm circled his neck from behind, and he
found himself being twisted with his precious burden
to the ground. He struggled mightily, holding firm-
ly to the child with one hand and trying to loosen
hi s assailant stranele-hold with the other; but the
odds were too great, and he felt himself succumbing.
It was Jennings. the city man. the pale-faced
stripling, who decided the unequal struggle. His
rile rose and fell. ani the butt. crashing against the
attacker's head. sent him headlong to the earth.
A shadow rose up before then, and Travers fired
at the centre of it. His horse leaped over the fallen

body, cleared the turn and galloped for the clearing
with the other animal close on his heels.
A man sprang from the side of the trail and
grasped at the bridle, but went down beneath the
pawing hoofs. Another followed. and a mabhette
swept upward, stopping only when it bit deep in
yielding flesh; and then the brave little scrub horse
too went down, its throat cleanly cut, drenching the
earth with blood as it crashed to the ground.
More by good luck than judgment Travers sprang
clear, and as the other horse snept by in spite of the
rider's efforts to rein up, he flung the babe into its
father's arms.
"Run for it!" he screamed. "The house is
straight ahead. I'm all right."
As the pony passed he dug it fiercely in the ribs
with his pistol to spur it on.
Then he was alone with the dancing black shad-
ows which were closing in on all sides. An auto-
matic in each hand, he began firing into the thirk
of thcim. again and again, as fast as his finger could
pull the trigger, and as tley-.fell away he advan.:ed.
He fittight his way to the edge of the forest and
bioke thr-ulh into the clearing. He was not fifty
yards fiom the lioujc. which loomed laree in the
gray morning mist.
Thrn he slipped and stumbled, and a ma.'hette-
tmi ni .kld his forehead and sent the blood streaming
down into his eyes. The gray of the morning I.hang-
ed to red; he went to his knees, firing blindly at the
dancing shadows.
His weapons clicked on empty chambers, and
he clubbed weakly with the last ounce of his ttre-ngth
at a tall, lath-like form which stood over him, in his
hand a shining blade. He fell prone and lay there,
awaiting the death-blow with tight-closed eyes.
THE blow did not come. He looked up. The tall
form was still there, and the long blade was
swinging from side to side in great arcs, whistling as
it cut through the air, and at each swing downing a
man. Still vaudouxists, crazed by an all-night riot
of superstition and taffia, came from the jungle, only,
each in his turn, to fall victim to that sweeping
Travers became aware that there was also shoot-
ing at regular intervals, as if by an experienced
marksman who wastes no cartridges, from the house.
The crowd of assailants plunc-d in a last desper-
ate attempt to overcome the wielder of the long,
gleaming knife. The tall figure bent low but gave
not an inch, and the bea'? blade, now red, swung
tirelessly. The shooting from the house became more
hurried; and it was joined by a sharper-toned wea-
pon, a rifle, the latter coming rapidly nearer. There
was also the popping of what might have been a toy
The mass of attackers began to fall away, slowly
at first; then, as the rifle began streaking fire into
their faces, they went faster. The long blade licked
out at them, as if having not yet drunk its fill, and
they fled wildly into the fastness of the forest.
A score of troopers came galloping up the road
from Ennery. They were pursuing a remnant of the
caco "army," which the night before had been de-
cisively defeated on the outskirts of Port au Prince.
They left the road and thundered into the clearing.
There they one and all pulled up in surprise at the
scene which confronted them.
First, there was a youngish, sandy-haired man
who sat on the ground between two heavy automatic
pistols. He was dishevelled, and his face was covered
with blood; but he was grinning as he wiped his eyes
with the end of his sleeve.
Over him stood a tall, lath-like black man, also
grinning and wiping reverently at a shining blade
with a handful of grass. Near them, a steaming Win-
chester in his hand. stood a lean, pale-faced man with
a fighting nose.
On the porch, seated comfortably in a big arm
chair, a big, black Navy-type Colt revolver in his
hand and another in his lap, was a gray-haired, red-
faced, middle-aged man. On the floor, between the
red-faced man's feet, sat a curly-haired child, a girl,
laughing and playfully gathering up the empty, still-
warm shells.
At the bottom of the porch stairs stood a young
woman, firm of chin, brave of eye, a tiny nickel-plated
revolver, still smoking, gripped firmly in her hand.
Almost at her feet lay a cruel-visaged (, r--ldead.
Scattered here and there about the clearing, particu-
larly about the tall negro wiping his blade, were
hnll s
The tall negro was speaking in a calm voice to
the white man on the ground at his feet.
"An' I tol' 'em mos' explicit, sah, 'at dey wus
to wo'k to sundown, but dey laughed at me, sah.
Dey laughed at me, at Bim, who is a big man in 'is
own country. Now I am revenged, sah."
The white lieutenant, not the one who had called
the previous day, came forward.
"I heard the shots," he said vaguely.
"Er-need any help?"
Travers looked up. He looked at his partner on
the porch; at Jennings; at Mrs. Jennings; at the
baby gathering up the empty shells. He looked at
Bim, not Bim the savage, but Bim the "educated",
one, the British "object," the man. He looked at the
lieutenant and shook his head.
"No, Loot." came Sweeney's jovial bass,: "we
don't need any help. Do you?"



are annoying necessities, but

they are sometimes inevitable.
At least-see that when they do
have to be faced they are done


Efficiency, Economy, and Rapidity



Will Tell You

What the trouble is
What it will cost to repair
and when it will be finished.

What We Do

Guarantee every job we.do,
Keep our promise on time.
Give an estimate before com-
mencing work and do not ex-
ceed that figure--nor our in-

Keep Our Charges Low

Our shop is equipped with every

modern device under proper


We Invite Inspection and Welcome

Constructive Criticism.

We Solicit Your Patronage.






The Recognised

Headquarters for







and by remembering Form the Habit of Asking for-

1. FORD MOTOR CARS: The cars which made
motoring popular. Wait and see the new model.
More popular than the first.
2. FORD MOTOR TRUCKS: The trucks universally
used in Jamaica, and best suited to the needs of the
island, both for the large and small man.
3. ROYIAL CORD TIRES: Tyres which give entire
satisfaction to all.
4. G. and J. HE.-Al'Y SERIICE TYRES: The best in
the island for all heavy work.
5. ROY'AL TUBES: Inner Tubes which are always re-

price but always give good service.

Moderate in

Always ensure

8. CH.-MPIOX SP.ARK PLUGS: The Plugs which
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9. THE LINCOLN MOTOR CARS: America's best.
10. That you are sure of a square deal from us, and that
our goods are guaranteed.
11. That all enquiries receive the same careful considera-
tion. whether they be for small or large orders.

Habits Once Formed Are Not Easily Broken Off,
3o Form The Good Habit of Always Coming To Ihe


34-38 Church Street -


Kingston, Jamaica

For all your motoring requirements,
including Repairs




i-~ .- l "" -i -;- --i- --lm -ii
,-------------------------------------------------------------------------I ,



IAl -- ii .... $.



The Sins of the Children
I '(utinued flrri'a Page 'S).
hav-e only a ,harp pocket knife, but it must do. We
can't wait for anything better."
She ran out of the room and returned with the
knif.., the blade shining in the light of the lamps
and lanterns. She directed the frightened meni as
to what they should do the.\ gripped Gus by the
body andi arm -o as to prevent any violent movement
on his part should pain suddenly recall him to his
sens'-s Mll Primrose wasted no more time. With
a quick movement she stabbed slantingly at the flesh,
at some distance from the wound, while the blood
spurtdil out andi trained her dress and that of Vivian
who. from the opposite side, bent over, pressing her
weight against Gus to prevent him from making any
The stabbing pain of the incision, the agony of
the repeated wounds, brought Gus back to conscious-
nes.-, he uttered a cry, his eyes opened, a puzzled,
startled expressann in them; involuntarily he strove
to pull hik arm away from that strange sting and
throh ft' phy.,iial anguish that had drawn him out
of ith- darkne.-ss of drunkenness. He stammered some
words. h- was far from being sober yet.
Vivian. her eyes streaming tears, buf not forget-
ful for an in..ant of the imperative need of this hor-
rible butc.her's work, leaned her face close to his.
"Don't move. me darling," she implored. "don't
mon-i It i an operation. Gails. my love. my heart,
lie still T-h snake bit you. the poison snake Aunt
Gertriude will ctre you, but-shh--lsh' -li,. darling.
don'i Fiiau ou- Oh, my God, my God!"
The .vymun man mohned, then (li.-ed his eyes
again: tile blui.d i a s-ti.-amine out the w. und. sat
uratinc the bedl. dabblin iti l theclothi otf he w-Nmen.
It looked as though Gua mutt bileel to dtath
"What abiiut a doctor, Aunt Gertrude?" cried
Vivian: "'we shouldd have sent for-one already! James,
take the e.ar: drive full speed to Dr. 'athenrss. and
brin- him at once. Tell him it is life or tieah. and
not a nimmenit toI lo-e. Quick James; you can let go
Mr. Steinway now. He is bleeding to death'
James dslvappeared. intent upon his errand; Mrs.
Prinirr,-e pull.-d off the gla-s shade of one of the
lamp- and Iteirl her knife hladie t-, the flanmc:-. She
had alrcvaly sec:ured an undergarment >if Vivian's.
whii:h she had ripped into three or four ionug trips.
Vivian watched her with terror-stri,-ke.n eyes Rut
M.rs. Primrose was now quite calm outwardly: she
had seen this thing done more than one before, and
she knew just what to do.
'Holl him." she said, "and hold him fast. I
think he has ble long enough now" But she wait-
ed a little lhner. giving the wound a chance to bleed
still nmrre- The bed looked like a shambles.
Sh- n\ip~e the heated blade on a clean bit of
cloth. andi tlhe- mell of burning and a tiny cloud
of imoke ari:'oe. She approac:hlid tue bed, and Vivian
closedd her eyes
Shi paisedl the heated metal swiftly over the
wound. Fronu the seared flesh a pungent odour, the
scent of burning flesh, pervaded the room.
Thc xqui-.ite torture of the heated knife snatih-i
ed Gu- oncee again from his unconsciousness; he cried
and struggled. but once more he heard Vivian's voice
imploring hini. for his own sake, for hers, to endure
the pain in pat -nce; it would soon be over, she assur-
ed him. was already over, and then all danger would
be pais eJ. And as she soothed and pleaded she
fougi with her own inclination to scream and
stream until further sound or feeling was impossible.
Hin surf'-ring rent her heart, his danger terrified her.
When lie became unconscious aealn, she murmured
hel thankfulnr.ss for that. The wound. cauterised,
had now ceased to bleed profusely. Mrs. Primrose
dabbed the injured arm with Condy's Fluid, which
she always kept in the house, and wrapped it round
with a iloth upon which the Condy's Fluid had also
been poured.
"It is all we can do," she said, sinking down,
tired anl broken, upon a chair. "He won't die if
we were in time "
SIf? But suppose, suppose-" sobbed Vivian.
' lWhat's the hour now?" asked Mrs. Primrose, in
a toneless \.l ol,'
"Half-past ten, ma'am," replied Mr. Proudileihb.
glanr;na at the little clock on Vivian's dressing table.
"Only that' I thought it was later."
Not an hour since the snake had struck at Gus
Steinway with its fangs. Yet how long ago it had
seeded ti her. Not an hour! Then it was likely he
would live. unless blood-poisoning should set in, due
to germ-. Well. there was no way of avoiding that
before the doctor came.
Not an hour. He might live. he probably would
live. Something whispered in her ear that, in such
an event. the stain of murder would not be on her
Silently the tears trickled down her cheeks.
Vivian, seeing them, believed that her aunt was weep-
ing out of sympathy with Gus and his sad predica-
ment. "Thank God you were here and knew what
to do. Aunt Gertrude," she muttered through her sobs,
"if it wasn't for you, Gus might be dead by now."


DR. CATHENESS was no expert in treating pa-
tients who had been bitten by poi',notus snakes;
but he unwrapped the banlda;;-, on Gus's arn, wash-
E ed the wound again with Condv'I Fuid, put on some
ermollient. bound up the arm, and said that the in-
jured man must be kept perfectly quiet. He con-
sented to remain for a couple of hours; when he
left, at nearly two o'clock in the morning, he not only
promised to return, but also to acquaint Mr. Stein-
way's father with what had occurred.
Neither for Vi nor for her aunt was there to be
any sleep that night. Both of them prepared for the
long vigil which was to end either with the death of
the unconscious man or his definite turn towards re-
covery. Both of them had changed their blood-stain-
ed clothes, and sat in the room, Mrs. Prinmrose think-
ing tho.iudht. she would not dare to express, Vivian
watching the sick man's face with a look in which
there was a passionate prayer.
After the doctor's coming, Mr. Proucle-ieh had
stolen to his room. The doctor had asked a few ques-
tion-.. Mr. Pruurlleigh had mentioned that Mr. Stein-
v.ay iwa in the habit of teasing Mrs. Primrose's for-
mrer pet and had him-ellf brought this venomous rep-
tile hfim NO:-aragia. That Gus had been drinking
was all too obl'ietius. The con lusion was exactly
what Mre Primrose had foreseen it would be.
Yet, as she sat in tih roomthining. while Gus
Steinway hung between life and death, with no one
able to say what the issue would be, it came to her
mind that Mr Pr,,urll-ieh knew or guessed more than
he had nmrniionec-. He had be-n iuii.k to e-iner-ge out
of his iI.on: lie it w\as who had .uggertp d that thp-
snake might have bitten Gus St -inway--ihe thank--t
God now that he hid lone so-but how was it that
he hatl thought .f that.' There had been-she re-
ni_ mi'r-il. a slight noi-.e in the yard when-. HaIl
Pr.iuil-. i&'h --i-t her? Had he been a witness of that
ron;d. rerrlll hi, died ief hers?
And while she thought thus, and wondered, the old
man was turning over -onm questions in his mind
He was -desperately frilhrt'-uiil. It was a wRnimu's
form that he had seen on the verandah a few hours
before, and there was only one woman who could be
there just then. More, he knew the riHer-. -even
hlhi.cl-h it had loomed vague and indistinct. It had
r:i.'.-d from one part of the verandah to the other,
from where the snake was kept to where Gus Stein-
way lay. had moved silently and had stood over
youn. Steinway for a minute or so. Ho'- had wonder-
.-il w-hy., with his usual curiosity; then had come
Vivian's sudden arn I al. her discovery of Gus, her im-
pati-nt exclamation, and his prying instinct and a
feeling of uneasiness had forced him upon the ~crienr.
He had noticed the blood, the oozing from the wound.
and fear of the snake, never absent front his itilild,
had caused him to think of it immediately--fear, and
a persistent questioning in his mind as to why Mrs.
Primrose had been standing so silently over the young
.ent l-in tman.
What did it all mean? He would not dare to
think that she had set the snake upon Mr. Steinway;
he refused to allow his mind to dwell upon such a
possibility. It frightened him. That meant-well,
one thing it would mean was trouble for him should
he even hint a suspicion of such a thing. He had
seen very little and he had had no right to be in

the yard at all. He had pretended to have gone to'
bed. What if anyone should say that he it was who
had let loose the snake on Mr. Steinway? The im-
poisibility of anyone who knew him advancing such
a suggestion did not occur to him; he rather felt
that he. being a poor man, would be thought capable
of any sort of crime. The one thing to do was to
keep his mouth shut about his nocturnal rambles.
The very thought of an examining criminal prose-
cutor threw him into a sweat of apprehension. He
felt de-spe'rately old and forlorn. He was an aged
man. As soon as he possibly could he must return
to Kingston, to live in quietness and peace, strictly
minding his own business, until it should please the
Lord to call him home; and he was convinced, judg-
ing by his present feelings. that that call would not
now be long in coming.
The night dragged through, the darkness gave
place to early dawn, the skies flushed into pink and
orange and the uorld awoke once more. And with
the dawn (Gus eamrn to life, waking suddenly with a
cry which brought Vivian swiftly to his side.
In his eyes was a look of confusion and pain;
he was not clear as to where he was or what had
happened; the wound in his arm hurt keenly, his
brain was still somewhat dazed with the liquor he
had drunk the ii)ehr before; the loss of blood had
weakened him; perhaps some of the poison was
also uorkine it- way through his system.
But he knew Vivian, and felt safer than if
he had round himself among strangers. "What is
it?" he asked in a low voice.
"Listen!" she said quietly and distinctly. "Last
night thel snake g',t away and bit you on your arm."
His eyelids flickered.
"Then I am ,i.'jn." he whispered.
'"i-:ol follid' No; Aunt Gertrude knew what to
do; it wasn't one- of those snakes that kill you at
,on.e. and it' you r,-main very quiet you will get bet-
ter-. We lIt out the bad blood last night: don't youth
rtn-emniber now, Gus?"
He nodded affirmation; he recollected so meeting
Of a scene which seemed to have occurred s.,mine time
hb firI
"But you will have to be very quiet, and you
mustn't talk. You are all right now, dear." She
,loik,-,l anxiously at hik fa.'~ and hands as she spoke,
as she haId Ilne a hundreil times during the long,
heart-breakling njiht The-re were no ominous drops
of blood oozing throiih t-he skin's pores, and that
slihoiiwe. hei aunt hadl tril her, that the poison had
been drawn off by the blood-letting. It was not
breaking down the veins and arteries, he was not
bleeding to death. One could not yet be absolutely
certain; some hours more must pass before doubt
could give place to assurance. But the signs
were not unfavourable. And Gus was strongly
built, young, and such vitality as was his might
make him conquer in this silent struggle with death.
Vivian held some milk to his lips; he closed his
eyes, indicating that he wished nothing. She itn-
sisted. "You must do what we tell you," she pleaded;
"I wouldn't ask you to do anything except for your
own good. You know that, don't you?" He smiled
slightly and sipped at the milk. She saw the smile
and drew from it a happy augury.
All the night she had been awake, but excitement
and solicitude sustained her; even now she was not
conscious of weariness. She had not thought of what




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- ------------------ ---------- ------------- ---- ------------------------------J




might happen in the morning; but now that the
morning was come she remembered the doctor had
said he would inform Gus's father of what had
occurred. and with this thought she experienced
suddenly a constriction of heart and throat, with it
there forced itself upon her a realisation that this
was indeed a crisis in her life, for she could not
doubt that old Mr. Steinway would shortly be there,
and perhaps his wife and elder son, and-and Gus
was lying ill in her room and on her bed! They--
what would they say. or do? How would they treat
her? What des isionl w.uld they arrive at with regard
to Gus?
His eyes were closed, he was very still; she
was certain he would make no dangerous movement.
She moved quietly to her dre--ing table, glanced at
her face and figure in the mirror there, and quickly
began to comb her dishevelled hair and arrange her
dress. They should not say that she was slatternly,
a nobody of no appearance, a common sort of girl.
They might accuse her of being the cause of Gus's
predicament, of the danger in which he was; but at
least they should have no reason to think that she
was some ordinary kind of young woman who had
clung to him for what she could get out of him. She
would look her best, and speak her best if she had
to say anything; and the house must be set in order,
too, before they arrived. The bedroom she would
arraugf- her-elf. She left it soft-footed for a moment,



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Shares in local Companies
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local Inscribed Stock, loans
made on approved security.

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16 O(rAN(.; STREET, KINi-;ST(N.


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55 West Street,



called to her aunt and whispered a word or two in
her ear, which was sufficient, for Mrs. Primrose at
once gave the necessary orders to a servant. The
whole household was up now and moving about,
those who lived in the yard keeping a sharp look-out
for the dangerous snake that had escaped.
But that terror ceased to plague them in another
few minutes. It was discovered dead not thirty yards
away from the house. Mrs. Primrose had been sure
that some such fate would befall it. There were too
many nigo.nr -.- about for any snake to have the
slightest' .hanm. of life away from the protection of
a cage.
It was.six o'clock when Mr. Steinway's car drove
into the farm. and with it came another, that of Dr.
Cathenes.. The dointor had hesitated, on leaving
Mrs. Primrose's house the night before, as to whether
he hourild piro eed at once to Mr. Steinway's with the
news of what had befallen Gus. On the whole he
had felt that Gus was likely to live through the
nchrlt. he had been assured by Mrs. Primrs-se- that
people bitten by the Viva de la Sangre usually lived
some twenty-four hours after, even if the bite were
fatal. He saw that nothing could be caiei-d by bring-
ing the young man's people to him at night; he had
decided that the wisest thing to do was to wait until
the morning. But it was still dark when he hinis-1lf
called at Barnstaple and put Gus's condition very
clearly before his parents. Mrs. Steinway fainted
on hearing the news. Mr. Steinway acted with char-
acteristic energy and decision.
He at once despatched Robert to Kingston to
bring down immediately, if it were at all possible,
the Government bacteriologist, a very clever doctor
who would know ,:, m,-thine about these cases. Robert
was also to engage two skilled nurses. These and
the doctor-if the latter came-were to go straight
to Mrs. Primrose's place. He proposed to go there
himself. Mrs. Steinway, who had been quickly res-
tored by Dr. Catheness, insisted on accompanying her
husband; "the boy might die at any moment," she
moaned, "and how would I feel if I never saw him
alive again?"
And now they were come, the doctor, the father
and the mother. Dr. Catheness led both into the
sitting room.
Mrs. Primrose was waiting to receive them, a
silent self-possessed woman who bowed slightly
when Dr. Catheness murmured the name of the lady
and gentleman with him, and motioned to two chairs.
Mrs. Steinway sank into one, her husband preferred
to remain standing. The doctor said he would like
to see the patient alone, and passed into the room,
where Vivian was awaiting him.
'In about five minutes, bidden by the doctor, Viv-
ian came out and, speaking to her aunt, said that
the doctor thought Mr. and Mrs. Steinway could go
in to see their son, but they must be very quiet and
must take care not to excite him.
Mrs. Steinway knew at once that this was the
girl whose name had been coupled with that of Gus;
Mr. Steinway looked with one piercing glance at the
young woman about whom Gus had been making ra-
ther a fool of himself--though that was ended now,
he decided. Vivian stood there, trembling inwardly
but outwardly composed, signs of fatigue plainly
visible in her eyes and in the drawn lines about her
mouth, clothed in clean white, modest-looking,
not at all like the fast hussy that Mrs. Steinway had
imagined her to be. The picture of Vivian which
Mrs. Steinway had drawn in her mind was very diff-
erent from the reality before her, but that made no
difference to her feeling for Vivian. There was no
good word to be said for this girl; if the boy were
to die, the fault would be hers. Vivian realized the
dislike with which Mrs. Steinway eyed her for one
swift moment. But Mrs. Steinway was a lady, and
beyond that imnllr-allle emanation of feminine de-
testation, jealousy, and class antagonism, there was
nothing in her attitude that could be considered as
deliberately insulting. She realized that she was, in
a manner of speaking, an intruder in this house, and
that she must be polite in manner as well as in
words. But her words would be extremely few. She
had nothing to say to these people.
Mother and father passed into the room, leaving
aunt and niece outside. Mrs. Primrose looked heavily
at Vivian, her glance laden with misery, but in
which there was also compassion for the girl. It
came to both of them at once that this coming of Mr.
and Mrs. Steinway to their home, and the grim cir-
cumstance that had brought them thither, signalled
the termination of that friendship between Gus and
Vivian that had so often been threatened, had been
so precarious, had given rise to so much chattering
and innuendo, and had led to this painful and almost
tragic situation. If Gus recovered-and both women
now believed he would-it could not be the same with
Vivian and him as it -had been before. At last his
people had been forced to take open cognisance of
their friendship and for pride's sake alone would
exert themselves to break it. And Gus Steinway
could be influenced. They both felt that. So this
was likely to be the end.
"And the best tliing." thought Mrs. Primrose; "it
is perhaps God's way of ending it." Yet her feeling
in regard to this relationship which she had so hated
and detested had softened somewhat since last night.
Dull, consuming, corroding anger had given place to




In P-i.lion .S'tr.--t rather ha- Irec:ntlv hieeln erected
a :ive story .,'lililing of r'e-inforc ed icor ro-te At the
moment that this atic.le i. being written that build-
ing is not yet complete-il Iut if one takes a ualk in-
side ,t it one Aill lind there mai-hine-ry for .enerai-
ing pcr% -r. nma.'hin- ry for refrigerating purpo:-e-. hieIe
vats on the first. eecondl ani third -tories. anil an in-
sulatiedl hanmllr This structure 14 tile hber mllanu-
fa(tory of Me-Inrs D-f..noe- and (Geddes. Hlere. friin
the beginning of 1]2s andi onwards. will ise niland-
facureld thousands upon thuusanld of gallon-, if beer
for the icontunlptio-n if Janania bee-r Invrrs.
For mlanv :.ears thle ,liestinn was a-;skd- Why
does nnt Jamlaica manlnl'al iture Ibeer rif her iv,n'.' (ii'ha.
did ~io. Panama ililI so Other n.eiehboutrine countries .
maKde a ver-y gool be--er and tureltl. what (.'il.a l'ana-
ma andl elsewhere could do Jamaila lould d(c a- well
Thati qu.-ltin i- nowi ansiiered by thle fnterpri'e of
Messr- De-no'-s and (;edlJe-. They hav,- poue iuro
the niattetl iers i.arft'uill.. 7They havie lbroughtllt out an
expert nianulfaiturer to mak.- their beer. Fir-t t' all.
he pai a trip t', Jalmiia to ds-sign rhe fai.tory, and
to lies ii- uponn its 'retlilrl-mr l-n.. n'..w ih- i- in the-
island p.-rnianentrl to .uperinrtend all tlie op-rariuns
of heer nmakilngt tunl the -.tana-. of the iiuash r, ilhe
stariSe if the frothing. ld. exhillaratinL- drink.
The tfactoryv huildini extend-, frl'ro Pe li.'n il'reel
to \W'.t Stree- At tii.- Pe.-hon Street cutrani-e are-
the power and refrieeratinL departui-nt s and in the
la:tcr l -tani- a iuee vatr '. ih a <.apat ity of 2.5.inl
gallon, in whI i thie Ieer w ill bI- Ill. ed. As the
bee-r i- IlI'e.-Wr l it [poirelil off luti other rats at
pre--nt i iht ill nulinl'i. andl each it 2.7.'.im callolns
capa,.v W\'hen tlhen e vait- aree all full tl- fa'.t.iiy
w:Il (.:'ti a ln ii ln 1111 1 all.n- if bkt-' ir lel--pest[iVis- of that
alrf-ady l..hrisl. The- bottling departnimnt face We-.st
Stree-t airl in it I- installed all tie elaborate and
deliarte miachinrery lhich nmoh.l-rn b'.ttlilne anlt lalel-
lini: r'-'iuir.-
Tic- i:->.r after heinu isreaeil nmii.t I.i kept in .1
refrie,-rae-i.l ini-ilartel chaiher ar a tempi- ratur e of
aboei thirty iegir'O.-s Ii e-..ld -i this haniher-a touch
of winter in tlie Torril Zi..ne II is from tile vat ; in
this clharni b ie tlh r til. h.- c.r tf'.r lIbottlint \ ill Ie dirav. n,
and fronm the e ti lihat the niah i- pi-rpated until tbe
beer in Iottled one full minith %ill be re(luiuied this
beiiig tile standsiaril eil oi rif rinm- for t I- llmanufai:-
tur' of Lb.-er.
Tihe Jamaica Itc-ir i ill be i..il.d at a -.,lniewhat
lo,.-r prI'., Ilhan tie- iInlpirtel artist le Buil Me,-rs.
D-ntii.-: anid C Geill.- affirm that lth. n.t inl:.' ainm at
pla. iln. a i.leai'-r ,-i-r tluponi the Ii:'al market iait a
bert-r l.-evr thaiu itht imported t'fruoi ahliiad. The
pro''-. ilh y tay ) ill lie In rth- drinking andi tihy are
certain of trhe piilr.i -: '- er'l t.
Th y point out that flI '.,nt- thin,-. there is; plenty
of r,,lni '-fr *.-\pjansi.,n if bi-et r i ikiin iii Jai airoa
T;,k.e. -alil thl -v. illt aI ;*t M;. ., '. ilth l the wr'iter of
thb artii:-le I li tri-ii.,- f oio r inimp.ct- Il bei -r and
ai In 1i '14. rhe li. -t r iar ,,t the _ieat tar. .Ja na ica
tht ll 1 1porl'-l '.ld i. |..' !"al [l. ,It'O f :l>- miln 6 r. Ile
fi..t ,-r.t i liIn:h a- .".27'. 71 i. [u '1 2. J. anl ai.a iru
pile. I ll i i- a1 uli- t lialf of tilli- it.iitIri i th.. tigure-l
we'r- I" li. .s1 callo'm -. a irni itlHe -i-r a- ti .1ii. Tihe
pri' ort he li il Ilhai eldtll-._ i '. o iins- arni it-i t noiter
thinu; to t ihe '.-t ar i., i>..i in the \.til "t niv uhnt>..i
In I21i-.. 1 .:orilinl to.' il.- (l '. h.c ior l -neral'- lialiir...
17 i ~t1 *allon- ,of i-ei all.-. ts.-iu .. iMl i p.i 'er i ";-i'-
ii iim .i t-d. anid the anit ilj paid 'lir lit t hil a -*I. S x'n.
N ,i rtl.er- i. a *'..at il'al il'feie'lr li ieiv .re n tihe
3 .iP -111 '1 ,-,, i -.allsn- of it' an i bleer v. iui-r l, ti .n-
suii'e hli -- i[n 1'412. a- it i ij E 'r f' ['f r t sul l .ti'ii.inmpl
t.i.i ni .T I s.11 i i rI allr i--- l thi e ,P ,iinali.litTy we
c-'.n-iilllt. t i de- y inr ineliptl.n i .l i. !i- a.lly
al.iiu t ir i.i hirii t hatl it u--.rl t h.-. si -l. i eiil nttl
thi I re i- r i .- .: l t.ii ll I.. .- t-.t that ii -11 il i ~! ea
int an ex, -llein I --r ; ar ii.ilerarte l '.i' ..n lt mn l-
S li h re i .,- a i v. nditi-tri fi.'r Jaii.nil a (r(-i f i- l-
i-l.lani iap-rtr--el r ll it-, .n o idt er anti it- --..t,- t rited
a.-ri'lts-d atleri- MI r -i f tri.c. acl ll., I.-i iii ansu
fa. rurcd in Ja.nil.li Adml a- behitr atn I,.- jIh i'l here
thlIei- i- is- 'y i t.-a i, to' bl e i .r nlbilrii that the new
Vi-tit.i- i i itf Me r-r. [-ille- ai'l h i l wie -i Will -usn e-rd.
T i'ly .lia'.- ] l olt a li rge .losuii i oif l.iney s li their
fa rt ry Tih.y have inipii ortd hle eIsI cit machinery
a-ailable. Th- imanli ini haree sf ihe uo'rk is ian eix
pit al hi< i.-. Arndi with Jnaian.a ile--i ull tap and
iu blittitl thi drinking itf bfte.-Ir ii cErtainc to Il e..'uin as
ripleIlal a- it a- before tie war.

nimething like pit-,. She hald niearl:. muirdcrcdi for
Vivian'-. sake--perlaps too for he r own. f'lr pride
asti \ell as love [iir Vivian hadil impellEd hel r to dhe
deed of some hours before She hail. she was ,con-
i nceri, Pscaped that crime., and by means sf the at-
temptr she had probably succeeded in sepaiaring the
1" ): that at least was her present convic-tion. But
the very resignation. the suggestion of quiet despair,

1 1



The Tires That are Entirely British

In the workaday world. which, by the way. is not
noted for its sense of justice. the role assigned to
an inventor is. as a rule, that of a benevolent nuis-
ance And not infrequently, the more really imrnin-
alive he is. the more progressive, and the more in-
finitely ahead of his time. the less are his chances
of success. Enormous industries owe their existence
to the bold imagination of people who. not uncom-
monly, remain obscure: their names known only
perhaps to a few who have made a study of the
technique of some special branch of endeavour.
The reason for this state of affairs is. of course.
the fact that invention by itself is of nothing but
academic value. The vital spark whih it reprc-ents
has to be husbanded, kept alight and supplied with
fuel by a commercial organisation, and not seldom,
in the process of converting the spark into a great
blaze. the identity of the inventor who created the
conflagration disappears in smoke.
There is. however, one magnificent and outstand-
ing exception to the rule to which reference has
been made. The first practical pneumatic tyre was
invented in 8.SS by Mr. John Boyd Dunlop, a vet-
erinary surgeon of Belfast. and to him has been erect-
ed a monument such as few inventors get, however
much they deserve it.
This is an immense industry upon which it is
not too much to say. that the mechanical transport
of the world depends. and in which the name of
Dunlop takes pride of place: not only because it is
carried by the tyres which are universally acknowl-
edged to be the best that have ever been produced,
but because the organization identified with Lhe in-
ventor's name is the largest in the world.
Scientists have assured us i though the thing
was perhaps palpable enough that during the last
fifty years there has been greater and more rapid
development than in the whole of the period cover-
ed by human history put together. When. in the
course of time. our descendants read a brief account
of all the progress that was made during the past
half-century, it is presumed that the name of Dunlop
will occupy a dominant position. To his invention
was due. first of all. the immense development of the
pedal bicycle, one of the greatest conveniences and
one of the greatest savers of time and labour. But
Sfor the invention of the Pneumatic tyre, the biL.rle
would have enjoyed the vogue of a passing craze,
whereas it has become a machine of universal utility.
Front the bicycle sprang, in logical sequence, tic
motor car. We know that before this there was a
kind of automobile running experimentally and spas-
modically. but beyond any cavil whatsoever. it was
the production of the pneumatic tyre that made the
motor car a practical thing.
In the light of modern knowledge of materials,
it is possible today to construct a motor car that
will run reasonably fast upon solid tyres and not
shake itself to pieces, nor provide acute discomfort
for its passengers. Thirty years ago this knowledge
was nor available. The materials which autom,.lille
engineers had then at their disposal. were literally
incapable of withstanding the stress and strains over
rough road surfaces. at high speeds, until the pneu-
matic tyre came to their assistance and almost in-
stantly wiped away half the difficulties of their prob-
Everyone who lives under the shadow of the
British Flag should be proud of the fact, that the
Pneumatic Tyre one of the greatest inventions the
world has ever known, is essentially the product of
a British brain. Like all inventions one wonders
why such a simple thing like the pneumatic tyre

The Tyrcs used by Mlajor Scgrave when he
broke the Wl'orld's Record by attaining a
speed of 208 M.P.H.

Every European Grand Prix Automobile
Race of 1927 was won on DUL LOPS.

DU'LOP Supremacy is founded on DUN'-
LOP Experience-Experience of over
Thirly-cighl I ears!

was not invented years ago. Simplicity. however.
is only relative, for the modern tyre is. when onI
comes to enter more deeply into the process of manu-
factre. quickly seen to be a very complex thing in-
It ha- a technique of its own. and this is only
understood by those who have made its study their
life work. The demand from the cyclist, the motor
cyclist and the motor car driver has always been for
something more. something better and better; so
that the tyre. not only literally, but metaphorically.
has never been allowed to stand still. The call has
e-er been for higher speed, for greater comfort. for
more marked security against breakdown. for less first
cost. and the pneumatic tyre industry is justified in
ascertaining that there has never been a claim made
upon it that has not been reasonably and quickly
With the knowledge gained as to the methods
of treating rubber, there has opened out a thousand
and one directions, in which it can be usefully ap-
plied in industry and for domestic purposes, and it
must now Lake its place among the natural resources
which humanity has at its command.
Had it not been for the invention made by Mr.
Dunlop. rubber products would probably have still
been in a state of obscurity.
One ventures to doubt whether any scientist
whatsoever, given in one hand an ounce or two of
raw rubber, and in the other a few shreds of raw
cotton. could deduce from those two unpromising-
looking substances a pneumatic tyre that for thou-
sands of miles could withstand the pounding and
buffeting over rough roads at any speed a motor car
is capable of.
First of all, the really good tyre demands really
good materials, and in this case we find that the
most elaborate precautions are taken to secure prim-
ary excellence. In the Dunlop factories, everyone of
the products, from the huge weight-carrying solid
tyre. through the whole range of pneumatic lyres for
various purposes. and even to the golf ball. starts with
raw rubber of the most excellent quality.
It is impossible to even attempt to give in detail
the process which is used in the manufacture of a
motor tyre. Suffice to say that in every different

stage, through which the tyre pabses in the course of
manufacture. it is in every detail checked and ac-
curately carried out.
For it would be hard to imagine any factory con-
taining a greater store of interest than the Dunlop
Rubber Company's work at Fort Dunlop Birming-
ham, for its products range from a solid tyre suit-
able for a tractor engine to 26 dwt. golf ball, and its
roof covers, therefore. a multitude of processes.
Of the processes which are really too many to
mention. room must be found however for a word or
two in regard to one particular department: refer-
ence is made to the interesting section, the Test
House. Here are found means of ascertaining precise-
ly how a tyre will behave under all sorts of condi-
tions. and to precisely what cause its ultimate col-
lapse is due. In several large concrete tracks sunk
deep into the floor. tyres carryingg a normal load and
slung at the end of great revolving arms. tear
round upon a journey that may last without stopping
for weeks on end. During this test in every revolu-
tion the. may have to pass over a stretch of sharp
Macadam stones, and over an artificial bump which
will be identical with what they meet with in average
load conditions.
In another part of the test house. other tyres
both solid and pneumatic. are running at high
speed.-.. sometimes equivalent to sixty miles an hour,
upon flat rims of pulleys. each of which contains an
irregularity which gives the tyre a lamming which
could hardly be on any ordinary roads. Ultimately
these harassed covers are driven to destruction and
then they are analysed and examined with a view of
finding out when and why they have failed. Only by
such means as this can progress be made.
"DtUNLOP." the name which is borne by the preat-
est Cord tyre in the World. stands as a guarantee of
service, and if one would only stop for a minute to
consider the different precautions taken by the Dun-
lop Rubber Company in the manufacture of each
individual tyre, one would very soon realize the signi-
ficance of it all.
The Dunlop Rubber Co.. Ltd.. grow their own rub-
ber. spin their own cotton, make their own tools,
moulds and in doing this. employ in their organiza-
tion over one hundred thousand working men and
At Rochdale are situated their own cotton mills,
known as the largest self-contained cotton mills in
the world, and covering an area of over 411 acres.
There are to-day not wanting. those who croak of
Great Britain's lost prestige as a manufacturing na-
tion, and who see her industries threatened, if not
entirely swallowed up by transatlantic competition.
To such. a visit to Fort Dunlop Birmingham is strong-
ly recommended as a tonic. well calculated to re-
move any symptoms of pessimisnt. Here at all events
one is afforded definite proof that Great Britain can
hold her own with any country in the world nor is
the organization solely on the defence. it at least ex-
ercises an influence far beyond its shores, and it is
good to know that the activity, the enterprise and, in
the sense of the word the "business" of Fort Dunlop
are reflected in other Dunlop factories in America,
in Canada, in Australia, in Japan, in France and in
To the visitor from our shores going to England,
and wishing to go over the Fort Dunlop Works,
Messrs. Lascelles deMercado and Co.. Ltd., Local de-
positaires for the Dunlop Rubber Co.. Ltd., will gladly
give a letter of introduction which will very much
facilitate the carrying out of such a desire.

I 1 111~ 1 -


which she saw in.Vivian's face and pose as the
Steinways passed her on their way into the bed-
room smote Mrs. Primrose's heart; this child was
going to suffer as she had never suffered in her life
Yet it was best that there should be an end to a
friendship that was fraught with so much peril to the
girl. The last disgrace, at least, would be avoided.
Better a broken heart than the ineluctable evidence
of an undeniable shame.
Mr. and Mrs. Steinway did not long remain in
the sick room: the doctor saw to that. Mrs. Stein-
way had kissed her son, his father had laid a hand
upon his forehead, with a "Well, old man, we'll soon
have you up and strong once more," then they had
stood looking down upon him in silence, while Mrs.
Steinway vainly fought to keep back her tears. The
doctor was cheerful; there was less fever than he had
expected; he thought the patient was doing very well
indeed. His heart, for one thing, was quite strong;
the doctor believed the danger point was passed.
Mr. Steinway spoke to Mrs. Primrose: they
would like to remain until the doctor and nurses
they had sent to Kingston for should arrive; these
would not be long in coming. Might they sit on the
verandah? Mrs. Primrose had chairs placed for
them, and there Dr. Catheness joined them.
-"We must remove him as soon as we can, doc-
tor," said Mr. Steinway. "He can't stay here, and
he must have the best attention possible. You will
attend him at Barnstaple, won't you?"
"He can't be removed for some days, I fear," said
the doctor; "his temperature might rise. He has lost
a lot of blood too, and is weak."
"Would it be a great risk?" anxiously enquired
Mrs. Steinway.
"It would be a risk removing him now; we had
better wait awhile. I think he'll be all right here."
Both mother and father had the same thought:
it was humiliating that their son should have to re-
main in this house; it would be humiliating for them
to have to come here to be with him, to have to accept
even the hospitality of a chair from people with
whom they wished to have nothing whatever to do,
and to whom they would certainly never speak after
Gus had left these premises. Yet his safety had to
be considered. They dare not imperil that.
'"Well, the nurses I have sent for will have to be
put up up here for a time, and they of course are
experienced women," said Mr. Steinway. "And you,
doctor, and Dr. Barrett from Kingston, will, I know,
do your best for the boy. It can't be helped, I sup-
pose; we'll have to do what we can until he can be

removed. You will tell nme the- \'iry' tilr-t i.y tlial
that is possible?"
"I suppose I must make -.lime arralnetiui-nr-i untill
this-with Mrs. Primrose alIoit tli-, nil'-.-. Tii,-'-
may be here at any time."
Mr. Steinway asked to -,- Mrs Prinimro-- tor a:
moment. He broached the topiL- .ft' r.:,ar-l nJnd i .il,-inr
for the nurses. "They are w.-vllk:in.- to n:,' hi-'e nr ll
your son is better," Mrs. i i-n'ro-i- infrniml hinm.
"Yes, thank you; and .:.' i.-iuri-; I'll piy--
"I don't keep a lodging ilnit- YouIl :,n i.. i ki
and has to remain. His nurse- i.au s:ay. iith lillu
There is nothing to pay."
Mr. Steinway knew b-ll-r than ti Ins.l-t. This
was not a woman who coul'.i i .iaiti.'l .1.. tl. iuti h'-
hated the arrangement.
Dr. Catheness had to e-avR.. hI!- rlh-i 'lutii- ..tum
pelling, but he promised ti r-.ti.ri l.arir .:n. H- Irftt
a note for Dr. Barrett, ar'.ii-in : I,: .- th.l pihi-i-
clan before he should go ia.ik l1. Kin .itn Mni-
Steinway took up her statirib l-i.-: 1I.i- land ilIaj.
obeying the doctor's exi-ili-t .i.ntinilniarn hr -lihr
should try to get a little -le-p. tlii..v hI,.r-.:lf in
her aunt's bed to weep sil' nthi ,.-ver he ran-t. lii-
present, and what was yet ri.' m Mr Plr.'i.lei-h
remained in his room rej(-., ii ,n It, i-. ietrh 0i i thli
snake and praying ferventi- i...r lthl ,.:.j'upl.- r'-*.**-
ery of Gus.
At about ten o'clock Dr B., iri tl i oinl. lunl',-
arrived. Robert Steinway Iai ii .- un aij rn. :
cure two nurses willing t,, Ira..- Ki[-to:'n al -uit li
short notice; another mi lt b- pr... -.ir-l latter u.
he was informed. Dr. Ba:'.-r ra..d:l lt. l'ath. le-'
note; on the strength of tiaIr -,-tl.-minr.'- r,'uijrk-
he consented to be identified m illi ihe i..a-. .nlll I!aitsi
an examination. He was :of thli, 'linl.u tiiit rh-
patient would by about n.-.'. i.... i-. r i.piJ
dying, had the bite been fal.il. ni.r .I11. h- thii:k t Ili,.
was any danger of septic [l:.l-..nl.: -triiit in I..
was open in his admiration '1rt \- tl, I.i.ipt ;an f
fective treatment which Gui- ]h:,l i-. i\ iIn'lI Mt-.
Primrose; he told that lai.:, ri:.l -i,:- r'. i li haI.
been a nurse. He did not rllhk. trl li lii- -Lr.!
would be further required Iut ,,- .on,'-- li \:,- at1
the disposal of Dr. Cathen -- ii ri.,i I;. ..it.i n,,'
should want to consult with mii
So the nurse was put iii r-- i't riln ..'. '.- ii
and the spare unoccupied r',out i. ti ii I.!r if .ih
house was prepared for M'r- FlinItoln- arid V\'\in
Dr. Barrett suggested that mit- rPmii.-. i h, hadi
shown herself so efficient in .1 Iil.n-ir ol' r1.-Vl
emergency, should assist \kirli ti.. iiLir-,i. I (i';ij
Steinway; he did not realii-- trhat tli.:r,- ..aiuld hl au,

'-lhie..ti)n to this. \W ithoutt Iinking at Mir. and Mhi'.
Stiinnway -he aglre-d. adding that. as her ae-
'llillilodationl \a< Illlltedi. that might I.- Imior- i.on-
\vni-nt thianl having to s-trangp t uur-.-- il the
houll se Sir-. ta a l'irinnlin l ri tic l that Mrl SL-inn\ai'
as [pr-pler- il tniri arrB l ir .ittt-r hi.- n n% \\a. ith-
-.ut 1 n.1 r r i Et'lr- n t o I,.-r n. n'l he ia. -onrf: i.. ,,t
ta l-iin r- L+ entmlrri a ahi ,t I i p ul. op iriciin I,' igrnol -
li-r jand \V li n \ irth lie ani-;hini .( ~ thl la-r
H. -t i .i-' if'..iar iL : i ~ l.' I I .-a i' all t iiL sel' ir lian
arid ind i-- td.-tn ..f M i. 'ri ro-- .tl) a in iro a---'rr
l'-.n -i...lv,. ..n. 1 r ,:i Thi- .ar hi -rI \.-t-n h r *and
rhi t,.- a:. ,.i r,-i e ajnd tlhi- rim, th hadt- l--
lit li \us hetr : In IuI l u:,u e Hei-P A.---, %\a- il,-.t m inel
r:' rl lliainl tlihe I tawlln.i t ta...ir. -v. i f hl r r. i in n-
, t.i I ll.- t l-;--t .ir )uit a rfi i ii I. .it il ,.i-I~ -:I A'iSo
:in- a tl, .- yoi ni;L m illi iii nei l tlhri r:. he \ l lbe
th. ,.-'r-.,n in ( har.-.:
A lr l t I '.it. \' .... ipr-il iJ L-o a%. .-.f h, lo r n-'-p--
l]..u .-s.-p, inll .+- it ,.a- ,,IIppt rt,-il .v Dri Pd.'rrtl t.
H, a- r,%a e- n ,hl l id to tlidnk ihpr t'.:Ir it. Thl.- tint-
h i.i, n yo.1. ,.. .. -- Im, ['1..r IiIi n o i '. tk .: r tt i-t % a-
ill in-l i im int i boil. it. -r iandi her ,..
.\ t hIn, l thll .Stt-'I v t.; i.~ i k t l r .1J-a l'rtili t tlil
in t hi Cot'.I '-N Mi .- St.o i t, ia i l atI J rl.ir t l.h ..ild
rI' It'u in Ir.I l al: airi .: i- :.' .t., a njl -%t,'i I',a:; ut niel
(I v. a -- itl-...lijhl1]. .ult ,f rlani te-r MA Is P irI'll'm o-.,
S C- -..i i 1- : l l : ( li .. ild *' -I1 I I 1111i.I a n i t ln
M r ; ]-:1 d M r-, Sih.-.nIith,% b,..wI toh,: Ml -. P ir noi- landl
V i" v un i' .\ ,l_ li. y .,,Ir a i. .
Ih a* II ht l k-l l'.l l hl., t l %.I1 th, e t .I

rii-n'" ,:,llf.'-\ l si ..: I i : j a., a- t[. li- t th.. t.-i rni
i ',n1r-i- th mi'I 'I
'm~ u Ii-n I '-t h, iim t l fitl'i, liilllite ,.u % :I "
t nl h -i .i f i I f'-1 l :1 .! ur i t Iii F. :' r tiu ; -!
- li- --..: i: n li., thr Kla n ..[ tr l' t he li I I, m iine
i .."n-rL "
H-lAlP.' iF ,T \ W H:TY.E I;H7HT

H I' l h1' 1 ,-h 1% .-- l.:,: \..ell la] tl. l i 111,it l ,
i" :.. f m \;-i e it IR .l t him. -I ---p .1 i m It a
a,. t .,!:i ." M r]I- P! II t| :=. r...i.l ,nI rnh. i. .an ai i.
I .'. v i .: Ullu ..i a. -D.- -l,,;- [,) M r'1 :. I, ... ". j "- i .. i I
hi ,.i .ii-r i '1,-1 ] i orn lI-r dail.\ vi- t I., t h,=r son.
SThi-nr i l.d j. ler K. il untill I..: w K -.' A.ti.l
M t SI v. an\ .F., "' ,I lih.t I I .IIld 'v., r in liI

'Th. iJr-e ik tli,.r _. I think. Th. 'u.)t i hinm
k. tpr ", ,i i.11N .1 e---ir i ll 1 1 I, e le ,, hr.. h- it ). .vEl
i 'l l, I i I','r : l'l ,' hillt.
"I k u,,%. Thi n I iIll tav. ,jout iI-rr- rill hI
a-.i ke-- Trhalni k i,,ii
Ml' Sti-il,\a) t:,ok rhi "-ihi[[- inli,._ te.l.and il M ri-s

Harold E. Bolton,

Transport Contractor to H.M. War Dept.

and to the Government of Jamaica.

Garage: 54 Duke Street
Transport Office : Arnold Road.

- Telephone 72.
Telephone 45.

Bolton's Comfort Tours

"You are in the "Happy Trail" to
satisfaction when you deal with me."

For many years past Bolton has specialised in
Motor Car Tours for Tourist visitors to

Bolton's Garage depends entirely upon its own
cars and permanently employed chauffeurs and
in these respects is the only Garage in Jamaica.

Bolton's horseback excursions into the moun-
tains are equally well known, Bolton's Stables
at Gordon Town being the starting point from
which the unique trip to the Blue Mountain
Peak (7,388 ft. elevation, and the highest point
in the British West Indies) can be made.

Visitors to the Island are cordially invited to
call at 34 Duke Street, Kingston, and arrange
personally with MR. HAROLD BOLTON, the
itinerary for any tour in Jamaica.

S. R. REUBEN, Sole Agent,

144 Harbour Street,

Kingston, Jamaica.

I, 1, ,,


Primlnr.t-, r'.e-su:ni.1 t[lh sat tie had o: cupied before
tl.- iiunweloIni,-e vi\1tor's adver. ShIe picked up the
bit of s,'ine on \hi.:ll she twas engaged No fur-
tlert' icn'ver-ation D et, ,~l n the t[\o \%tnien wasl at-
te-rptedl. Ti-m still atni.,_phere .- ugge-,ted the ten-
Sbli n of mutual antagoui.-im. the -trong dislike. and
even diethestation. that had mi rea-sd 'from llt rir.st
molmnt I.f their meeting.
Mrs. P'rinillri-e ir- iit -el that ir tlr S illn-i, a.n would
hat pDift-l'ierred lo havide g~ol into the room in t vhih.
hei .i sl--ept. andl. tl at pea rharp- .h, felt 1ail ia the
doctor ianid nutre would nut ihave olltj-.retl to that,
so long as the parirent r wa noi disturhed. Bur to ido
anything that i ri St-in a l \uy -ihe-l n a-, ali re to)
every inipild- and nct ir.-- i .-t Mir-.. Primros..-' mind;
her [eirneinnent ianti \ hniil,.-ar t-d incliiination wa-, tr
thuwalt tlii uoiMaiia liii would have take-n t.-r i y
out of this Iihu.,- ..ln (l. vel' rii~[ dai y i'f hi? illn'-3
hart it been safe. to .(tempcit (iat. \Mire- SteinWiayl Inild
-F'he [had I.- n ci carefully pi lite- to -a.:h Ii (li-er d'i.ri- t
tlles- few tn IsbutL ( t1- S einwiay \..,uld l-ai- 11-
miorrovi. allnd Mir-,. Prinirl--_ kn >-ll lia hat II Ill--
tast,. whiil hI hi ,rn thi r hhad 6'_., i- ti, i il r ie-' I -'.
wiuld rinrl e-\pexpre- in iin lier .heh-illt iitii itii ift
bohh of themni lhouulel the-y e\-i'r tie ii illre.
Mr1 Primi.,-.-. in the oti h i' hailid \as loin.- Jti
o-f a th.uiil iit i i hei o' n ni ind Ill hi inte-l that th.-
mein li-i -'- i I-I I i tak e- Ihir' -. 'n a'v.,ay tmigit h i .-
,"I't if in-Il-iil I :i1- \ l a- a I -ii. i :, f prD -iU ilel aU1l
jealmir-u. ftor it \a~- In thi- I[pla that ilu- hail come
-.L, awfrilly lita' t,, ril-atil H,' li.dl pa-is, through *u
g .alUt r -i -l lill Ii.- 1,..illI nit ha\'.- -x perir.-j r -.t
hail he- i--\ l-r kn..'.in \'i\viall ainl her- aillt. NMIIr.
SteirniD.aV' niIm:tlr i l--el -t( at Lilll- ai !31 i? l. 1?-It
that Gte- \i a-. no, t iiitc 'afe There va.-: r,'asoi n in
that r i- r or .-.iitien LI't a rEtaliatili o 1f thi,. did
di ii .)t I.i iii I.e lul-:, M.ir- PrinDi.r-i anv tih- nior_
kiiidl.l ti'-_. i oh \'..-iar|- M r'. S. -inwav. Rather it
iiiduldii,aI hi-r dli :Ike- for ii-.'', tnioth ri-. th.. Wo lian
\jb v.a -randrin--- for her pride andl fil he!'r -.n.
for her eiluilr and he r class. abile l Mls. Prinirosp' on
heir -itli \v,.a -ra.ialnes altof for li-i pride alnd ftor her
ni.i. t'frl hi r family anti hl r clas.-.
ir-. in ;u o -ze -t i h.,: i n i -tit I. lie I I il-e .i- 'li-.
Stflintix v itat. ilLIll. saztln straivhr ., f, ti,: he'r.
.,t nl 'l2r I h.-I l,.,t + \ m',u lu l l ;if- i.ontlill rh. -1 -l_
SShl- d l riot .I n.- I I, hI- .1i1 tl e -ami ,- % j a udki l 1-i in
It e .inn. .e 'itc.. l..n !t.ri i Pi llilir. i.. a r. -lhe h l.
t[o niake Iu e J' t lt h ,i ... I l.- ii li or 1 .-4 dailithi.-r
Clday 'lit ll jpe-i that hle-t-r d -jie- that Il.- e-.n.:.ii]i.i en u.ulid
lea .- lihe1i t wait al-onir- i .liit n,.,ii [iI u---l-el at. Yet
IiMr- P!imronsi- -nie-l if Arii tlMal \''; al alldi-
tiolnal i't ae '- ii % h. -hl. t:i iti, i--. -evI iug atid E.% wine.
\with art'--lAinled r Ii:.. l el'l tun:. iell iing c .r ',- Sh -
wvoullid \i a i- n ..ii':....--. 'ii thllcar.-rl to .Mi ~ -tr.in-
way. Tie Sti-i:eli a.t faiuily hald au'.- l h-r- I,,
ilt lh l ...l'. 1. ai l. l irit 1te-- A ind -Itc fIt.1 certain
that r. Stirine ai ir.-jri.-:et l n it all.
Tl- .ilent: -r iiu ppr---,iit painful F l.- nitI
bj!llue that. aft-r all. t ii- hail hai d .1 ito ..-pi. ie
-shelter if Li-.e home f.e:r si:'iie dai q a .nd was ,till
LunJ.er its ro utf. Mrs Ste-inxay tuinedt at Il-nath t1:
IMr-. Primiose- vwith Ill,' U C L-.ti ln.
"Ha -- ou e li i-ai d t delay h 1o :.. Ir lrilthei-r is?-
"Yes. he'- a little better "
"'Their- i--thlere i- 1. dai -. r. i th- r '"
"Ot death.' No Bilit lie'll ne-,-r quite- rte,:. r.
iI, left ile is almo-t paral l. -nI "
- -- .-=..- ---
^ -,_,,--- ,,---,--,,,---,,----- -- _,

The Rapid Vulcanizing Co., 1

82 Harbour Street t cor. Duke Street i


Ford Parts! Ford Parts!
Motor Car and Truck
Tyres and Tubes,


Oils, Grease.

Agents for-

Milwaukee Gasoline and
Oil Pumps.
" Francis-Barnett" Motor-
"Royal Standard" Bicycles.
"Elto" Outboard Motors.

"I am so sorry," breathed Mrs. Steinway, en-
deavoi.ring to put some warmth of sincerity in her
tones. Mrs. Primrose smiled bitterly. "And your
husband is glad," she thought, and went on silently
with her work.
This was the latest trouble of all: Mr. Bressley's
apoplectic stroke. News of it had come the day after
Gus had been pronounced by the doctor as out of
danger of death from the snake's poison. The story
had rapidly gone about the parish that something
serious had happened to Gus Steinway while he was
in Vivian's bedroom; what had happened was not
quite clear to some people at first, but it was very
certain (everyone was very certain) that serious in-
jury had overtaken the young man while he was
sleeping on Vivian's bed in Vivian's room-and no
one doubted why he had been there. He was there
every night, some had said, and this was widely be-
lieved: what reason was there not to believe it? The
tale had been carried to Mr. Bressley; he had sent
a messenger hot-foot to his sister to find out what
foundation there was for what he had been told.
A guarded reply had been returned, but it was more
than enough to convince him that nothing now could
protect Vivian's reputation from the very worst
calumny that could be uttered against it. For an hour


he had raged madly, then had flung himself upon his
bed to think. He recognized that whereas his
enemies had merely smirked and hinted before, they
would speak openly now, ready to fling into his teeth
the cruellest of remarks about his daughter should
he dare offend them or even look them boldly in the
eye. He had always been a bitter opponent, attack-
ing those whom he was ranged against without much
regard for their feelings or interests, fighting with
edged and wounding weapons, rejoicing in the humili-
ation of his public and private foes. All that was
finished now; that chapter of his life was closed. At
the very faintest attempt on his part to assert him-
self he would be met by some quite obvious reference
to unvirtuous daughters, to lovers who were bitten
by snakes in the beds of girls who gave themselves
airs and whose fathers aspired to be leaders in the
He might strive against all this, bidding for
time; he would make the effort; but he knew the
hell it would be to keep his temper in check, to smile
and pretend not to understand while raging inward-
ly until he felt inclined to kill. And what would be
the use of all this effort, since the stain on Vivian's
name could never be wiped out? What was his
political victory worth now, since in his tenderest


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_ L



spot he had been struck so deadly a blow? How
everyone must be laughing at him-at him the victor
of old Steinway. whose son was with his daughter
when he pleased, whose son had been found bleeding
-so it was said-in his daughter's room and his
daughter's bed! All night long had Bressley
thought and thought on all this, and towards the
morning his wife was startled by hearing something
heavy roll off the bed. She sprang up; her husband
was lying unconscious on the floor. When the doctor
came he pronounced it to be a stroke of apoplexy.
It was not a dangerous stroke. But Bressley would
never be the same again, and must avoid excite-
ment. His public, life was over. His brief emergence
into notoriety was to be followed by a long eclipse;
"Vivian is the cause of it," Mrs. Primrose had
thought, when the news was brought to her. And
then she had corrected herself: "Gus Ste:invway is the
cause." The original cause, that is; for Mrs. Prim-
rose knew quite well that but for her mad attempt
on Gus Steinway's life this last scandal would not
have been started and her brother would not have
broken down as he had. Yet she would not consciously
blame herself. It was Gus Steinway and Vivian that
she held responsible for. her brother's condition.
These two young people, in their infatuation and
selfishness, she thought, were bringing her family to
ruin or despair.
Since her brother's stroke she had been think-
ing much, and her thoughts had grown more and
more bitter.
She had spoilt Vivian. She had given in too much
to Vivian. When she had first heard of the girl's
meeting with Gus Steinway she should not have
confined herself to warning or quarrelling with
Vivian; she should have taken a stronger, a more
definite stand. Matters could not possibly have
gone very far by then; Vivian's father, had he been
told of what was happening, would have spoken to
the girl decisively, so would her mother have done,
and Vivian could not have stood out against father
and mother and aunt. They might even have sent
her away. Anyhow, the development of any affec-
tion between her and Gus Steinway would probably
have been prevented; everything had depended upon
action in time. But she, Vivian's aunt, Vivian's
guardian, had shrunk from appealing to Vivian's
father, she had not wished her niece to be harshly
treated, or even to be suspected of not acting exactly
as she ought. She knew there had been something of
jealousy in her attitude and reticence. Ever since
she had adopted Vivian she had resented any inter-
ference with the girl by her parents. She remember-
ed that. She realized that she had stood between
Vivian and her father. And this was the result,
though she had never dreamt of such a possibility.
Everything had gone wrong; suffering and dis-
grace were the port ion of Vivian and Vivian's family.
The girl's name was gone and her father was
This lady seated on the verandah beside her;
what had she suffered? A few days' apprehension, a
temporary blow to her pride. But now her son was on
the way to recovery, in another twenty-four hours he
would be under her roof once more, and every effort
would be put forth to bring him to consent never to
visit Vivian again, to have nothing more to do with
"people" who were beneath him. His character
could not suffer, he was a man, a gentleman of Ja-
maica; after a while this episode in his life would
be laughed about, joked about; it could not harm him
in the least. All the misery on one side. Not even
a word of reproach on the other!
There was a distinct stirring in the room just
outside of which were Mrs. Primrose and Mrs. Stein-
way. The latter sat upright in her chair. Perhaps
Gus was coming out of his sleep.
A voice inside, low and holding a quality of In-
tense affection, enquired:
"You are awake, Gus?"
Both women heard it, both winced. Mrs. Stein-
way that Vivian should be on such terms of intimacy
with her son, Mrs. Primrose that Mrs. Steinway
should hear her son thus addressed by Vivian.
"Yes," was the reply, "I must have been asleep
Long time."
Mrs. Steinway had thought that the nurse was
inside; so had Mrs. Primrose. Immersed each in
her own thoughts. neither of them had heard the
nurse's soft movements when she had left the room
a little while before, nor Vivian's equally careful.
muffled steps when she had entered the chamber to
relieve the nurse, whom she had offered to help in
watching Gus whenever her services might be re-
Mrs. Steinway held herself ready to rise. She
could take her place by her son's bedside now.
Again they heard Vivian's voice.
"You are going away to-morrow: you know
The man answered something: what it was
neither woman on the verandah heard. But Mrs.
Primrose guessed that neither Vivian nor Gus knew
that there was anyone outside, though they spoke
Mrs. Steinway rose.
Again came Vivian's voice:
"Gus, you remember that. the day before the
snake bit you. I told you I had something to say to
you? I must say It now or T may never have the op-

portunity again. I didn't want to disturb you the
first day you came hab k from Nicaragua. Yet you
might have died, and never known." There was a
sob. a murmur-something reassuring f'rum Gue -
something like a whisper from Vivian. and then
Gub-'s voice was raised in a ,tartled exilamation-
"A baby?"
Mrs. Steinway waited 1no more -he had beard
enoughl-too rnmuil
Th. whisp,r. fIollonedi by that ry from her
bo)y' lips. had tolil h- r -evrything. One impulse pi-s-
ses--ed hI:r it tlhe iiuimontnt she mrust res,.iue her s(*n,
and that at on..e She nmut Ibe with him. must re-
main with him until lie \a~- r(-nir..ed. ,he would
-tay with hintm n-nicht e-ven It th~ei women openly
ask-(d hier to teate their] houie. that young woman
nluitt not be allowed to -ee hiii alone again.
A baby! What a ialanmity! And all bliioght about
by a ile-dining shari-l-e's girl.
A.., the-,e thlotght-- flashb.d throughli her brain Mrs.
Steitnway rapped loudly at the IendroInm door. entered
,iftly on beine bildeln to ildi so. and hurried up to
G;us i aith a sort of Intoelopinc, prite.'ting movement.
"Mother." he .ried. looking uip. antd Mrs. Steinway
fancied she saw in his face an expression of relief
that ,-he had ironie at that miionlint to take charge of
liin. "ly dear." said lie parting liis he-ad and
bending down to kiss him. "I am .uome to sit with




you until I take you away to-morrow morning. Thank
God you are quite safe now." Vivian crept slowly,
very slowly. from the room.
She went out on the verandah. No one was
there Yet she had thought. a minute before, that
mhe had heard some movement there. She saw her
aunt's needlework lying neglected by a chair: .he
wondered vaguely when her aunt had been sitting
there. She had made her avowal to Gus so that no
one might hear it, hut later on they all would know
the trult. It ie-uld not always be concealed. And
what would happen then.' What as- she to do
when the truth was di-, uteredi
She looked around. \where was her Aunt Ger-
trude" She had not seeu her for nearly two hours.
Hald lihe walk-ed to the gate and peered out. .he
would have noti>.ed a figure hurrying up the road,
hatless. a figure walking with quick nervous strides
as though endeavouring to escape sonmethine. fleeing
from somue terror behind. Mrs. Primrose's nerves
had given way On hearing Vivian's secret she had
felt that she must art. must do something. must flee
from her house and exhaust herself in physical ac-
tion. else would she scream and throw herself upon
the ground and writhe. She had overheard that
confession at the same moment that the man's
mother had done rii: and that was the crowning
humiliation of her life. Mrs. Steinway had not



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glanced at her once. but had rushed to the side and
the aid of her son. She must have brushed past
Vivian as though she were so much trash; she
would fe,-I that in this place was contamination. As
she had passed out of sight Mrs. Primrose had fled
down to thel gatr and into the road. flying as though
she would put miles between herself and Vivian and
the Steinways--everythine. everything. Jesus! She
had thought Ihat thlli at least had been avoided And
now from Vi\ian's ,wn lips had >-ome an avowal
which had taken even the swkr man by surprise.
And as she hurried along. not caring whither,
it rame to MI'.;. Priirorse that had Gus SteinuVay died
by her hand he wouldd have died in vain. Not out
of revenge nut even our of hare. but to sa'le Vivian
from him. had ,rhe -et the snake upon him. but the
harm had been done already and hik death could have
availed Vivian nothing And bad the man been
slain the truth might have tran.spired. it might have
been wrung from old Proudleigh: there would have
been niurder done and hanging perhaps. and then
would hare coome the ba.tard rhild. Mrs. Primrose
shivered. a- onne with agiue She qaw it all now.
Vivian's strange quietness, ani -iihroi-.ion during
the last ftew weeks. -sh no l had the ktei to that.
Vivian had known of her condition for -,onie little
time and the eight of that awful knowledige had
dragged down her spirits to the '-ery nadir anid ad
almost hriken her heart She had thought that
Vivian was dull an't depre.r.sed be,ausq of ;Gus Srein-
way'- abenim in Niraragua But it had been
grief far -are-ater something far Iln-re vital. that had
lain upon rlte girl heart with stifling pressure.
Vit ian lhad Ih.-n t',' a- for -ome weeks with a dread
which could not be put into words. And even while
she was telling it to, the man repponrible. that man's
mother had app-ar,-.d to take him away'
Mrir Prim'iro-e paused ill iher frenzied itride., on
a s-oliden Ai th:li.el ti tlhinkl mnre I learl.
.ihs. Sitinwav knew. Sh~e would tell her hus-
band: lie would pas. oin the news; to his other son;
that man v.iilda talk such lting wtv.re never kept
sei ret. In iantlher w-eek or le s it wouldd be -'om-
nmon e ,,-i.j. i\'\ianu' fatlh-r mielit hear of it. that
mih t nuils hiim ionmpler lv.. The famil-' disgra-ie,
whlit --eleined h[lt ve-trdtlay a- black as it (outld h e,
would son Ije ila..kel still: the haljy noiuld be a
fait that no niie ...ujhld aia iit.- away. that no ine ln o iild
deny. hiio ev'-r it mihti he with any otiier .:ilrcunl-
stan,. V'i\ an lha ll on -e everything lite p,.isibl
(ouldi to lrinf hlr p p,-,p t.., i aine. i.t tihe very dust.
"Then she rnust pay'" ( riel Mis Primrose: "she
mu t lie on the bed site hlia madt- for herself. She goes
ihi-' very ldav. thi-s -iry h..Ir-tlhe slut! I should
have ntde -thle snak,_ lbit. i i y didn't I think of
that? She. it v.;. who io .,iill Ithave hee.n heater dead.,
Slie lu-ri lea'n.- I li"ir ,tilher won't lI ave h 'er: her
mother '' ai'r iare ti. r ,:-e'ie lher. Shl. has .-inned
again-t rt .i anild ntl. There is a cur..e ipion iher.
I .wash m\ h aii-lI if her
Slie hrir.,dl in iher tra.l-:.. walkin.: now more
shluo l.. mi.it- iirmnalli Ihanu hietoi. Tile hveterical
wap rhat hladr ia wet tlhrlogh il er han spent its
forI-e. lier o.wnr natural trionctli of ilhala:-ter was re-
as,-ertin-- iti;lf. Her pride was in the a-cendalnt.
At len-t it -hi.-ilId n t be -ail that Vi a '- people
ihall ri tnrenanl.cl id tlhi- ihii t Andl had ,cndoneir id it.
Vii ian was r'--pion-ilhi. nriid 'l'.iii in-iit pa.l the
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She reached the house, and saw the girl seated
listless.'ly on the verandah. She beckoned to her and
led the way to the rear of the yard.
No one was within hearing, but Mrs. Primrose
lowered her voice so as to avoid anything in the
form of an altercation. These Steinways should not
be able to say that she could not act as calmly and,
as quietly as they.
She began with brutal directness.
"When do you expect your baby to be born?"
"My baby?" stammered Vivian, her face going
suddenly pale, her eyes .-tarting with fright.
"Yes; your baby. The one you told Gus Stein-
way about in the room a while ago. His mother
heard you. And I. You needn't lie about it; the
truth came from your own lips."
"Aunt Gertrude!"
"Well; you needn't tell me; after all, it is your
business, not mine. But you understand that you
can't stay here any longer. You will have to go
somewhere else, and support it as best you can;
perhaps your man will send you a few shillings a
week. You are leaving here this afternoon. You
better go and take you' things out of me room."
The girl hung her head in a very abasement of


shame and grief. She made no effort to urge ex-
cuses, to plead for mercy, to appeal to a love that for
years had stood between her and the world. She-
heard her doom and accepted it in a dull, lifeless,
hopeless spirit. Something of this sort she had
feared and expected for weeks. And Gus was to be
taken from her also; she read that in his mother's
Lace. There was nothing left but to bow low before
the hurricane of troubles that was howling about her
head. She turned from Mrs. Primrose and went into
the room which both of them now occupied.
She opened her trunk and began to pack some of
her clothing in it. She was not thinking consecu-
tively, clearly; she only knew she had received an
order to depart, and that both her aunt and Mrs.
Steinway knew of her predicament and pitied her not
at all. Vaguely it came into her mind that she who
had never worked for anyone before might have to
do so now; she thought of Kingston as she packed
her things; that was a large town and no one would
know her there. And Gus? When would 'she see
him again? Would he leave her to face the world
alone; especially now? Men often abandoned wo-
men: she knew that. And if her aunt could turn her
away, might not Gus also decide not to be burdened

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with her in the future? Whom could she trust, de-
pend upon, in this day of her downfall and disgrace?
She would have to ask her aunt to lend her the
ear, with James to drive it, to take her to Spanish
Town. She could not walk that distance with a
trunk. That last favour, at least, could not be re-
The packing was soon done; the rest of her
things were in the room in which lay Gus. She
Inew her aunt would send them to her.
She had some money; that would pay her way
:for a time, the time during which she must think and
Her baby! Would it be born alive or dead;
:might she herself not die when it was born? Such
things happened. She wondered, as she had done so
-often before, would it be a boy or a girl? It would
be fair, perhaps it would be a boy and look like Gus.
Poor little thing! Would its father care at all for
it or ever even see it? Suppose he married a woman
like his mother: would he ever want to see her
She brushed some tears from her eyes; she did
not wish to be seen crying when she left the farm,
That would make people talk, and there would be
time enough for talk; that would come very quickly
now. She wanted to leave quietly; she hoped her aunt


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would find some explanation to give for her absence
if anyone asked about her to-dlna Gus would not
know she had gone until she was in Spanish Town.
If only she c.uld see him for just one moment before
she left. She uonderied: was it possible?
She made up her mind. Quietly she went to his
rounldoor and knocked softly; the nurse opened the
"Mr. Steinway is sleeping," she whispered, and
Vivian felt that she had been bidden by Mrs. Stein-
way to say this to anyone who might wish to enter.
Vivian nodded briefly and went back to the room
now no longer hers. James would lift the trunk
out, he would wonder why she was leaving now,
where she was going--she sat on the trunk suddenly,
feeling her knees give under her. She covered her
face with her hands.
There was a sound of an opening door; she
looked up; Mrs. Primrose stood just before the door,
which she had closed behind her after entering the
"You are ready?" she asked.
"Yes, Aunt Gertrude."
Vi spoke with perfect acquiescence, with a sub-
mission marvellous in one who had been used to con-
tend against opposition and had endeavoured to im-
pose her will even upon the stronger will of her


"I I

/ l



aunt. Mrs. Priniro.e looked upon her puzzled, as
though she had become a stranger, as one r ho was
not known. Neither plea nor protest. OIly a sort rof
helple-s obedience- was this \Vivian. tills the girl she
hall known and cared and brought up all there years?
There ua,. no .igen visible Net of the child that was
i.omnins. s-he notiri d indeed that Vilian was thinner
than h,-fore painfully thin. peculiar that thii had
m itiuick other nlithert,. And Vilanu was si.k. that
wa' li, qlite apparent now. Sik ill mind and si k in
Ibdy. with hell before lh,-r for the next few months.
anll probah ly for all her lit'f.. if inileed that life itself
'..ais not shortly ; extinr:ui-hed.l. l -t .-Ih wat not pro-
te-iting. not heegine even. making; no effort to avert
ht[i: punishment. She wa-. ac-:cptin2 it meekly-trib-
ulation had. for the tini- at least. tamed a spirit that
lhaI alway-s Ibcln rebellious The girl \was in the lust.
"Can you let Jamni' take me in the ear?" .she
inlf whispered
Mri-. Primnrose nodded a-.sent.
A. sohb hokedl 'ivian's utterance. "Good-bye,
Aunt C;ertrudte." 'ii -aid. "I thank yvu for all you
lha e lone I 'r m: I wasn't v.irth it."
She turrn-d away Ifr'l'oml Mr.. I'riniro.se o) take
her hat.
Suddenly she flt the armn of the oller woman
flung round her.: hit:e as pulled dIown to the bed.
anil the head ot MI-s. Primro.e wa, pressing
agaiiEt her shoulder. A voice ill w\hlic love and
aniifuiih w,.re blended wvailed in h-r ears. **Oh. my
poi-lr ihld. nity pnor pet laml. ci. d help ;,oi1. Goil have
iliCiN. upon yioi. Oh. Vivian. Vi\'in!"
MYh. Prouidliieh, pa.-isine rhriiglih the \aril. heard
ihe sound o.f weeping, the \oies of two women in
sorrow. And. through ome inistinr ltie sympathy.
a lear' *or two .- tl.- t., hit, an, ici l e s,?

T is the only thine to do. Vi." said Mrs. Primrose.
VI nolui ll hil head -aily.i in silent agreement.
Anil -.o aliout a week after Gu- wasi removed to
hii fatlic-r's house MIrs. Primrose w ent to Kingston,
taking Vivian with her. aind arranged with lher law-
iers for lihe selling of her fail and the -icttling of
her iiiness in Jamaica.
The\ i-v ,-trel oingl away. far front the -i ene, of
Vivian'. childhood. far from all her fri-nlsd and ac-
i!lI.ll anlit=, li e to i.*lhie wno would know her Ind
hut few would think of speculating about her. In
her trouble and di.itress. 11 the .imlpellinE. over-
lowetring ile,- !'e to save Vii ani from open humili-
ation, to take liir away from intei-ring lips and cruel
c',nLuet.. to. shilil anild pi' ce r r her,- to the la-t Ihollh
sie h ad thought she -ould drive her forth to fend
for herself i. Mrs. Primrose's thought.- had automati-
>ally Liilrned to the country where. on a farm miles
iromn any other im iilar plar. in a dilstrir-t where
thie ft'w emiis nrt .Janmaians were labourers only.
she had -ipent so mIany year-s of her own life
not unhappily. He-re Vivian could pass for a young
\ iidw. here_ her baby i.ould lie born. here would
thi-re lie 1noin0 to C a-it a il!iht upon her. (o tortiurel her
alrt.aili wounded spirit: and though it might he liuti
a iniere xi-teni'pf for 'some time for iu.1 h a girl,
though it Uiliht even lie a loni: traredil. it was the
nnly alternative to thl-h inevitable lshanme that a-waited
her in Jamaita
And Viliau apreel. a-s she now aero-d to every

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proposal made by her aunt. There was nothing else
to do. and she felt no inclination even to suggest that
there might be. Her aunt had proved only too true
a prophet; she was in serious trouble at last and
there was no help to be found in Jamaica. Gus had
gone. no word from him had she heard, nothing
more had he said beyond that startled exclamation
when she had told him her secret. his and hers.
His mother knew it. and his whole family would
bend their will to the single task of inducing him to
have nothing more to do with her. That phase of
her life was over. She felt that now that there had
come this crisis in her life Gus, who was weak. easy-
going. and shirked grave responsibility, had shrunk
out of sight, leaving her to face the future a;. alone.
Not that he would let her suffer actual want if
she needed financial assistance. She needed none;
and she was quite convinced that he never would
stint her of money if she wanted that: there was not
that sort of meanness in him. But he would know
that so long as she remained with her aunt she
could not be penniless. and yet how could he kniw
that she would continue to remain with her aunt '
He bad been gone a week. She had had no v.%rd
from him. Was this not desertion, anil none 'he
less desertion becau-s she had no legal claim upon
him? Not a line. not a word. and he could not
be so helpless as not to be able to ,ommunicate.


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with her if he wished to. No; he did not wish to;
he must have promised his people to sever all rela-
tions with her. When she thought this her eyes
would stare fixedly as though she were looking
into the future and seeing nothing there but darkness.
Yet she felt that even if he had promised his
people not to see her again he would not keep that
promise for all time. He would come to her some
day, but how? What would he wish her to be to
him? One thing only, and that was impossible;
whatever her mistakes of the past, whatever her
folly, that was one thing she would not and could
not be; so there was nothing for it but to do as her
aunt suggested, leave Jamaica for ever, fly elsewhere
and bury herself where no one would know her. Her
aunt would be with her. Her-aunt was the one liv-
ing human being on whom she could absolutely
The lawyers undertook to look after the sale of
the farm and the collecting of such debts as were
owed to Mrs. Primrose; the rest of her business it
was easy to arrange. She had known Nicaragua so
well in the past that she felt certain she would have
no difficulty in fixing matters satisfactorily as soon
as she got there. She had owned land in that coun-
try; she spoke- its language; she had means; she
was going back to buy a farm; there would be no ob-
stacles placed in her way by the Nicaraguan authori-
ties. She was not quite so hopeless about the future
as was Vivian; in the years to come the girl might
marry; that was always a possibility. She would be
rich enough for a man of her own class. And time
was a mighty healer. There might be no long
tragedy after all.
Another week passed; a few days more and Vi-
vian and Mrs. Primrose would sail. They had prom-
ised to take Mr. Proudleigh to Kingston with them
when they went to the city to embark; they would
convey him to his house, stay a night in Kingston,
and leave on the following morning. Mr. Bressley
had refused to see Vivian; he would have another
stroke if he did, he asserted, and Mrs. Primrose did
not press the matter. She was aware that her
brother viewed both her and his daughter with dis-
tinctly unforgiving eyes.
But Vivian's mother.had promised to come and
say good-bye, though she too was not without bitter-
ness. She said quite plainly that Vivian had ruined
her father, had ruined him as a public man, and had
injured her mother also. And her name was being
bandied about. Vivian was a bad girl-Mrs. Bressley
was very emphatic. She had been "rotten spoilt"
by her aunt. This Mrs. Bressley told Mrs. Primrose to
her face, and Mrs. Primrose had accepted the rebuke
in silence. There was nothing to be said by way of
defence. Mrs. Primrose, indeed, was thankful that
her brother and his wife did not know the worst.
Only a few days more, and it would be farewell
for ever! Vivian dwelt continually upon that. Had
not Gus heard something about her aunt's plans.
must it not have reached his ears that they were
going? Would he not even write to say good-bye?
Did all his former protestations mean just nothing :
mere words to be forgotten after they were uttered?
But, indeed, had he said anything but that he would
never marry?
But perhaps he did not know; that was likely.
Was it likely? She thought over this one day, turn-
ing every possibility around in her mind. Then she
determined to write him a letter bidding him good-
It was very brief. It contained no reproaches:
she was too broken in spirit to indulge in blame.
She mentioned the baby that was coming; he would
never see it, she said, but she would try to bring
it up properly. If it were a girl, she would strive and
pray that it would be better than she had ever been.
That was all.
She kept a copy of this letter'to show her aunt.
if Mrs. Primrose should ever hear that she had
written. But she would not say anything about it
beforehand. She could not. She had to write; and
she knew her aunt would not approve. She must
take this one last risk of offending again. So she
went to the nearest post office herself and dropped
the letter in the box, expecting no answer. In three
days she would have left the farm and this district,
never to return.
She was sitting in her room on the succeeding
afternoon, when she heard a car enter the farm and
draw up before the house. She was not interested;
vaguely she thought that someone had called on
Mrs. Primrose on business. Her aunt was somewhere
out in the front; she would attend to the visitor.
Suddenly she heard an only too-familiar voice:-
-Where is Vivian?"
So he had come! The blood raced through her
pulses, her heart beat with almost suffocating rapid-
ity; she realized that this was what she had been
hoping for, wishing for, though she had not dared to
believe in the possibility of it. He would not let
her go without a word; he had not heard before
that she was going! He was not so bad, then, not
so callous and selfish; he did care a little for her.
She trembled violently as she rose from her seat,
listening intently.
"Vivian is here," she heard her aunt's voice reply
clearly, but with something of menace in it. "But
I don't think she can see you, Mr. Steinway."
Not see him? But surely there would be no

'harm in that. Surely Aunt Gertrude could remain&
and hear what was said, if she wished. This was
hard of her aunt, too hard. She must see him!
"I think she can," replied Gus after a pause. "It
is really important that I should see her."
"It can't be important now, Mr. Steinway," an-
swered Mrs. Primrose, with bitter finality in "her
tones. "You have done Vivian enough. Leave her
to her trials and disgrace."
"Oh, damn it!"--the voice was impatient-"you
are always croaking. Look here, I know you have
been very kind to Vivian and all that; you are
that sort of woman. And you saved my life the
other night when I was so beastly drunk. I am not
ungrateful, but you mustn't go too far, you know.
You don't own Vivian."
"Neither do you."
"I am not so sure of that. You know every-
thing; my mother told me you heard, as well as
she. I am awfully sorry ..."
"You are going to add insult to injury? Yes, I
know everything, and I curse you for it. If I could
kill you I would. But you have done all the harm
you could, got everything you wanted, and I don't
wish ever to see your face again. Are you leaving
my house, Mr. Steinway?"
"I am not; not before I see Vivian. And I wish

4nCme. Irene Wheatle




HATS that depict Paris'



TION made-to-measure
or Ready-to-wear.


IES that provide the
finish ng touches to
women s costumes.

SHOES-Stylish and Slen-
dering and


Make a note of the above



you wouldn't talk so loud; my chauffeur might hear
from where be is. I can't stand up too long either;
I am still weak. I don't think I shall ever quite re-
cover from that infernal snake poison. But I am
not'leaving until I see Vivian."
"Do you want me?"
Vi had taken her courage in both hands and
had come out to him. It went to her heart to see
how thin and pale he looked. He stepped forward
eagerly to meet her. Before her aunt he stooped
and kissed her.
He sank into one of the canvas chairs on the
verandah, and pulled her down into the other one
beside him.
"I have missed you like anything these last
couple of weeks, Vi. I guess I am a rotter, or I
would have written to you. But it wasn't convenient.
I intended to come to see you as soon as I could."
She understood what that meant. It meant, "as
soon as my people could not know."
"So you are going away?"
She nodded.
"The best thing. Nicaragua is not such a bad
place after all, if you don't interfere in their politics.
It is a ,un try of great possibilities for a planter. I
have been thinking over everything since I got your
letter this morning. I am going to Nicaragua too."
"You!" The exclamation burst from Mrs.
"Yes; why not? My people will be shocked;
but my life is my own, and I don't seem to have
done very much with it. I don't suppose I ever shall,
They say themselves that I don't seem likely to do
much here. Very well; I won't be a loss. I have
made up my mind. I want to go on the same ship
with you, Vi."
"But, but-" stammered Vivian.
"Oh, I know what you are going to say. I don't
want to stay here if you are not here; I wouldn't
be happy without you. I know that now. But--
you won't mind my saying this, dear?-I don't want
to marry you here, and one can get married in Nica-
ragua quite as well as in Jamaica. Your aunt should
know that."
"Marry me? You mean it? You really mean
"I am sure I do; there's yourself, and there's
the kid-I have been thinking a lot about that lately.
Perhaps everything has happened for the best: who
knows? It is comforting to believe so, anyhow. I
am going to write my people telling them that I am
going to marry you as soon as we land in Nicaragua.
That's what I chiefly came to see you about to-day,
though I didn't expect to have to speak before your
"I ask your pardon, Mr. Steinway; I-I couldn't
know." Mrs Primrose paused a while, fighting to
master her emotions. She stared at him, saw that
he was in earnest. "Thank God," she murmured,
and disappeared inside.
"He would never have done so damn-fool a thing
if he hadn't been sick and weak! Had he been nor-
mal he would not have ruined himself. Good God,
Henry! have you ever heard of anything like it?"
Henry Tuke looked smvl pathetically at Mr. John
Steinway, while that domineering man raved aloud
his misery. Mr. Tuke had gone round to see his
friend the moment the report had reached him that
;ue bad left the parish with Vivian Bressley and her
aunt, and had written to his parents to make it quite
clear that he intended to marry her. He knew what
a blow this would be for John Steinway and his
wit'f. Robert would feel it, too, for Robert had his
full share of the family pride. But Mr. Tuke shrewd-
ly reflected that as Robert would certainly benefit
from a financial point of view by his brother's folly,
his grief would not be inconsolable. But Gus had
been rhe favourite son. And now Gus had cut him-
self off from his people and had wounded them in
the sorest conceivable way.
"Fancy his marrying a girl like that-just think
of it, Harry! I would have preferred him dead. I
would have buried him feeling that he had not hurt
and disgraced me. The snake did not kill him,
but was that a blessing after all?"
"John, we can't know; it may be for the best,
after all."
'How can iou say that, Harry! You can't
mean it!"
'I don't know. I have sometimes wondered
what Gus would make of himself. He was begin-
ning to drink too much, you know; he'll probably
,stop that over there. The girl may make him stop it
before it is too late. You yourself used to say he had
.no ambition. Well, suppose he had stayed here and
bad drifted to the dievil?"
ha "Hr has drifted to wor-e than the devil."
"But not in Janlaik:a .anhow. and you can't be
certain. Let us hope for the best."
Mr. Sreinua.y shook hi, head in emphatic nega-
tion. And again he burst out-
"He's a worthless fellow. Although he is my
own son. and a, my favourite son. I am bound to
see hin as he is I have never been so hurt all my
life, I will never recover from this humiliation. As
for his poor another. she is just prostrated with
(Continued on Page 99).

Motorists everywhere

are trying and buying

the new "World" Morris

THE new Nlorris "World" models were
introduced just twelve months ago. Dur-
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how well they filled a long felt need. For
this is a car typically British in workman-
ship. in performance, and in economy. And
in its design are embodied those features
essential for universal motoring. The
"World" radiator combines handsome lines
with ample cooling power; the re-designed
chassis spells strength with comfort; the
Dunlop "buttressed" tyres add to that com-
fort and ensure big mileage.

In the "World' Morris you buy a car that
will do 30 miles per gallon of petrol; 1.000
miles per gallon of oil; that will give you ten
years honest service, and this y ar still better
bodies, still more models, still greater value.

Is it any wonder that motorists ever' where
are trying and buying the "World" Morris ?


The Wheel of the World


Distributors for Jamaica


16 Duke Street, Kingston,

IR. EHRENSTEIN, lorant Bay.

Call or write for all information or


Full Text


,, ......VOL.IJ. 2.AJAMAICAMAGAZINE1928.PRICE:ONESHILLING. SOIHE0.1<' THEITHESINSOFTHECHIt.DREN,Full length complete novel ByHerbert G.DeLisserJAMAICAENTERTAINSROYALTY,-AsketchofourRoyalVisitors [rpmWilliam IV.totheDukeofYork.YELLOWMAGIC,-Awonderfulmysterystory,byF. BrittenAustin.THESHININGBLADE,-A her;oc WestIndianpeasantinHaiti,byJohnWebb.Co TElTS SOMECH.lLDRENOFJAMAICATHELUREOFMONTEGOBAYTHETRANSFORMATIOOFBERNARDLODGEOTHERSKETCHESANDARTICLESNUMEROUSSTRIKING lLLUSTRATION.3, Etc.BOURBATHKI GSTOJ JAMAICAHOMEOFTHE B:>URNEMOUTH CLUB.INLANDSWIMMINGPOOL150feetlong,65feetwide.Up-to-Datewith V{ater Chutes,High and low DivingStages,etc..etc. IndiVIdualDressingRooms,FreshWaterShowersandSanitaryConveniences.PROTECTEDSEABATH185feetlong,feetwide Enclosed bytorpedonettingwhichrendersitentirelysharkoroof.Fittedwithsoringboardsand a100-footSellnerWater Toboe-gan Slide. .DANCING:Splended DanGingHall oxerlookinll thePool with a sweepingview oftheHarbour.Open on all sides,thisDanceHallISconsideredthecoolestinJamaica.TheverylatestDanceMusic is


1I-. PLAN 'f E R S'PUNC 11 1928


PLANTERS'PUNCHHERROYAL HIGUXESS,ELIZi\BETH,DCCUESS OF YORKFRO)[A SPECL\LPUOTOGRAPH PRESEXTED BY HER TOTHEVICTORIALEA,n;EVol.II.No.2Jamaica.THEREisanexclamationincommonuseamongthe -peasant andworkingclassesof.Jamaica;itis "My King!"Itissaidtohave()riginatedinthedefiancethrownbyadherentsoftheHouseofStuartinJamaicaatthosewhosupportedWilliamof Ora.n.ge, and,afterwards.the Hvuseof Hanover.Thestorygoesthatwhenagentlemanwho ad-bered tothecauseoftheexiled .sovereigusofEnglandwouldmeet.somesupporteroftheneworderanywhereinJamaica,hewouldclaphishandstohisswordandexclaim, "Myl{ing!" Butwhathappenedafterthisgratuitousandperfectlyuselessshowofloyalty has neverbeentold.Whichcausesonetodoubtthestory'sauthenticity.Inthefirstplace,whiletherewereinJamaica.intheearlydays of itscolonisation,menwhoinGreat.BritainandIrelandhadstoodbyandfoughtfortheStuarts,thesehadmainlycomeouttotheislandsasserfs.Andthoughtheremusthavebeeningood1l0sitionsgentlemenwhowereinsympathywiththeoverthrowndynasty,itwouldnothavebeenwiseforthemtohavedisplayedtheirsympathiesopenly,aftertheStuartshadleftEnglandforever,fortheGovernorssentoutbyWilliamtheThirdandtheGeorgeswerehardlymenwhowouldhavepermittedanyopenmanifestation of disloyalty.Yet, of course,amaninthelate.seventeenthandearlyeighteenthcenturiescouldexclaim "My Kingl"ifhewerecarefulllOttoaddwhichKinghemeant.Thewordsthemselveswereperfectlyinnocentandmightevenberegardedaslaudable.However,nomatterwhattheorigin,oftheexpressionmaybe,itiscertainthat for decadesandgen'erationsithasbeenusedinJamaicatoexpresssurprise,ad Pliration, evenJOY.Anditisemployedsometimesbythosewhodonotwishtoindulgeinllrofanity,butwhoneverthelessfeelthattheymustfind a sufficientexclamatoryformulaforthevoicingoftheiremotionofthemoment.Sofromtheearliesttimes My King.orTheKing,hasalwayssignifiedmuchinJamaicaandtoJamaica;theKingandCrown of England,theRoyalFamily,bavefromboththepersonal a!ld symbolical -Point ofviewstoodformuchinthemindsandlleartsoftheJamaicapeople.IT issometimessuggestedthattheloyaltyofthemasses of Jamaicadatesfrom the yearwhenEmancipationwasproclaimedandisentirelyassociatedwiththename,personandmemoryofQueenVictoria.Itisnotso.Eventheslave,ifhehappenedto be anativeofJamaica,entertainedafeelingofreverence for whoeversatupontheEnglishThrone,andwasproud of victoriesachievedbytheBritishArmyandNavy.Itwasillogical,nodoubt,forhisconditionwasnotaffectedbytheMonarchyorbyanytriumph of Britisharms,buthisfeelingswerenotruledby logicandhewascontenttofollowinthismattertheexample of hismaster.Undoubtedly,theEmancipation of nearlyacenturyagobroughttothemindsandhearts of thepeopleanaccess of intense affection forthereigningmonarchunderwhomthe sreat act of liberationwaseffected.Theyunderstood.nothingaboutParliaments;theybelievedthatthe -Queen herselfhadsetthemfree.Theirdescendantsunderstandthematterdifferently,buttheirdescend-MIXEDBYHERBERTG.DEL1SSER,C.M.G.Entertainsantsaresubjects of theKing,enjoyingequalrightswithallhisothersubjectsinJamaica,andfeelingprideinthefactthatJamaicaisoneoftheoldestofBritishcoloniesane! has alwaysbeenconsideredone of themostloyal.TothemtheKingofEnglandisKingofJamaica,theRoyalFamilyistheirRoyalFamily;and they andeveryotherclassandorder of thepeopleofJamaicabelievethatKingandRoyalFamilytakeaninterestinthecountry.'swelfare.Arightbelief,forthepresentSovereignnotonlyknowsJamaicabuthasagainandagainexpressedakindlyfeelingforit.Hehasvisitedittwice.AndaslateasJanuary,1927,hissecondson,PrinceAlbert,DukeofYork,andthecharmingladywhoishiswife,cametoJamaicaonaroyalvisitandcompletelywontheheartsandrevivifiedtheloyaltyofallJamaicans. T"VO KingsofEnglandhavebeenintheislandinthepastwhiletheywerebut,princesoftheblood.ThefirstofthesewasPrinceWilliam,thenaladandamidshipmanonthe"Barfleur."Williambeganlifeasasailor,haVingbeensentbyhisroyalfathertojointhenavyattheearlyageoffourteenandontheunderstanding,toquotehisfather'swords,thathewastobereceived"withoutthesmallestmarks of parade"andwith"nomarksofdistinction."Thiswasin1779;fouryearslater,FortheYear1928Royalty'whenhewaseighteen,helandedinJamaica,andthoughhecameasamidshipmanonly,andinno officialorformalcapacity,theJamaicaHouseofAssemblycouldnot 'allow theoccasiontopassunnoticed.Herewasasailorprinceinacolonyproudofitsloyally;howcouldhebereceivedasasimpleperson?SoonFebruary13th, 1783,theHouse of AssemblypresentedtotheGovernoranaddresscongratulatinghimandtheislandonthePrince'sarrival;andwhenHisRoyalHighnesscameagaintoJamaicain1786,incommandofthefrigate"Pegasus."hewasmetinstatebytheGovernor,andtherewerepublicentertainmentsinthecapital,whichthenwasSt.JagodelaVega,anditwasdecidedtopresenttohimaswordofhonourcostingthreehundredguineas.Therewassomedissensionoverthevoteforthissword,butasthereisalwayssomedissensioninJamaicawithregardtoallpublicandpoliticalmatters,thiswasnotsurprising.ItwastheGovernor'sCouncilwhichtooktheinitiativeinvotingtheswordofhonour.TheHouseofAssembly,theelectedbody,havingcommandofthepurse,promptlyprotested:itpointedoutthat"allgrants of moneyshouldoriginateintheHouse."HavingthusmadeitquiteclearthatitwasnotgoingtopermitanyCounciltodealwithfinance,theAssemblyproceededtopassall the necessaryvotesforentertainingandhonouringtheyoungprince,andheinhissubsequentaddressofappreciationinformedthepublicmen of thattimethathewouldalwaysbe"firmlyandsteadilydevotedtotheinterestsofthisisland,whichfromitsriches,commerce,andpresentthrivingstateandpeculiarsituation,isofsuchmaterialconsequencetoGreatBritain."Thusallwentwell,andPrinceWilliam'madehimselfbelovedamongallclasses.Forhewasasociableyouth,withallthebonhomieandgallantryofthesailor;hewaswhattheAmericanscall"agoodmixer"andhehadasailor'seyeforaprettylass.Excessivedignitywasneverhisstrongpoint,whetherasprinceorking,andwemaybecertainthattheJamaicanslovedhimnonethelessforbeingsohumanandsowilful.ThegreatNelson(notyetanAdmiral)wrote of PrinceWilliam,whenhewasinAntigua,that"OuryoungPrinceis agallantman;heis,indeed,volatile,butalwayswithgreatgoodnature.Thereweretwoballsduringhisstay,andsomeoftheoldladiesweremortifiedthatHisRoyalHighnesswouldnotdancewiththem;but he saysheisdeterminedtoenjoytheprivilegeofallothermen-thatofaskinganyladyhepleased."PRINCEWilliamreturnedtoJamaicainNovember1788.Hewasnowayoungmanoftwentythreeyearsofage,theheirtotheThrone,andwithacharacterwell-markedwiththedistinctivetraitswhichweretobeexhibitedlateron.InJamaicahewasregardedasanoldfriend.Theisland welcomed himonthisthirdoccasionwithgreaterstatethaneverbefore;theHouseofAssembly,whichalwayslovedgrandiloquentlanguage,determinedtosendtotheKinganaddressinwhichshouldbeexpressedthecolony's"esteemandadmirationofthevirtuesofaPrincewho,bythemostUD-


PLANTERS'PUNCH1928remittingandexemplaryattentiontothedutiesofhisprofession,hasalreadyendearedhimselftohiscountry."Naturally,allthiswaspleasingtothePrince;hemusthavefeltthathedeserveditandthattheplantersandbusinessmenofJalllaicahadapropersenseofappreciation.TherewasalsoanaddresstothePrincehimself,andtheAssemblyvotedathousandguineasforadiamondstartobepresentedtohisRoyalHighness.Nordiditstopthere.Acoupleofyearslater,whenthePrincewasinEngland,theJamaicaAssemblypassedavoteofthreethousandguineasforaserviceofplateforPrince Vlilliam "asatestimonyofthehighrespectandesteemindeliblyimpressedonthemindsoftheloyalinhabitantsofJamaicaforHis Highness."Whenitisrememberedthatthepurchasingpowerorvalueofmoneyinthosedayswasatleastfivetimeswhatitisto-day,itwillatoncebeseenthatthesemoneyvotesforswords,starsandplatefor thE; Princerepresentedareallyconsiderablegift.Butinthelateeighteenthcenturyandearlynineteenth,JamaicawaswealthyandtheHouseofAssemblywasgiventogenerousgestures.ItvotedpoundswithagreaterliberalitythanthepresentLegislativeCouncilissometimesdisposedtospendshillings;buteveninthesedaystheJamaicaLegislativeCouncilwouldnothesitatetolayoutmoneyonprovidinganadequateweIcomforamemberoftheEnglishRoyalHouse.JAMAICAhadtowaitforsomethingmorethansixtyyearsforthenextvisitofaprinceofthebloodroyal.PrinceWilliambecameking,reigned,hadnooffspringtosucceedhim,quarrelledopenlywithhissister-in-law,theDuchessofKent,onthegroundthatshewaskeepingtheHeirApparent,thelittlePrincessVictoria,awayfromhim-damningherquitefranklybeforetbeCourtforthisbehaviouronherpart.ThenhewasgatberedtohisfathersandVictoriareignedinhisstead.JamaicafollowedthefortunesoftheRoyalFamilywithinterest,buttherearoseagenerationthatknewnotPrinceWilliam:hehadbecomeatradition.Then,thesonsofthewidowedQueenhavinggrownup,thesecondonewasdespatchedonavisittotheWestIndies,andthesecolonieswentwildwithdelightonlearningthattheyweretoentertainPrinceAlfred.ThisPrince,afterwardscreatedDukeofEdinburgh,firstvisitedBarbadosin1861.Withhisreceptionelsewhereourarticlehasnothingto do,butitwillnotbeamisstomentionanincidentwhichoccurredwhilehewasintheever-faithfulandself-sufficientcolonyofBarbados.Itisqu.otedbyMr.FrankCundall(towhomformanyofthehistoricaldatarelatingtoearlyroyalvisitsthewriterisindebted)fromaworkpublishedinBarbadosonroyalvisitstothatisland,andshowshow. near alwaysistheridiculoustotheimpressive.TherewasareviewofthetroopstheninBarbadosandfivethousandschoolchildrenweredrawnuptogreetthePrincewithpatrioticsong.AversehadbeenspeciallywrittenbytheBishopwithreference ttl PrinceAlfred,andeverythingwasfelttobeinapple-pieorder.ThePrincestoodthere,smilinggraciouslyaswemaywellbelieve,andthegoodBishopanxiouslywaitedtoheartheversehehadhimselfaddedtotheNatiomllAnthem,andwhichmaybeheretranscribed:-Andwhilefromshoretoshore,Herwidedominionso'er,Hersonsareseen;Asthrougheachclimetheyspeed,Nortoilnordangerheed,BeThoutheirhelpinneed-GodsavetheQueen!Unfortunately,"theeffectofthespectaclewassomewhatmarred,firstbythecollapseofabarrel()nwhichtheInspectorofSchoolswassuperintendingthesingingandhisdisappearancefromview,and,secondly,bythegivingwayofpartoftheplatformonwhichthechildrenwereseated."Noharmseemstohavecometothechildren,butwhattheInspectorofSchoolshadtosayabouthis sudden andperpendicu'lardisappearancefromviewisnotrecorded.Probablyitwassaidinlanguagenotfitforpublication.OnefeelssurethatPrinceAlfreddidnotsomuchassmile,thoughhisrisibilitymusthavebeenmuchprovokedbythecuriousfashioninwhichtheInspectorofSchoolsmadehisexitfromthedemonstration.ButwhatcouldoneexpectfromabarreI?Wasitrightandpropertoutiliseabarrelasaplatformataroyalwelcome?PRINCEAlfredcametoJamaicainMarch1861,andhere,ofcourse,hereceivedanenthusiasticreception.Justbeforehisarrivalawaveofreligiousfervourhadbeensweepingthroughtheisland.Twowell-knownmissionarieshadarrivedandhadtravelledthroughtheislandexhortingthepeopletorepentthemoftheirsins.Thepeoplewerealwaysreadytorepent(solongastheyshouldhavean,opportunityofreturningtotheirreprehensiblebutcherishedhabitsassoonastheseasonofrepentancewasover),andthemissionarieswerehavingtbetimeoftheirlivesmakingconverts.Therewasawildoutburstofexcitement,thegreatestofitskindeverknowninthecountry.PartofthisexcitementfoundexpressioninanopenrecrudescenceofweirdAfrican'superstitions;frenziedmenandwomendanced,clothedinwhiteandred,roundroaringfires,confessingtheirsinsandprophesyinginastrangetongue,andexorcisingtheevilspiritswhich,theyheld,weretakingpossessionofthefaithfulandunfaithfulalike.ThiswasindeedtheGreatRevival,butithadassumedformsthatfrightenedandshockedevensomeofthosewhobelievedmostfirmlyinrevivalsasaspiritualforce.ThenPrinceAlfredlanded,andatoncethepopulationforgottheirsinsandtbeirrepentingintheireagernesstogreettheQueen'ssonandtoenjoythefestivitiesoftheoccasion.PrinceAlfredseemstohavebeenagraciousyouth,butwithouttheoutstandingpersonalityofhiselderbrother,afterwardsEdwardSeventh.HeremainedinJamaicatwoweeksandwasentertainedsumptuously;hewaswelcomedwhereverheappeared,andhiscominghadcertainlyhadanexcellenteffectinputtingastopto asemi-religiousdemonstrationthatwasfastbecomingdisgracefulandevendangerous.HesawJamaica,however,whenherfortuneswereatalowebb;therewasdistresseverywhere;alreadyweretobeheardthemUtteringsofthestormthatwastoburstinOctober, 1865,inthetownofMorantBay,whereabloodyuprisingwasstaged,tobefollowedshortlybyanevenmorebloodyrepression.PrinceAlfredsawtheoldJamaica,anditwasdyingrapidly.ThenewJamaicacameintobeingafter'65.Itwasgrowingwhen,in1880, thp. "Bacchante"droppedanchorinKingstonHarbour,withthetwoRoyalPrinces,AlbertVictorandGeorgeFrederick,onboard.ThiswasthefirstvisitofourpresentSovereigntothecolonyofJamaica.FORtendaystheyoungPrincesremainedinJamaica,beinglookedafterandentertained.Theyweremereboys,theobjectoftheirtourwasthattheyshouldgainafirst-handknowledgeofdistantcountries,and,notleastofall,thecountriesoftheEmpire.TheywentaboutJamaica,obserVingthelifeandsceneryaroundthem.Notmuchformalitywasobservedinregardtotheirreceptionandmovements;thevisitwasinformal,theywerestillminors.YetthepeoplemanagedtomanifesttheiraffectionfortheRoyalHouseeffectivelywhenevertheroyalbrotherswereseen.ThereweremanypersonsinJamaicawhorememberedHisMajestyasa boy whenhecamebackt.oJamaicaonJanuary24th, 1891, toopentheJamaicaInternationalExhibition.PrinceGeorgeofWales,ashethenwasknown,wasaquiet-looking,reservedyoungman,full-bearded,andofcourteous,graciousmanner.Hewas 2& yearsofagein1891andhadformanyyearsbeenasailor.Attbattimehewasincommandofthe"Thrush,"aunitofAdmiralWatson'ssquadron;butthemomenthesteamedintoKingstonHarbourheassumedthestatusofspecialrepresentativeofhisfather,EdwardPrinceofWales,onwhosebehalfhewastoopentheJamaicaExhibition.TothiseventallJamaicahadbeenlookingforwardforsometime.TheGovernorofthatday,SirHenryBlake,wasamanofhighlyoptimisticandsanguinetemperament;heearnestlydesiredthecolony'sprogressandprosperityandhewasconvincedthataninternationalexposition,formallyopenedbyaprinceofthebloodroyal,woulddo agreatdealtobringJamaicaprominentlybeforetheworld'seyes. Tothisendheworked;moneyfortheobjectinviewwasvotedbytheJamaicaLegislativeCouncil,andprivatepersonswereaskedtoguaranteetheamountnotvoted,theconfidentassertionbeingthatthisguaranteewouldbebutamatterofform,sincetheExhibitionmustinfalliblypayits way. ACRITICALpersonmighthaveaskedwhy,sincetheExhibitionwascertaintopay,thereshouldbeanynecessityforguarantors;butcriticalpersonsthoughtitwisesttorefrainfromcriticalobservations:theyalsorefrainedfromguaranteeinganypartoftheexpensescontemplated.Othersflockedforwardtoputtheirnamesdownforsums,largeorsmallaccordingtotheirmeansandtotheiraboundingfaith.ThisExhibition,itwassaidwiththatenthusiasmwhichJamaicaeverdisplayswithregardtosomethingnew,wouldinaugurateanewerainthecountryandaccomplishmarvellousthingsinthewayofhelpingittoprosperity.Besides,aroyalprincewouldcometoopenit,andJamaicahadeverlovedtheRoyalFamily,Soallwentwell,andonanopenspacetothenorthofKingston'sracecoursethererosealargeoblongwoodenbuildingdomedinthecentre,andtherewerelaidoutspacious ground;:;, andfrom the otherWestIndiancolonies,andfrommanycountriesofthegreatoutsideworld,cameexhibits;andthen,onJanuary24th, 1891, avastcrowdlinedthestreet.sofKingston,fromthewaterfronttothegatesoftheExhibitionbuilding.ThePrincehadarrivedandwastomakeaprocessioninstatethroughtheisland'scapital.Theenthusiasmofthepopulace,workeduptofeverheat,reacheditsclimaxont.hat.day.AroarofwelcomingvoicesproclaimedtotheskiesthatJamaicawasdelightedoncemoretogreetPrinceGeorge,theSailorPrinceashewascalled,andthroughhimtheQueenofEnglandandhisRoyalFather,EdwardPrinceofWales.Everyparishoftheislandsent.representativestotakepartinthefunctionstobeheldinthePrince'shonour.Themountedguardswhorodebyhiscarriage-proudoftheprivilege-camefromTre-lawny,decayingeventhen,butstillableto furnish. menandhorsesthatcouldmakea fineshow upon' suchanoccasion.Archesspannedthestreets,no'footofsidewalkbutaccommodatedaspectator, onhousetopsandamongthebranchesoftreesweremenandyouthscheeringthebrilliantcortegeasitpassed.Itwasalongprocession,withslowstatelycarriages,withattendantmartialmusic,withglowofcolourandpompofpageantry,andthemildbut'gloriouslygoldensun01aWestIndianwinterlight-'editupandmadeofitaspectacleunforgettable'bythosewhosawit.WearingtheblueribandofthegarterandthedressofanofficeroftheBrit-ishNavy,thePrincereturnedthesalutationsof the crowdwitharegularmethodicaltouchingofhisplumedhat.Hisfaceexpressednoemotionsavethatofcalmness.Butnowandthenheturnedhisheadfromsidetoside, soastoacknowledgethegreetingshereceivedfrombothsidesofthethoroughfaresthroughwhichhepassed.Thosewhosawhim'onthatdayrememberhimvividlystill.TheExhibitiondidnotpay,theguarantorswerecalledupontomakegoodthedeficiency,andtherewasmuchrailingandcursingintheland. But. PrinceGeorgehadbeengivenanexcellentreception,andthe populationgenerallywereproud and delightedthathehadspeciallycome toJamaicainaformalandrepresentativecapacity.Perhaps,too.thepresenteraofJamaica'shistorymaybesaid to datefromtheopening'oftheJamaicaInternationalExposition,foritwasthenthatmodernhotelswerefirsterectedinJamaicafortheentertainingofvisitorsfromabroad,anditissincethenthatJamaicahasdeliberatelymadeanefforttoattracttourists,who,yearbyyear,in'creaseinnumbersand bring: somebreathoftheEnglishandAmericanpleasureseekingworldintotheeverydaylifeofthesetropics.PrinceGeorge,unlikehisancestorPrince Wil liam,nevercamebacktoJamaicaforathirdvisit;butnowandthenasKinghehasreceivedemin-,entpersonsconnectedwiththeisland-Governors,Bishops,membersoftheLegislativeCounciland the like-andhasaskedinthekindliesttermsaboutitanditspeople,havingretainedavividmemoryof his visitandhisreceptionhere.PERHAPSitwasmorebyaccidentthandesignthathissecondsonvisitedJamaicainMarch,1913.PrinceAlbertwasthenacadetinawarshipcruisingfromcountrytocountry,andtheshipcalledherefora fewdays.ItwasannouncedthattherewouldbenoformalwelcometothePrince,butthedayand hour whenheshouldvisittheGovernoratKing'sHousewerepublished,andthepopulacewasinformedthat.itmightgatherifitlikedinthethoroughfarethroughwhichthecarriageconveyinghimtotheGovernor'sresidencewouldpass.WithastrikingregardfortheexpresseddesireoftheSovereignandhislocalrepresentative,thepeopleofKingstondidexactlyaswassuggested.TheyassembledinthousandsfromtheVictoriaMarketPier,wherethePrincewouldland,uptotheCentralPark,thusformingalivingavenueintheprincipalbusinessstreetofKingston.AsthePrincedroveon,inacarriagewiththeCaptainofhiswarship,butunaccompaniedbyanyregularescort,thepeopleliftedtheirhatsinrespectfulsalutation.Therewasnoshouting,nocheering;allmarksofformaldemonstrationwereeschewed.WhatwasequivalenttoacommandfromHisMajestytheKinghadgoneforth,anditwasmostscrupulouslyobeyed.AfterthatPrinceAlbertwentaboutKingstonandtheadjacentparishesa gooddeal.HewasseeninbookshopsbuyingbookswhichdealtwithJamaica,hewasseenwithcadetsofabouthisownageatvariouspublicplaces.HewaspresentattheyachtracegivenbytheJamaicaYachtClubinhonouroftheCaptainandofficersoftheshiponwhichheserved,andnaturallyhewastherethecynosureofalleyes.Hewastheobservedofalltheobservers,butalwaysitwasrememberedthathemustnotbetreatedasonetravellingasaRoyalPrince.HiswasthefirstvisitmadebyamemberoftheRoyalfamilysincehisfatherhadcometoJamaicain1891.Hewasbutaboythen.HewastoreturninJanuary,1927, amanandafather,toreceiveademonstrationwhichhasneverbeensurpassedinwarmth,ingenuineloyalty,andasadisplayofpersonalaffection,inanypartoftheBritishOverseasEmpireinwhichhehasbeen.MEANTIME,in1920,arrangementsweremadeforHisRoyalHighnessthePrinceofWalestovisitJamaicaandtherestoftheBritishWestIndies.ItwasscheduledthatforthreedaysthePrinceofWalesshould.remaininJamaica,andascomprehensiveaprogrammeaswaspossibletofillthislimitedtimewascarefullyarranged.TheLegislativeCoun cilvoted,000fortheexpensesattendantonthevisit,themerchantsandpublicmenofJamaicawereaskedtosubscribeanother,000andsetaboutdoingsowiththeutmostcordiality.ItisonrecordthatformonthsbeforethedateoftheexpectedvisitordersfordresseswerebeingplacedbytheJamaicaladies,andanticipationofagorgeousseriesoffestivitiesfilledtheheartsoftheloveliersexwithflutteringdelight.Andthen,sometimeinJuly1920,therebrokeoutinJamaicaacontagiousdiseasecalledalastrim,andtheGovernorofJamaicainformedtheColonialOfficeauthoritiesthathedidnotlike


1928PLANTERS'PUNCH., .> to taketheresponsibility-of allowinganymember of thesquadronaccompanyingHisRoyalHighnessonthistourtocontractanunpleasantdiseaseinJanlaica.ThePrincehimself was readyenoughtocometoJamaica,butthoseresponsibleforhiscomfortandhealthwouldnotfaceapossiblerisk.Sothevisitwascancelled.Jamaicalearntwithsorrow.andregretthat otherWestIndiancolonieswouldhavethehonour ..and pleasureof formally welcomingtheHeirAp parent totheThrone,Ja.maicamustforfeitthatprivilegebecausehersanitaryhousewasnotthencompletelyinorder.HisRoyalHighness ,graciously promisedto corneonavisittoJamaica.atanothertime,whenthereshouldpresentitself.anopportunityofdoingso.Butnoonecouldguesswhensuchanopportunitymightoccur,anditwasfeltto bequiteprobablethatitmightneveroccur.Thus,itseemed,Jamaicamightneverbeableto expressinsomesortofpersonalmanner,andwithspectacularandpropereffect,itshighregard,respectandaffectionforonewhois,nexttoHisMajestyofEngland,themostpopularpersonalityintheBritishEmpireto-day.IT is,however,theunexpectedwhichfrequentlyhappens.In1924thegreatWembleyExhibitionwasopenedinLondon.IthadbeendecidedthatatthatExhibitionJamaicashouldberepresented;anumberofspecialdelegatestolookafterthecolony'sinterestsattheExhibitionwereappointed,andaverylargenumberofJamaicanswentovertoEnglandtoattendtheExhibition.OneofthespecialdelegateswastheHon.HoraceVictorMyers(thenanominatedmemberoftheJamaicaLegislativeCouncil)andhecon-THEIRROYALHIGHNESSESTHEDUKE AXD DUCHESSOF YORK.COLOl'lEL-COllIl\IANDANT lIIUDGE,c.n.,C.lI1.G., ANDMRS.'MUDGE, ATTHISPICTURE WASTAKENPhotouy Cle(ll'Y ana Elliott. STANDINGBEHIXDTHEU AREWHOSERESIDENCEIN JA3IAICA ceivedthehappyideaofformallyentertainingHisRoyalHighnessthePrinceofWales,inthenameandforthesakeofJamaica,atagardenpartyintheJamaicaCourtatWembley.Thisfunction,al-thoughtheideaofoneman,andentirelyfinancedbyhim,wastoberepresentativelyJamaican;itsintentionwastobringHisRoyalHighness,inaway,intopersonaltouchwiththiscolony.ConsequentlyeveryJamaicantheninEnglandwasaskedtoattendit,uponthePrince'sgraciouslyintimatinghisacceptanceoftheinvitation.ManyWestIndianswerealsoasked-everyonewhosenameandaddresscouldbeobtained.ToshowanadequateappreciationofthePrinceofWales,todemonstratethefeelingsofthisco!onytowardshimandtheRoyalFamily,itwasnecessarythatthegardenpartyshouldbeonascaleandinastylethatwouldbearcomparisonwithanythingofasimilarnatureorganisedanywhereforthespecialpurposeofentertainingthePrince of Wales.Thisdesignwascarriedthroughadmirably.Thatistheverdictofallcompetentjudges.TheJamaicaGardenPartyatWembleyopenedatfouro'clockonJuly14th,1924.Englishweatherisnotoriouslyuncertain,butonthatafternoonthesunshoneoutwithsomethinglikeWest In diansplendour.Atfour'o'clockthePrincearrivedand was metbyhishostandhostess,Mr.andMrs.Myers.Assembledto welcomehimweremenandwomenwhoweredirectlyorindirectlyconnectedwithJamaicaortheotherWest India::J. colonies. The DukeofDevonshire,exSecretaryofStateforthe'Colonies,waspresent;Lord Durnhn.m, agreat.friendofthesecolonies.Photo by ClearyandEtliott. THE DUKEOF YORK LAYINGAWREATHATTHEFOOTOFTHE CEXOTAPH IN KIXGSTOX, TOTHOSEJAl\IAICAN ilIEilffiERS OFTHEBRITISHWESTINDIESREGIlIlENTWHODIEDINTHEGREATWAR.THEDUCHESSIS SEEXWATCHIl'IG THE CEREMOXY


4PLANTERS'PUNCH1928 TIll'DL"l{EO.Fl'VI:-;IRRGH. Queen Victoria's secondSOli, 'w110asPrine::."-vistedillHHilI'RI:-;CEWILLI.\)[. aftel'wul'(ls li:ing \"illiulil.IV, the fil'st Royal ,'isitol'toJaluaicn.Hefirst Clune in I'IUXCJ,G1<,ORGE.(nowliingY)as]1( .... wuswhen,as n :youth,hecante to Jll1uaiclt in tht"IfUu{'('hantc" in IH,SU andonewhohasdonemuchforthem,wasthere,withLadyBurnham;Mr.OrmsbyGore,theUnder-SecretaryofStatefortheColonies,waspresentalso,andheknewJamaicawell;andtherewereLordOlivier,onceGovernorofJamaica,andSirEdwardandLadyDavson,whohadlongbeenconnectedwiththe ,Vest Indies,andSirCampbellStuart,andSirHerbertandLadyBarker,andLordKitchener,andSirJohnandLadyLynn-Thomas,allofthemhavingsomeconnectionwithJamaica.Thereweremanyothers,membersofHisMajesty'sGovernment,mendistinguishedinEngland'spubliclife.Butitisnotourpurposetodwellupondetails.Itwillsuffice tosaythatthegatheringwasbrilliant,and,representingtheresidentsofJamaica,wasalargenumberofpersonsprominentintheisland'ssocial,professional,mercantileandpoliticallife. Oneman,describingthesceneafterwards,saidthathefeltthathewasatagreatJamaicagatheringashemovedaboutandsawsomanyfamiliarfaces.MostofthepersonswhomthePrincesawthere,andthosewhohadthehonourofmeetinghim,hewouldhavemetinJamaica.AndtheexhibitswereJamaican,thedecorationsJamaican.EverythingposGiblehadbeendonetogivetothegroundsandbuildingacharacteristicJamaicanappearance,andthesuccessoftheeffortwasapparentataglance.DRAWTupsmartly,andarrayedintheirpicturesque.uniformsofscarletandfaintyellow,withlacedflatturbansontheirheads,wasthefamousbandoftheequallyfamousWestIndiaRegiment,sincethendisbanded.AstheystoodstifflytoattentiontheywereinspectedbyHisRoyalHighness,accompaniedbyhishost;thePrincealsoparadedthegrounds,conductingMrs. Myers, andexpressedhimselfpleasedandgratifiedwiththeJamaicacourtandthisJamaicareceptionofhim.Heremainedforoveranhour,hadteawithhishostandhostessandapartyspeciallyinvited,andthenleft.Asitwasputbysomeoneatthetime,HisRoyalHighnesscouldnotgotoJamaicabecauseofanunfortunatecircumstance,butJamaica,inaman-nerofspeaking,wenttohim.Jamaica,throughtheinitiative.loyaltyandthoughtfulnessof Mr. andMrs.Myerspaidhimadirecttributeandgaveevidenceinaparticularfashion of itsdevotiontohisroyalfatherandhimself.AtthatfunctionthePrincehandedto !VIr. Myersa messa;:;e tobesentto I'RI:-;CEGEORGE OF WALES (now Georgf.' \T). \,"hen atthe age of 25, he('ROletoallen Janulica, Intel'nationalExhibitionJamaica,andinitheexpressedthehopethatonedayheshouldbeabletopayavisittothisisland.avisitwhichheregardedasbutpostponed.AllJa maica trusts tb.at an willbeavailableforthefulfilment of thispromiseofthePrinceofWales.Butevenifheshouldnotbeabletofulfil it.Jamaicaknowsthatitsfeelingandwishesrespecting tb.e PrinceofWaleswereadmirablyinterpJ'etedanddemonstratedonJuly14th.1924.The lJ05t.:SS ofthatoccasionknewitalso.Shedidherdutysimply,beautifully,completely,asadaughter of Jamaica.To-daysheisnolongerwithus,butwethink of herasonwhoupheldthefinestJamaicatraditionsonthatEnglishsummer'sday.andwhowasworthytoofferthiscountry'shospitalitytotheheirofahundredkings.THEauthoritiesinEnglandwerenotunmindfulofthedisappointmentwhichJamaicahadsuffer edthroughthecancellingofthevisitofthePrinceof ,Vales in1924; sowhenitwasbeingarrangedthattheKing'ssecondsonandhiswife,theDukeandDuchessofYork,shouldgoonaspecialtour 0: NewZealandandAustralia.Jamaica was includedintheitineraryanditwasfixedthat.inJanuary,1927.theirRoyalHighnessesshouldspendthreedaysinthisisland.OnThursday.January20th,theroyalpartylanded.Theirshipthe"Renown,"agreatbattle-cruiser.grey.elegant.formidable,layatanchorinKingstonHarbour.andduringtheearlierpart of thedaythegunsofwarshipandofforthadbeenthunderingforthsalutes.Forweeksbeforethepreparationshadbeentakeninhand,committeeshadbeenformedandentrusted withvariolis detailsofthework. allrl nowallwasreadyandthecityofKingstonpresented a galaappearancewithitsfreshly-painted buildings, itssweptandgarnishedstreets,itsfestoons of flags,itsvariegatedcolouring,andthebrightsnnshinefloodingitall;withitscrowds of enthusiasticpeopledressedintheirgayestandbestandmanifest.ingaspiritofspontaneousjoyousnessandappreciation, THE RUILDING IN WHICHWASHELD THEJAJ.UAICAINTER:-fATIONAL EXHIBITION.OPENED ON JANUARY 24tll, 1891,BY PRI:-fCE GEORGEOFWALES.FROMFIRSTTOLAST302,831PEOPLEVISITEDTHIS EXHIRITION


1928PLANTERS'PUNCH51.HisRoyalHighnessthePrinceofWales,withhisHosts,Mr.andMrs. Horace V.Myers,goingthroughtheJa maicaCourtatWembley,July14th,1924. 11.HisRoyalHighness, accompaniedbyMr.andMrs. Myers,inspectingtheBandoftheWestIndiaRegiment.


G PLANTERS'PUNCH1928aspiritthatinfectedeveryclassandmadeofallclassesoneforthepurposesofthathourandthatday.Attwoo'clocktheDukeandhisDuchesslanded,beingreceivedbytheGovernorofJamaica,SirReginaldEdwardStubbs,LadyStubbs,andthecolony'sleadingdignitaries.Andastheroyalpartysteppedupontheshore,adeep-throatedcheerwentupfromthecrowdthatthrongedtheopenspaceinfrontoftheVictoriaPierandthepiersadjacent.ThenoiseofthatshoutingadvisedthepeoplefartheronthattheDukeandDuchessofYorkwereonthesoilofJamaica,andpresentlythosewhowaitedandwatchedsawthecortegeapproaching;thelineofcarsthatslowlysweptupwards;sawthefresh,youthfulfacesoftheKing'schildrenastheysmiledandbowedtheirappreciationofJamaica'swelcome;sawthePrincetheyhadonceseenaboynowgrowntomanhood,andcheeredagainandagainuntilthecitywasfiIledwiththesoundofshoutingandtheairresoundedwiththeacclamationsofaloyalanddelightedpopulace.THEREwereotherreceptions.Thesefollowedfastupononeanother.Thereweredinnersandgardenparties,presentationsandtoursinthecountry,andsoonthepeople,thecommonpeoplewhomAbrahamLincolnsaidthatGodmustlove,becauseHehadmadesomanyofthem,foundtheirownnamefortheDuchessofYork.ShewaseuphoniouslytermedTheRoseofYorkbywriters,andonthe"Renown,"inpetalsofwhitefire,theWhiteRoseofYorkblazedforthatnight.ButthecitizensofKingstonfoundtheirownnameforher,theycalledherTheSweetLady,andasTheSweetLadyshelivesintheirmemoriesandhearts.Hersmilewassweet,andsweetlydidshesmileuponthecrowdsasshepassedthemtimeandagainduringthemanyprocessionstheroyalpartymade.TheDukewasnowhitbehindinhisexpressionofcordiality.TOoneseemedtoescapethenoticeoftheroyalcouple;theireyessoughtandsawmenwhoclungprecariouslytotheroofsofbuildingsinordertocatchaglimpseofTheirRoyalHighnesses;therewashumanwarmthinthebowoftheDuke,andtruesweetnessintheDuchess'smile.Neverhadaroyalvisitbeenagreatersuccess.everhadadeeper,amoreenduringimpressionbeenmadeonJamaicathanthatmade by theDukeandtheDuchessofYork.AndboththeDukeandDuchessweretouchedbytheinterestexhibitedbyJamaicansintheirlittledaughter,thePrincessElizabeth.TheDukementionedthattooneJamaicanwhohadthehonourofabriefconversationwithhimonthe"Renown."TheirRoyalHighnesseshadobservedhowmuchtherewasinthenewspapersaboutthePrincessElizabeth,andthatconcern,thatattention,appealedtotheirhearts.Theyhadnoticedtoo-theycouldnotbuthavenoticed-theattitudeandbehaviourofthecrowd.Itwasremarkable.0harshwords,nopushingorjostling,cheeringwithoutvulgarity,enthusiasminformedwithdeepestrespect-itwaswonderful.Anditisonrecordthatduringthedaysthattheroyalpartywasheretherewerefewercrimescommittedthanordinarilybythecriminalelementsofthepopulation.Thatmayhavebeenbuta coin-cidence.But more probablyitwasbecauseeventhecriminalswishedtocelebratethecomingoftheDukeandtheDuchessofYork.THISlastroyalvisitdidmorethancanpossiblybeestimatedtotouchintoglowinglifetheloveofJamaicafortheRoyalFamilyofEnglandandallthatitstandsforinsymbolicalrelationship.TheDukeandhisSweetLadycharmedallthosewhosawthemandwhocameintocontactwiththem,andthenewsoftheirgraciousnessandsimplicitywentthroughthecolonylikeafragrantsoftwindandfannedintoferventflametheloyalaffectionofthehumblestpeople.Theycameasstrangers,theydepartedwiththeloveofJamaica,andJamaicawiIlneverforgetthem.Theymaycomeagain.Thevalueofsuch visfts isknownintheMotherCountry;theRoyalFamilyitselfappreciatesthesignificanceof'them,and,arduousthoughtheyareandcannotfailtobe,membersoftheRoyalFamilyundertakethemnotonlyasadutybutoutofareciprocalfeelingofloveforthosewholovethem.WhennightfeIlinKingstononJanuary20th, 1927,andthegreatWelcomeArchandPublicBuildingsandallthestructuresinthemainthoroughfareofKingstonflamedforthinasplendouroflight,withtheskyaboveshininganintensevelvetblue,thecitywasawakeandmanyofitsthousandswerewalkingtoandfrocelebratingtheroyalvisit.Andfromonetotheotherpassedmuchthesameword,anditwasawordofjoyandblessing:joythatJamaicahadsoappropriatelywelcomedtheyoungDukeandDuchess,andablessingonthemandontheirsforevermore.TIlErRINCEOFWALES SIGNING TIlEVISITORS'BOOK IX THE JAl\IAICACOl:RT AT WKUBLEYOXJULY 14th,1924Some Characteristics ofthe Prince of Wales MajorF.E.Verney,M.C.,whohastravelledwithHisRoyalHighnessthePrinceofWales,givesusinhisbookonthePrinceaninterestinginsightintothelatter'scharacter.MajorVerneyremarksthatinterestinthePrinceofWalesisnotonlyuniversal,butcuriouslyintimate,evendomestic,andthepopularquestion"whatisthePrincelike?"reaIlymeanswhatdoeshelike,thinkanddointhepersonalsenseoutsidehisofficialidentity.Ofhispositioninasocialsenseheisonlyconsciousinthatitrestrictshispersonalfreedom,andthatitinspiresinmanypeoplehemeetsanartificiality 'Yhich hehasalwaystobefighting.Sofarashisofficialpositionisconcerned,whileheregardshisfutureasKingEmperorwithdefinitepersonaldiffidenceandnosmaIlregretheneverthelessacceptstheprospectsbecauseitis"thegame,"andhehasnothoughtofshirkinghisresponsibilities.H.R.H.'spersonalreactionstowardshisspectaculardutiesareexpressedbyhishabitofgettingthroughthemasrapidlyaspOSSible,andreducingpomptothepracticablezero.FuIl-dressceremonialswhichgallopthepulseoftheon-lookerleavehimcold.Therearetwothingswhichgivehinirealexcitement-ridingtohoundsandtheclosefinishofarace,forthePrinceisexceedinglykeenonhorsesandaremarkablygoodrider.Poloishisfavouritegame,butwhenhisofficialdutiespreventhimfromtakingpartinthisheturnstogolf,thoughheisofopinionthatitiseasierforamantomakeanassofhimselfatgolfthanatanyothergame,andforthisreasonheplaysonlywithpeopleheknowsandusuallywithmen.ThePrincealsohasanothergrievanceagainstthisgame.Helikestoenjoyhimselfquietly,bntitseemsimpossibleforhimtodo soonthelinks,fornosoonerhashedoneacoupleofholesthanthegroundsbegintofillinamostremarkablemanner,andoncehewasheardtoremarkwithanimpatiencewhichcanbeunderstood,"WhereverI gotheysmellmeout."InthePrince'sinveteratedesireforhardexercisethereisastrongelementofhistemperamentalrestlessness.Butheisinfluencedalsobythefearofputtingonweight,ofwhichhehasahorror,andisdeterminedtokeepthetendencyincheck;soheiscarefulinhisdiet,eatssparinglyandkeepsaneyeontheweighingmachineandthefeelofhisuniforms.InregardtomusicthePrince'stasteissimilartothatofmostotherordinarypersonswhohavenotbeenspeciallytrainedinmusic,buthehasaverygoodear,picksuparefrainwithunusualeaseandcanstrumeffectivelyontheukalele-afactwhichshouldinspireourlocaljazzmusicianswithagreaterrespectforthatinstrument.ThePrinceisalsofondofjazz.Itstunefuljingle,gaysyncopationandcompletelyirresponsiblesuggestionprovidehimwiththeutmostmeasureofrelaxation,beinginabsolutecontrastwithallseriousemotions.Oneofthemostwide-spreadillusionsaboutthePrinceishissupposednervousness.Whenhewasverymuchyoungerhewasdiffidentandretiringandbynomeansateaseinsomeofhispublicstateduties,butthisisnolongerthecase.Heisnowcompletemasterofhimselfinallcircumstances,andsofarfrombeingnervoushashadtocometotherescueofofficialswhoatstatefunctionshavelosttheirheadsandbeeninimminentdangerofbunglingmattersbyfailingto carry outthepartsallottedto theJ;Il. Ononeoccasion,duringthepresentationofanOrderto aSeniorAdministrativeOfficial,theStaffOfficerwhowasresponsibleforthestagemanagingdiscoveredatthepsychologicalmomentthathehadmislaidthedecoration.Completelydemoralized,hestammeredtothePrince:"1haditinmypocket,Sir,inasmallbox.Theboxisthereallright,butGodknowswherethedecorationis."TheStaffwasappalledbythiscontretemps,butthePrincecametotherescue."Givehimthebox,"hesaidco oIly."Thatwilldo to goonwith,"andthefunctionwascompletedwithoutahitch.OnanotheroccasionacertainMayorcametoafull-stopinthemiddleofaspeech,inwhichaphrasesomethinglikethisoccurred:"NotonlydowewelcomeYourRoyalHighnessasrepresentativeofHisMajestytheKing,butwe-we-.',HerehebeganafranticsearchforthenextwordwhenthePrinceagainsteppedintothebreachandprompted,"Wewelcomeyouforyourself."Unfortunately,orfortunatelyfortheentertainmentoftheaudience,thePrince'svoicecarriedfurtherthantheplatformandthewholehousehowledwithdelight.ThetremendouspopularityofHisRoyalHighnessisaccountedforbyacombinationofpositionandpersonality.Butitisnotthepositionsomuchasthepersonality,thesimpleandout-reachinghumanness,whichinspiresamongthevastlydifferingtypesorhumanitywithwhomhehasbeenintouchthefeelingwhichwasepitomisedbyaDutchM.P.whenhesaid:"ThereisnotaburgherinthistownwhowouldnotbeproudtoletthePrincewalkonhim."


1928PLANTERS'PUNCH7THESINSOFTHECHILDRENByllERBERTG.DELISSER, ..cluthor of ".JAXE'S C_I.REER;' "HEVEXGE/'ETC. CHAPTER OKE MRS.Primroselaughedopenlyatthedreadsovividlyexpressedin Mr. Proudleigh'sfaceasshepassedafeatheroverthebodyofthelittle yellowsnakewhichwrithedandcurveditselfinto loopsatthebottomoftheshallowboxinwhich,for thepresent,itlived.Thesnakewasquiteharmless,beingoneofthosefoundsometimesintheruralpartsofJamaica;butMr.Proudleighwasanurbandweller,andassuchwas notacquaintedwithserpentsandtheirhabits.More,althoughamilitantChristianinargument,holding firmlythatfaithshouldbe all-sufficient for salYation,hehadenoughsuperstitioninhimtoasso ciate allsnakeswiththeAfricanwitchcraftknownasobeah.Hehadalwaysheardthatobeahme\1 and obeah womenhadtrafficwithsnakes,whichweretheirfamiliarspirits.Asnakecouldbringyouluck.Itmightmakeyouapowerandterroramongyourfellow-creatures.Butwhileithelpeditsowner,thelatterhadtopayapriceforitsservices,forthedevil,itwasknown,gavenothingfornothing,thougha timelydeath-bedconversionmightcheathimatthelast. ,Therefore,seeingthatMrs.Primrosehadasnakeof whichshewasnotintheleastafraid,Mr.ProudleighwonderedwhetherMrs.Primrosemightnotbeanobeahwoman,andwasstronglyinclinedto sugg('st hissuspicionstoallandsundryatthefirstconvenientopportunity.HelikedMrs.Primrose,butasnakewasasnake,anopportunityforgossipwasanopportunitynotlightlytobelost,anditwouldaddtohishappinesstobeabletohintthatMrs.PrimrosewasnotallthatsheoughttobeasaChristianpersonandamemberofsociety.AllofwhichMrs.Primrosedivined;butbeingastrongminded woman,jwhomtheoldmanamused,shemerelylaughedasshewatchedthechangingexpressionson h is face. "You'fraidforit?"sheenquired."Butwhy?Itisn'tharmful.", "Well,Iwouldn'tsayasIwasreally'fraidfor it, Mrs.P."repliedMr.Proudleigh;"butwhatIalwayssayisdatacowardmankeepsoundbones. And Iareoldan'notinclineto foolwidanysnakeIdoan'tunderstand.IrememberwhenIwasinPanama wid mydarter,Susan,whichisnowMrs. Jone3 (an'herhusban'doan'thavenoproperappreciatmentofme),datonedayIseeabigsnakeaslongasfromheretothetopofdisstreet.Iwasboldan'foolishden,whichis the samet'ing,andIwalkup todesnakean'kickitwidmefoot. Medearlady.efitwasn'tforde'elpof God,datkickwouldha'been me last.Fornosoonerdidmefootflyout-"ButMrs.Primrosewouldnotallowhimanylongertoaddtothelistoftheworld'sfamous fables."Tcha,tcha,oldman,"shecried,"youforgetthatIknowallaboutPanamaandCostaRicaandNicaragua?Iwastheremuchlongerthanyou.Nosnakeso bigwaseverthere,an'evenifitwasyouwouldn'tseeitintheCanalZone." "Y'umeantosaythaty'uthinksIwouldtellyoua lie,MistressPrimr03e?"demandedMr.Proudleighwithawonderfulassumptionof offendeddignityandinjuredinnocence. "No,notthat,"thewomangood-naturedlyanswered,"butperhapsyoufo'get.""Well,itmaybeso,"thoughtfullyagreedMr.Proudleigh ;"fornowdatIaregettenoldmememoryplaydedevilwidmesometimes.Howsoeverdoan'tdodat,MistressPrimrose,doan'tdodat!"HiscrywaselicitedbyagestureofMrs.Primrose, whohadmadeamovementasthoughtoseizethesnakeandliftitoutofthebox. Mr.Proudleighprecipitatelyretreatedaboutfiveyardsaway,prepared forinstantfurtherflightshouldMrs.Primrosemakeanyseriousefforttointroducehimmoreclosely tothesnake."Don'tbeafraid,"sheassuredhimwithalaugh;andshecoveredtheboxwithaperforatedlid,tuckeditunderherarm,andwalkedtowardsthedoorofthelittlehouseoutsideofwhichtheyhadbeenstanding.Seeingthatthesnakehadbeenputawayforthetimebeing, Mr.Proudleigh,thoughuninvited,followed her.Hewasatall,angular man, lookingaboutsixtyfiveyearsof age,brownofcomplexion,cunningof ex pression,andgivingtheobserveranimpressionof feeblenesswhichwassomewhatcontradictedbyhisgeneralactivityinpettyill-doing.NotthatMr.Proudleighhadeverdonemuchharminhislife,oreverdeliberatelyworkedforthemisfortuneofothers.Hewasmerelyatalkativepersonwholovedscandal,agentlemanwhoweighedandmeasuredeverythingbytheweightsandmeasuresofself-interest.Hemademischief,notbypurposelyintendingit,butbecauseitmighttemporarilyaidhimandalsobecauseitintriguedhimtobeinthearenaofdomestictroublesolongashefeltthathehimselfwassafe.Formanyyearsnowhehadlivedonthebountyofhischildren,andthisheconsideredasinnowisederogatorytotheacceptedstandardsofmanliness,forhadhenottoiledforandbroughtupthose samll childrenwhentheywereyoungandhelpless?Hehadnotbeenaharshorneglectfulparent,hehadgiventhemliberallyofwhateverhehadhad.Theywereadultsnow-thesonwhowasaway,onedaughter,whohadalsogone"foreign,"andSusan,hiseldergirl,whohadmarriedsometimebefore.Here,then,accordingto Mr.Proudleigh'slights,werethreebanksuponwhichhehadeverysocial,moralandreligiousrighttodraw;butastwoofthese"banks"functionedinCentralAmerica,andwouldonlyhonourchequesoccasionally,henowlivedwithandonSusanandherhusband,asourceofconstantuneasinesstoboth,for,asMrs.Susan Jon(!$ veryaptlyputit,"papadon'tknowwhentohaulinhistonguebetweenhisteeth."AndyetmostpeoplelikedoldProudleigh.Hewaseasy-tempered,veryobliging,fullofhumorousanecdotes,aperfectsystemforthetransmission of thatkindofinformationwhichsometimesleadstoslanderandlibelactions,informationwhicheverybodytermeddisgracefulandyetlistenedtowiththegreatestavidity.Menalludedtohimasanoldscoundrel,buttheyalwaysdidsowithacontemptuoussortofaffection.Hewasthree-fifthsblack,whichistosaythathewastwo-fifthswhite,andhisEnglishancestorhadbeenamanofsomenoteinJamaica.Mr.Proudleighsometimesmentionedhehadheardthatthesaidancestorhadbeenaduke,buthedidnotallowhimselftobecomesnobbishandpuffeduponaccountofhisallegedexaltedancestry.Henevel'wasabovetakingalittledrinkfromsomequitehumbleacquaintance,withnottheslightestintentionofofferinganotherinreturn.Mrs.Primrosewasatall,well-set-upwomanofaboutforty-eight,ofmuchthesamecomplexionasMr.Proudleigh,butwithquiteprominentfeatureswhichindicatedplainlyalargerstrainofwhitebloodinherveins.Asagirlshemusthavebeendecidedlygood-looking;evenatherpresentageshecouldbedescribedasahandsomewoman.Shehadastrongface,theslightlyhookednosesuggestingaJewishforebear.Thethinlipsfirmlyclosed,andwell-developedchin,proclaimedtoallwhowereanyjudgesofcharacterthatsheknewwellhowtoholdherownandassertherwillinacombativeandcompetitiveworld,andhowtohandleweakerpeoplealso.Shehadfor Mr.Proudleighthelikingwhichthestrongsofrequentlyentertainforthosedeficientinstrength;therewascontemptinit,butitwasgenuineenough,andtheoldmansensedthiseasily.HewassomewhatafraidofMrs.Primrose,butheadmittedtohimselfthathehadneverknownamoregenerousacquaintance.Firedwithadmirationofheropen-handedness,hefrequentlyleviedcontributionsonher,neverrising,itistrue,tomorethansixpenceatatime,butacceptingallherothergiftsaspartofthebenevolencewhich,seeingthatshewasrich,hefeltsheowedtohim-forMr.Proudleighhadinhimthemakingsofaperfectsocialist.Hehadknownherforaboutamonthnow;since,indeed,shehadcometoKingstononavisittosomerelatives. She residedinthesamesuburbin'whichhelived,andinthesamestreet.Shehadbecomeacquaintedwithhisdaughter,Mrs.Jones,whosesocialpositionenabledhertoknowevensuchanimportantpersonageasMrs.Primrose,thoughnotonanythinglikeaplaneofequality.HardlyadaypassedthatMr.ProudleighdidnotdropintoseeMrs.Primroseandtoregaleherwithstoriesaboutotherpeople,which,ifnotalwaysstrictlycorrect,hadneverthelessa sufficientfoundationoftruthtobehighlyinteresting,andwerealwayspiquantlyseasonedwithhisownpeculiarphilosophy.Mrs.Primrosewasawidow,andchildless.Shehadneverhadachild.AsayoungwomanshehadmarriedandemigratedwithherhusbandtoNicaragua;there,underthepressureofherwill,andhelpedimmenselybyherforesight,Primrosehaddoneverywellindeedinplantingbananasforoneofthegreatfruitcompanies.Butthedeadlyfeverofthosepartshadhaditswaywithhim;whenshewasthirty-sevenyearsoldhedied,leavingtohereverythingthathepossessed.Shesolda gooddeal of herproperty,leftonefairlylargeinfertilefarminthehandsofanagentandreturnedtoJamaica,totheparishofSt.Catherinewhereherbrotherfarmedhisownland.Shewastooindependentawomantoshareherbrother'shome,especiallyashiswifewasstillalive;soshepm'chasedasmallpropertyandsetherselftocultivateitwithhiredhelp.Apartfromthisshehadanincomefromhercapitalofatleasttwohundredpoundsayear-adecentfortuneforawomaninherposition.Sheknewthevalueofmoney,andsheknewhowtokeepit,thoughnooneA complete Jamaica novel,inwhich love, the modern life, politics, the social conven tions, each play an interesting and familiar part. A strong feminine character is the pivot on the story turns.consideredherstingy.Andshemadehercultivationpay.Theoneabsorbingpassionofherlifewasherloveforherniece,herbrother'sonlychild,anditwascurrentlyunderstoodthateverythingshepossessedwouldgotothatniecewhenshedied,andperhapssomeofitbefore.Thegirl,Vivian,wasnowabouttwenty-twoyearsofage;fortenyearsheraunthaddoneforhermorethanevenherfatherhad,thoughhetoowasamaninfairlygoodposition,asmalllandownerwithmuchofhissister'sability,but,unlikeher.passionate,vehementandbellicose.EverybodyconsideredthatVivianwasaluckygirl,with everything inlifetolookforwardto.Thosewhoknewher,andwereinclinedtobecomplimentary,saiditwasnowonderthatVivianthoughtsomuchofherself. When Mrs.Primroseheardsuchremarks,asshesometimesdid,shewouldobservethatViviancouldnotpossiblythinktoomuchofherself,sinceitwasonlybyputtingahighvalueuponherselfthatayoungladycouldmakethemostofherlifeandpositioninthisworld.GertrudePrimrosewas,atheart,averyproudwoman.CHAPTERTWOATALLgirl,whosatinarockingchairsewing,glancedupastwopersonspausedbeforethedooroftheroominwhichshesat;seeingMr.Proudleigh,shesmiled.Slightlydarkerthantheolderwoman,butwithstraighter,moreluxurianthair,thecloserelationshipbetweenthemstoodapparentataglance.Shemighthavebeenadaughter.PerhapsalmostexactlylikeVivianhadMrs.Primroselookedwhenshewastwenty-two;butherstaidnessandfirmnessofdemeanour,anindicationofcharacterandnotmerelytheresultofmiddleage,theyounggirllacked.Vivianwasmoreself-willedthanstrong:passionate,extremelyvivacious,andpatentlyvain.Evenherenviousacquaintancesadmittedreluctantlythatshewasverygood-looking.Thelargedarkeyesandwell-formednosewereamongherchiefattractions;hermouthwaswellformed,withpouting,laughinglips;herfigureslim,buthintingatdevelopmentinafteryears.Shedressedcarefullyandwell,awareoftheadvantageofatakingappearanceandlovingfinegarmentsfOl'themselves.Itwassomearticleofclothingthatshewasfinishingnow,andshewasinahappymood,ashergaysmileindicated.lVIr.Proudleighgreetedherdeferentially.NothavingbeenaskedtoenterthehousebyMrs.Primrose,hepausedatthefrontdoor,comfortablyleaningagainstit,andrespectfullyaddressedthegirl.Mrs.Primrosepassedintoaninnerroom,presumablytoputawayherharmlesspet."MissVi,"saidtheoldman,bywayofopeningaconversation,andwithintentiontoplease,"Ineverseeny'ulooksoprettyallmeIife"-hehadonlyknownhersinceshehadcometoKingstonfromthecountrytojoinheraunt,andthatwasbutaweekago."Yougetmorebeautifuleveryday,ma'am.NowonderdatyoungwhitegentlemanyoumeetinKingStreetdismorningteckoffhishattoyousogracefullikeIseehiDdo. Youdidn'tseeme,fory'uhadeyefornobodybuthim,butIwasstandin'bydecorner,waitingfordestreetcar,whenIseehimdriveup.An'Ifeelproudtoseeawhitegentlemanlikedatgreety'u.-"AndthenMr.ProudleighbecameawarethatVivianwasstaringathimwithmenacingeyesandthatherhandswereperemptorilymotioninghimtobesilent.Evidentlyhehadblunderedagain,ashedidsoofteninthecourseofalifethatseemedtohavebeenfilledwithangrylooksandsilencinggestures.Heceasedabruptly,butthebedroominwhichwasMrs.Primrosewastoonearforhernottohaveheardeverywordhehaduttered.WhenhepausedMrs.Primrose'svoicewasheard,askingcasuallybutwithanoteofinsistenceinit:"Whowasthegentleman,Vi?""Idon'tknow,AuntGertrude,"repliedVivianshortly,whilehereyesheldandwarnedMr.Proudleigh."Hejustbowed.Hedidn'tstoptospeaktome.""Notaminute,"brokeintheoldmanrapidly,takinghiscueandresolvedtoremedyhiserror,asfarasthatwaspossible."Himdriveupan'bow,anddriveawayagain.Buthimwasanice-Iookin'gentlemanan'quiteyoung.Himlookasifhimcomeframdecountry.""Fromthecountry?"queriedMrs.Primrose."Yousureitwasn'tMr. Gus,Vi?"


8PLANTER S'PUNCH1928hesitatetoanswertartlyifcross-examinedfurther.Mrs.Primrosethereforeturnedandre-enteredthebedroom,andMr.ProudleighcaughtasignalfromVivianurginghisimmediatedeparture.Heunderstoodandactedaccordingly."1going, Mrs. P.,"hecalledout:"1goin'medearyounglady.1willcometoseeyouagen."Thenhe Ehambled of!',butnotwithouthavingreceivedasignfromVivianwhichseemedtohimtobeapromiseofgreatandabundantrewardinthefuture.Hehadmadeaninitialmistake,butnowhewasnotatallsurethatithadbeensuchamistakefromhisparticu-larpointofview.Thegirlwaskeepingsomethingfromheraunt;shehadnotwishedheraunttoknowthatshehadseenthisdashingyounggentlemanandhadspokentohim.Perhapsshehadactuallymethimbyappointment;twicewithintheweek,Mr.Proudleighrememberednow,hehadseenVivianatthatsamespotinKingStreet,aparkingplaceforautomobiles.Hesoli!oquisedashewalkedalong."Deseyoungfemale,"heImuttered,regardlessofthosewhomightlaughatseeinghiminconversationwithhimself,"areadevilofalot.MissViwantaIwhiteyounggentleman,an'herauutknowhowhegoin'towanther;sosheteckasuspi'ionframwhatI say. But1notseyingnomore,(or,totell 1e trute,while1'fraidfor 1\1rs. P.,1'fraidforMissVitoo.An'1doan'tknow,whichoneisdeworseI'.Deaunthaveasnake,an'allmelife1'fraidfo'snake.Wllatshedoin'widasnake-aChI'istianwomanlikedat?P'rapsshenotaChristian,butaobealnvoman,an'Idoan'twanttohaveanyt'ingto dowidwickedness.Buta]lan'somean'richwomanlikeshecan't'aveany'tingto dowidobeah. {'he doan'twantmoney,she'aveit;an'shedoan'tneednosnake,tohelp'ergetanoderhusban,for her moneycandodat.'Heceasedandponderedtheproblemsilently.Itseemedinsoluble,soheuismisseditfromhismind. More importantwastherelationshipwhichwasinthefuturetoexistbetweenhimandVivian.Shewouldwanttobekindtohim;heundersteodthatverywell.Andshetoohadmoneyandwasnoblygenerous.Yes,hewouldkeepsilentonheraccount;hefeltquitechivalrousashecametothisdetermination.After all, whatharmwashedoing?'Whyshouldn'tshebehonourablyfriendlywithawhiteman;and,ifthefriendshipwerenothonourable,whowashe,oldProudleigh,tocastthefirststone?"Lethimdatiswidoutsin,"hemurmuredrighteously,"castdefirststone."Notsomuchasagrainofsandwouldhehurlather.Andifherauntshouldfindoutthat-buthereagainhismindwentbacktothatinfernalsnake.SurelyifMrs.Primrosewasanobeahwomanherwitchcraftwouldenablehertodiscoverwhetherhehadbeenspeakingthotruthor not. andwhetherhewasinalliancewithhernieceornot.Suchadiscoverywouldannoy h2r, conceivablyshemightcommissionhersnaketoplaguehimout of his :ife!Thingslike thathappened;onecouldneverbetoocarefulaboutobeahwomenandsnakes.Well,therewasnothingtodobuthope th:J.tMrs. PrimrosewasagoodChristian,and, as such,liabietobetheunsuspectingdupeofdeception.ButitthattheoldmanwastryingtotakebacksomethingWhich,henowrealised,hadbetterhavebeenleftunsaid.Shelookedkeenlyatherniece.Temperwaswrittenalloverthatyounglady'scountenance.Itstiffenedeverymuscleofherbody,itradiatedfromherentireframe.HadVivianbeenspeakingthetruth?wasthequestionaskedbyMrs.Primrose'seyes.Mightnottheoldmanhavebeensilentlywarnedandurgedtolie?OnsomepreviousoccasionsrecentlyMrs.PrimrosehadquestionedhernieceaboutGusSteinway,andtherehadbeenmorethanonesharpquarrelinconsequence.AndViknewwellthatjustnowheraunthadGusinmind.Mrs.Primrosetoo,waswellawarethatViviandivinedherthoughts,andthat,asMrs.Primroseadmittedtoherself,wouldnaturallymakeherangry.Itwasquiteposslblealsothatthemanwhom Mr. Proudleighhad seen bow to Viwasreallyastrangerimpudentlygreetingaprettygirl-hemayhavebeendrunk,orjustcheeky.Therewasnothingto dobuttogiveVithebenefitofthedoubtforthemoment,especiallyasthegirlwassupportedbyMr.ProudleighandwouldnotPlloto byCle(Il'Yam! Elliott.LadyBarrett-Lennard,wifeofSirFiennesBarrett-Lennard,ChiefJusticeofJamaica.cameouttothisislandintheSummerof1925andidentifiedher;elfwiththeisland'ssociallife,inwhichsheisadistinguishedandleadingfigure.AtonceLadyBarrett-Lennardwonahostofadmirersandfriends.Thiswasnotduechiefly toherpositionas"thesecond ladyof theland,"fortherehavebeen'firstladies"evenwhohaveneversucceededinwinningJamaica'sregard.ThelikingwhichwaseverywhereconceivedforLadyBarrett-Lennard,andwhichhassteadilygrownwithacloseracquaintanceship,wasduetohercharmofmanner,thegenuinesimplicityandfriendlinessofhercharacter,andatactfulnesswhichisnottheresultofartbuttheex)ressionofadeepandsympatheticsincerity.Ithasbeensaidofcharmthatyoueitherhaveitorhaveitnot:notbytakingthoughtcanyouaddittoyourself:itisbirthrightandgoodfortuneinone.Andwhentocharmisaddedbeauty-andhereourpicturespeaksforitself-onemaywellbelievethatthegoodfairieswerebusyatLadyBarrettLennard'sbirth.LadyBarrettLennardisanaCqui3itiontoJamaicasociety.Shetakesaninterestinmattersartistic.Sheisa finehorsewomanandher"AtHomes"aregreatlyappreciatedfortheiratmosphereofsociabilityandcordialhospitality."ItellyoualreadyIdon'tknowwhoitwas,AuntGertrude,"andnowtheirritationinthe girl';; voicewasunrestrained."Hehadnorightto bowtome,andMr.ProudleighherewilltellyouthatIdidn'tevenanswer him. Itwasforwardnessonhis'part."Mr.ProudleighknewthathehadseenVivianbow.More,heknewthatawhisperedwordortwohadpassedbetweenthegirlandtheyoungman,thoughthelatterhadlingeredbutamoment.Buthesawalsothathewasexpectedtobeignorantofthesethingsandthatifhementionedthema passionatedenialwouldhehisonlyreward.Thereafterhewouldnotbewelcomedatthelittle house, forMrs.Primrosewouldhardlyencourage there anyonewhomherniecewoulddenounceasaliarandtowhomshewouldshewopenhospitality.Againhetookhiscue, hopingthatProvidencewouldnowguidehimarightandpreventanyfurtherblunderingsonhispart."An'y'uwasquiteright, !'tUss Vi,"heprotestedvirtuously."Datyoungmanhadnobusinesstobowtoyouforyoudoan'tintrojuce.An'himbowtooquick,too;Inoticethatmeself,an'1 S9Y tomeself,himwouldn'tbowto awhite ladyso.""N0,hewould'nt," a:5reed Mrs.Primrose,comingoutoftheroomandstandinginthedoorway batween itandtheapartmentinwhichhernieccwasnowsewingwithswift,angrystitches."Hewouldn'tMr.Proudleigh,but,yousee,hedidn'twantanybodytotakeparticularnoticethathewasspeakingtoMissVi.Thatisthewaywiththesekind of gentleman,andIamnotblamingthem.Iblamethegirlswhohaven'tsufficientpridetoobjecttothatsortofspeaking,andwhogooutoftheirwaytomeetyoungmentheir(amilydon'tlike.""1amnotgoingoutofmewaytomeetanyman,"retortedViviansharply,"andIdidn'tanswerthisoneto-day,as 1\11'. Proudleighhimselfjust .you.""Youdidn'tsee Mr. Prondleigh?"queriedheraunt,whostrovetoputthequestionasonewhospokemerelyinordertocarry-on aneutralconversation."Askhim!""No,Mrs.Primrose,"volunteeredMr.Proudleigh,"shedidn'tseemeatall.Forefshedidseeme,MissViwouldha'toldmegoodmorning,forshenotoneofdoseyoungladywhopassy'Ulikeadawg'whenshemeety'Uinde.street.I godowntown all times,an'Iseealotofpeople. Iseeyou'selfsometimes,ma'am,an'y'udosen'tseeme.I makes meselfinconspiguousan'keep-meselftomeself,forIdoan'twantnobodytosayIareaforwardman.""You'reright,"briefly-commentedMrs.Primrose."Well,Iamg:ajthatVitreatthatstrange,forward.youngmanashehadarighttobetreated,an'I ,onlyhopeshe will dothesame thin; toeverymanwhoonlyspeaktoheroutof ButIwonderwhohecanbe.Fromthecountryyousayhelookslike,Mr.P?""Yes,MistressPrimrose,"repliedtheoldfellowreluctantly,"orp'rhapshimwasoneofthemGovernmentofficialwhobelievethemiskingan'god. 1can'tseetoowellindesedays,so Imightbe mistaken.Atfirst1thoughteddathelooklikehecamefromdecountry,but-""Itdon'tmatter,'!said,Mrs.Primrose,glancingsuspiciouslyathim,foritwasquiteapparenttoher


lfJ28 PLANTERS'PUNCH9CHAPTERFOURyounggirlthatspeaktohim.YoumustrememberthatMr.Steinwayhaveabigposition,andhissoniswhite,likehimself.WhatyouthinkGusSteinwaywantstoknowyoufor?"Viviandidnotanswer;couldnotimmediatelyformulatearejoinderthatwouldhavebeenevenplausiblysatisfactory.Shemighthavefranklytoldherauntwhatsheherselfbelievedtobetrue-becauseGusSteinwaylovedher.Butshedidnotdaresaythat.Heraunt,however,asthoughreadingwhatpassedthroughhermind,askedwithbluntdirectness:"Youthinkhelovesyou?""Ofcoursenot!WhyshouldI?Hewouldbeas.foolishtothinkthatI lovehim.Can'tyouspeaktoapersonwithoutlovinghim?""Youcan.Butthatpersqnoughtnottobeanenemyoramanwhowouldn'tlookatyou if hedidn'twantsomethingfromyou.""Butyouyourselfalwaystellme,AuntGertrude,thatIamworthlookingat.WhybecausemyskinisnotwhiteIshouldn'tbeadmired?"Mrs.Primrosefeltcorneredforthemoment.Shehadneverhesitatedtoencouragethegirltohavea goodconceit of herself,andpridewouldpreventVivianfromthinkingthatcolourcouldbeanybartoadmiration.Besides,Vihadprotested,withgreatearnestness,thattherewasnothingtoobjecttoinanordinaryacquaintanceshipbetweenherandGusSteinway,whomshehadfirstmetcasually,butopen ly, at thelittletown of Linsteadonedayandwhohadofferedtodosometrivialserviceforher.Shehadwantedtochangeapoundnoteandheobligedher,Thesamethinghappenedeveryday;onthesurfacetherewasnothinginit.But,ordinarily,suchachanceacquaintanceshipwasnotmaintained;social 1nrrie1's renderedthatoutofthequestion.Thecon Clusion was,therefore,that if GusSteinwaypersistedinspeakingtothegirl,and if theyoccasionallymet(aswasnowbeingreported), he hadanobjectwhichnoone could failtounderstand.Andwhatwasthegirl'spurposeinmeetinghim?Whatcouldshehopefor?whatexpect?ThematterseemedcrystalcleartoMrs.Primrose.Herniececouldanswercleverly,butherwordswereintendedonlytodeceive."Thereisnoreasonwhy,becauseyouaredark.youshouldn'tbeadmired,Vivian,"sheadmitted;"butyoucanletallpeoplelikeGusSteinwayadmireyoufromadistance,since, if theycomeclose.itwon'tmeananygood for you. Youknowthattoo. Youareonlytalking.Youareaheadstronggirl;butyouknowthat if youmakeanymistakeyour fathe. willneverforgiveyou.Thatyoungmanhavenothingtoofferyouexcept-"Shewouldnotbringherselftofinishthesentence."Thisisnotthe first timeIhavewarnedyou,"s11econtinued;"an'Iwouldn'thavedoneitto-day if thatoldmanhadn'tspokenaboutawhiteyounggentlemanwholooklikehecomesfromthecountry.Whocanthatbe?""ButIdidn'tevenspeaktohim!Howoften am Itotellyouthat?""Soyousay,an'theoldmansaythesame,soImustbelieveyou.Buteven if youdidn't speal, itmaybeGusSteinwayallthesame.HeIllay have heardyouwereinKingstonandcomeupherehopingtosee you. Iamnota fool,youknow,Vi,andwhatIamsayingisallforyourgood. If Ihear anythinl'( 'IlloreaboutGusIwillhavetotellyourfathereverythingandsendyouhometohim.Iamnot tolethimsaythat,throughme,disgraceisbroughtuponyouandhim. If youmeetthismanagain,youknowwhattolookfor.""Iamsickandtiredofallthisthreatening,"Vivianraspedout;"perfectlysickofit!"Shefeltthathertemperwasgettingthebetterofher,paused.andtooka goodgriponherself."Ican'tsaymorethanIhavesaid. If youdon'tchoosetobelieveme,Ican'thelpit.""Iwanttobelieveyou,"saidherauntalittle sadly. "But you haven'talwaystold me whatis true forthelastthreemonths,Vi.However,Ihopeitisallright.Youfinishingthatbodiceto-day?""Yes,Iamwearingitto-night.""Goingout?""Iamgoing thePalacePictureShow.""Ihaven'tbinsinceI cometoKingston this time.Iwillgowithyou."ResentmentflashedfromVivian'seyes;thislookeddangerouslylikekeepingawatchonher.Shewassurethatherauntwouldnothavesuggested theL goingouttogetherthateveningbutforwhatMr.Proudleighhadblunderinglyrevealed.Butsheraisednoobjection. "Very good,"sheanswered."Wemusttryandgettherebyhalf-pastseven."Herreadyreplywasreassuring.Mrs.PrimrosefeltsatisfiedthatVivianhadonlyintendedto go tothepicturesthatnight.VIVIANfinishedhersewing,andforsometimebusiedherselfwithsometriflinghouseholdwork.Shehadsucceededinbanishingalltraces01angerfromherface,ineliminatingallindications of itfromhervoice.Shewouldmuchhavepreferred :, tohave'spokenhermind to' have assertedherof(Continuedon Page 19).CAPTAINGENIALA"Whatcanhebetome,AuntGertrude?""Thatisexactlyit;hecanneverbeanythinghonourabletoyou.Heiswhiteandyouareagirlwhohismotherwouldwantforanursemaidorbutleressandnothingmore.That'showheislookingonyou;butyouarenotthat.Yourfatherissomebodyinhisdistrict;youbeeneducatedatWestwood,andyoucanmarryaverygoodman;youcanpickandchoose.Insteadofthat,youmeetthismanandIonlycometohearofitbyaccident.Howdoyouthinkitcanend?""Howanythingend if youbow to apersonwhenyouseehim,oreventalktothatperson?Whatis.thereinthat?""Itdepends,Vivian."."Uponwhat?""Uponthesortofperson,andonthesort CAPTAIN W.FORRESTERNoship'smastersailingbetweenEnglandandJamaicahaseverbeenbetterknownthanCaptainWilliamForrester,andnonehaseverbeenmorepopular.ForseveralyearsnowCaptainForresterhasbeencomingtoJamaica,andherehehasmadeahostoffriendsbyhisfrankgeniality,bonhomieand thesearepeoplewholovetotravelwithhim.feelingastheydothathehasapersonalinterestintheirwelfare.ThereareCaptainsandCaptains.Someofthesefeelthatitis nobusinessoftheirswhetherthepassengersarehappyornot,andthisnotbecausetheyforonemomentwishtheirpassengerstobeunhappy,butprobablybecausetheydonothavethatenthusiasmforpersonalintercourseandrela-'tionshipswhichanimatesomeothermen.ButCaptainForresterwouldbeunhappyifhethoughtthepeopletravellingwithhimwereso.Andthisappliestotheleastandthehumblestofhispassengersaswellastothemostimportant.Heisnicetothemall.Heremembersthemafteryearsofabsence.Hisisnotasuperficialcordialitybutsomethingthatispartofacharacterthatissoundandtrue.Forresterhadadistinguishedcareerduringthewar.Hewasinperiloft,andhisship,theoldCavina,wassunkunderhim.Butlike so manyoftheheroesoftheBritishMercantileMarine,hecarriedonwithimperturbabledashandcheerfulness,doinghisbitandinspiringwithaconfidenceofsafetythosefewcivilianswhodaredtheoceanpassagewithhimduringthatterribletime.HeistheCaptainalludedtoby.thatgreatwriter,R.B. CunnighameGrahaminthelatter'sbookon"Cartagena."ItissomethingtohavewontheappreciationofamanlikeCunninghameGraham;itisalsosomethingtohavewontheaffectionandregardof a criticalcommunitylikeJamaica.CHAPTERTHREEAFTERMr.Proudleighleftatensestillnes$ pre vailedinthehouse.Anotherofthose mis understandings,whichhadbecomesofrequentof late,hadoccurredbetweenauntandniece,andeachwomanwasstrivingtogetamastery of herself,tohavehertemperwellundercontrol,beforeaddressingtileother.Mrs.Primrosehadspokenallalong,itistrue, with acasualair,butVivianhadnotbeendeceived. Sheknewthatheraunthadbecomesuspicious;shewascertain that theconversationwouldberesumed;she waswellawarethatMr.Proudleighwouldbe approachedlateronandsubjectedto agrillingcrossexamination.This,shefelt,was un unwarrantableintrusioninto her personalaffairs,aninfringemento[herliberty.Heraunthadbeenverygoodtoherand wouldputherbeyondthereach of wantwhenshe died.But,ontheotherhand,sheessayedto playthepartofabsoluteguideandcounsellor,and as shewasbynatureaquietlydominatingwomanherguidanceandcounseltookontheappearanceofadictatorshipwhichVivianresentedbitterly.Inordinarymattersshedidnotmindheraunt'sdictatorshipmuch;thefactwas that inordinarymattersMrs.Primrosewasmostindulgent.ButtherewasnowthisconstantharpinguponGusSteinway,thisquestioningabouthiiuwhichneverseemedtocease, thesewarningswhichwereuuwantedandwerere gal dedasauimpertinence.Viviansecretlyrebelledagainstitall;someday,shefelt,shewouldrebelopenly.Butinthatcaseherfathermightcometohearofthereasonofheroutbreak,andsheImewwellthatheandher motherwould. bewhollyontheside ofheraunt.Therewouldbemore than01180 reasonforthat.HerfatherhatedGUBSteinway'sfatherwithahatredthathadgrownanddevelopedsinceshehadbeenalittlegirl.Sometenminutespassed,andVivianheardherauntstirring;shewasabouttocomebackintothesittingroom.Vivianbracedherselffortheordeaiwhichwastoensue.Shebentoverherwork,herlipscompressed,hereyesdoggedlylookingdownwards-for 13he didnotintendtomeetMrs.Primrose'ssteadystare. She didnotevenglanceupwhen that ladyenteredtheroomandsatquietlydown.Shevolunteerednoremark.Shewoulddefendherself;letherauntopentheattack ifshe wantedto. "Youdidn'ttellGusSteinwaythatyouwerecomingtoKingston,Vi?""No;youtoldmenotto;andIwouldn'thavetoldhimeven if youhadn't.""Humph.Andy'udidn'tmentionittoanybodythatmighthavetoldhim?""HowamItoknow?Idon'tknoweverybodythatknowhim,anditwasnogreatsecret.""Youneedn'tanswerlikethat,Vi,foryouknowIamonlyspeakingforyourowngood.""Ihearalotaboutmyowngoodallthetime,AuntGertrude,andIamgratefultoyou,"replied Vi vian,strivingtokeephervoicecalm,"but,afterall,youcan'tbeharpingonthesamethingallthetimeandsayingitis formeowngood.It'sgettingon menerves!Iamsimplyafraidtoseeyouopenyourmouthinthesedays,forfearyougoingtosaysomethingaboutagentlemanwhoisonlypoliteto meandwhoIhardlyeversee.""Butthatisnotthetruth,Vi;youseeMr.Steinwaya lot, if whatpeopletellmeistrue.Thereis noreasonforthemtolieaboutyou,andtheydon'tcome tomewithanyintentiontolie.TheyjustsaythattheyseeyoutalkingtohiminSpanishTown,oratLinstead,whenyougothere,as if itwasnothing.ItisyouwhoquarrelaboutitwhenIaskyou,and if Idon'taskyouIneverhearwhetheryoumeethimornot:""Whatistheretohear,AuntGertrude?CanI tell youabouteverybodyImeet?Whata'trialthatwouldbe!""Butyouusedtodoit;itisonlyaboutthisyoungmanyou are 'sosilent.""Whatistheretosay?""Well,inthefirstplace,youshouldn'tspeaktohimatall.""Why?Becausehisfatherandminedon'tlikeoneanother?WhathaveIgottodowiththat?""WhatyouthinkYOU'fatherwouldsaytothat?""Papa?But,aunt,youareaChristianwoman,andyoudon'tbelieveinhateandmalice.""IamaChristianwoman,thankGod,"repliedMrs.Primrosecalmly."AllmylifeIhavebeenhelped by God,andIwillgotomygraveblessingHisname.Butyoucanloveyourenemieswithoutmixingupyourselfwiththem;andwearetohonourourfatherandmother. If youknowthatyourfatherwouldn'tlikeyoutospeaktoMr.Steinwayandhisson-andyouknowit-yououghttodowhatwillpleasehim. If thisyoungmanisnothingtoyou,youwouldn'tthinkmore oJ himthanofyourownfather.'" was apitythatheshouldsufferfroman'lneasymin,i.Perfecthappinessofthesorthecouldappreciatewas Mr.Proudleigh'sincessantsearchthroughlife, but hehadneverfoundit;atleast, lleYer for long.Somethingwasalwaysgoingwrong.A flyinhisointmenttherewasalwayscertaintobe.Hefeltthathehadneverbeenfairlytreatedbyfate.


10PLANTERS'PUNCH1928CHILDRENOFJAMAICAf"Thebest smell is bread, the best savour salt, the best love thatofChildren. "arenecessary;andbythissending ofthe childrentowhatisregardedbyallJamaicansasthe Mothe!" CountryalivinglinkisperpetuallyrenewedinthechainthatbindsthiscolonytoEngland.Intheolderdays,whentravellingwasbynomeanseasy,whenyearlyholidaysintheUnitedKingdomforpal'entsorannualvisitsofthechildrentoJamaicawereoutofthequestion,thelittleoneswerestill sent away,and often averylongintervalelapsedbeforetheparentssawtheirchildrenagain.BUTtimeshavechangedandto-daythereareexc !l lentschoolsinthecolonyforgirlsaswellasboysandthemajorityoftheJamaicachildrenoftheeducatedclassesattendthese.ThereisnownoparticulardifferencebetweenthespeechofthosewhohavebeentoschoolinEnglandandthespeech of thoseofthesameclasswhohavebeentoschoolinJamaica.Thereis aJamaicaaccent,slightthoughitmaybe;andfewescapeitwhohavelivedsomeyearsofchildhoodinJamaica.And.liketheJamaicaaccent,thereisaJamaicaattitudetowardslife,andthoughthischangeswithchangingcircumstances.itaffectsthechildrenofJamaicawhethertheyarebroughtupinEnglandorinthecolonyitself.ThereisaJamaicaethos.anditinfluenceseveryone.Butthis ethos. thischaracter,isingradualprocessofmodification;andjustasthechildrenofJamaicadifferfromtheirforerunnersofahundredorevenoffiftyyearsago, sowillthechildrenoftwenty-fiveoffiftyyearshencedifferfromthoseofto-day. PAULAND DOROTHY,thesonand da.ughter of1\lr.and 1\1.. s.Lionelde1\lercado.ofKingstonsatianwolf-dog,andthosewhofirstseethatsplendidanimalstandingwithheaderectandformalertareapttosay"gooddoggie"fromasafeandrespectfuldistance,withitsownerorsometrustedpersonholdinggooddoggiebyachain.ButElizabethfromthefirsttooktotheAlsatianandcouldseenoreasonwhyheshouldnottaketoheralso.Shemadehisacquaintancewithouthesitationandinmostintimatefashion,anddoggierespondednobly.Shecandoanythingshelikeswithhim.SometimesElizabethisinSavanna-la-Mar.sometimesinl\Iandeville;thefirst-namedplaceclaimsher.Shewasbornthere.PaulandDorothy del\'lercado liveinLowerSt.Andrew,andDorothy,whoistheelder.andasbrightasanewpin.standsinprotectiveposeoverPaul,who,however,looksasthough he thinksheisvery well abletotakecareofhimself.Andwhynot?Whoshallventureto decry hismanlyindependence?Heisveryfondofmovingpictures,andsoisDorothy,andtheyhaveoneofthosebabyprojectingmachinesathomeandso can enjoytheirownlittleshowsonaminiaturescreen.ButsometimestheyaretakentothebigshowsinKingston.andthenfatherhastoexplaintothemaccuratelyjustwhattheheroorvillainisdoing,fortheyareverycriticalchildrenandwillinsistuponknowingwhat'swhat.PaulisagreatadmirerofTomMix,butitissafetosaythathiscontemptforheroeswhocannotridewildly,butonlymakelove,istooprofoundforexpression. ALL thesechildren.andhundredsofothers,willbesenttoEnglandlaterontobeed'lcated.ThatistheJamaicacustom,tomaintainitparentswillmakesacrifices,ifsacrifices CHRISTI:"E,lAX.JOYCE,PJ,TER,DOREE:".OH .." children of ::\12".anti)lrs. F. JLlit'rr-Jarrett, ofBurnett, )lonlegoBay31.4RG.\ RET,infant daughter of)[r. andJIrs.A.A.Xathau, or l:lerts, England ELIZABE'fH..daughter of1\lr.and1\lrs. Will. SHaughton-James. otSavanna-la-Mar PLANTERS'PUNCHhaspleasurethisyearinprintingtheportraitsof"SomeChildrenof.Jamaica."MargaretNathancomesintothecategoryof the-Children ofJamaicainthisway.Althoughborn,likeherfatherandmother,inEngland,andthough(unlikethem)nothaVingyetseenthisisland,MargaretisconnectedwithJamaicaonthepaternalside.Hergrandfathercomesofan (lId Jamaicafamilyandestablishedoneofthebiggestbusinesseshere,abusinessattheheadofwhichishisson,Margaret'sfather.ThelateMr. A.M.NathanwasanoutstandingfigureintheWestIndianbusinessworld;hewasamanofkeenandrobustintellect,strongcharacter,andstrikingappearance.EvenwhenhesettledinEngland,wherehehadmarried,hecameoftentoJamaica;inJamaicahehadbeenborn,inJamaicahedied.duringthegreatearthquakeof1907,andnowhissoncomesannuallytothisislandandsometimesMrs.Nathanwithhim.Whichmeansthat Margaret willmakeheradventheresomeday-thesurestthingintheworld.Shewillwanttoseegrandpa'sbirthplace,andinthewintermonthswhensheisgrownup,shemaycometoenjoythewarmthandsunshineandfestivitiesofthiscountry.Butthatissometimehence;meanwhileshestands,achubbylittlefigure,asrepresentativeofquitealargenumberofpeopleinEnglandandScotlandwhoseancestorswereconnectedwithJamaicaandwhomaintaininsomesortthat conne\3tion. THEotherchildrenwhosepicturesadornthispagewerenotonlybornherebuthavegrownuphere,andtheirparentsarealsoofthecountry.IntheirhillhomejustoutsideofMontegoBaythe Kerr-Jarrett childrenlive, alively,lovablegroupofkiddies,fromChristinethetiniest,toJoyce,whositsinourpiclureasthoughshewerewellawarethatage,orbeingtheoldest pl'esent, bringsvastresponsibilities.Yetthereissomethingabouthereyesthatwarnsyouthatinanotherminuteorsoshewillbeupandjumpingandplayingwithherbrothers and sisterswiththeheartiestabandon,whichisjust,,,hatsheoughtto do. A3 forMissHaughton-James,otherwiseknownasElizabeth,shesitswithasweetlittlefaceholdingherbigteddybear,andsheisforalltheworldlikealovelylittledoll.Butdonotunderratethecourageof ;\1iss Hauo-hton-James.Sheisabsolutelyfearless. Her fatherownsagreatA!


]928YELLOWPLANTERS'PUNCH 11 lEyIF 0 A1lJJrllJN THEtalkofthehalf-dozen m':!n onthe veranda of th(! SingaporeClub-acoupleofmerchants,aplanterintownonbusiness,anofficerofanIndianregiment.a globe-trottingprofessorfromanAmericanuniversity,andasea-captain-haddrifteddesultorilyfromthespecific instanceofthefamousIndianrope-trick,resuscitated by aBritishmagazinethatlayupontheclubtablesandcontestedscepticallybytheAnglo-Indianofficer, tothegeneraltopicoftheallegedabilityoftheAsiatictomakepeople"seewhatisn'tthere."TheAmericanprofessor,whosespeciality,ashecon fessed,waspsychology,manifestedapertinaciousinterestinthesubject.Buthisdirectquestionsto thesehabitualdwellersintheMiddleandFarEastelicitedonlycontemptuousnegativesorvaguesecondandthirdhandstorieswithoutevidentialvalue.Mer chants,planter,andofficeralikehadquiteobviouslynone ofthemseenanytricksuponwhichtheprofessorcouldsafelybasehisratherrashlyenunciatedtheoryofspecialhypnoticpowerspossessedbytheinscrutableraceswhosesurfaceenergiesareso pro fitablyexploitedbythewhiteman.Heturnedatlasttothesea-captain,whohadsatpuffingathischerootinsilence."Andyou,CaptainWilliamson?Youhavevoy agedabouttheseseasforthebestpartofageneration-haveyouneverbeenconfrontedbyoneoftheseinexplicablephenomenaofwhichthetravellerstellus?"CaptainWilliamsonchangedtheduck-cladlegwhichcrossedtheotherandsmiledalittlewithhisgreyeyes.Caressingtheneatpointedbeardwhichaccentuatedtheovalofhisintelligentface,here plied,thoughtfully:-"Well,professor-Ihave.Once.Personally,thoughIsawtheaffairwithmyowneyes, Idon'tevennowknowwhattomakeofit.Perhapsyourhypnotictheorymightexplainit."Heshruggedhisshoulders."Willyounottellusthestory?"entreatedtheprofessor."Itissoraretoreceivetrustworthyfirsthandevidenceofanythingabnormal."CaptainWilliamsonglancedratherdiffidentlyarounduponhiscompanions."Fireaway,cap'en!"exclaimedoneofthemerchants,slappinghimamicablyontheknee."You'vealwaysgota goodyarn.""Thishappensto be atrueone,"saidthecaptain,withasmileoftolerance,"but,ofcourse,yonareundernocompulsiontobelieveit.""Drinksallroundontheonewhodoesn't!"de creedtheplanter."Goahead!Don'taskusto be lieverubberisgoingtoboomagain,that'sall.Shortofthat,we'llbelieveanything.""Well:'beganCaptainWilliamson.hiseyesfol lowing reflectivelythelong,deliberatepuffofsmokehe blewintotheair,"perhapssomeofyoumayrememberCaptainStrong-'IuckyJimStrong'?Twenty-fiveyearsorsoagohewasoneofthebest-knownskippersinthePacific,celebratedalmost.Mentalked ofhimwithacertainawe,asofamanwhohada goodfortunethatwasnothingshortofuncanny.Hehadbeenengagedinallsortsofdesperateenterprises,frequentlyillicit,andalwaysheemergedunharmedandgorgedwithprofits.OnlyalltheSanFranciscobanksputtogether,forhedealtwithallof them, couldtellyouwhathewasworth,butitwascertainlyaverylargesum.Howeverwealthyhewas, heapparentlyderivedverylittleenjoymentfromhismoney.Hewasalwaysatseainhisship,the Mary Gleeson.ofwhichhewasbothownerandskipper,andstayedinportonlyjustlongenoughto dischargeonecargoandpickupanother.Hispersonalhabitswerealmostunknown,butofcoursealegendofeccentricitygrewuparoundthemasacompaniontothelegendofhissupernaturalluck."Ithappened,asthefinale tosundrypersonaladventureswithwhichIwillnotwearyyou,thataboutaquarterofacenturyagoIfoundmyselfsailingoutoftheportofSanFranciscoasfirstofficertothe Mary Gleeson.Iwasquiteayoungman,anditwas my first jobasmate.WewereboundtoSaigon,inCochinChina,withacargoofAmericanarmsandammunitionconsignedtotheFrenchGovernment."Atlast we madethetallpromontoryofCapeSt.Jacques,andtookonboardthehalf-castepilotwho was tonavigateusthesixtymilesuptheriverto Saigon. Itwasearlymorningwhenwecrossedthebar,andrelievedfromthe dil-ect responsibilitiesofnavigation,CaptainStrongandIsatalldayindeckchairsundertheawningofthebridge.Thedamp, closeheatwassuffocating,andneitherofushad muclldesiretotalk,butIfanciedthatamoretllanusuallyheavymoodinesslayovertheskipper.Hewascertainlynotquitenormal.Hefrownedto himself,bithislip,andhiseyesrovedinanuneasysortofrecognition from sidetosideofthestreamasweroundedreachafterinterminablereach.Ifeltthatsomesecretanxietypossessedhim,butofcoursercouldnotaskhimstraightoutwhatitwas.Ratherdiffidently, I didventureononequestion."'Everbeenherebefore,sir?'Iasked."HeshotaSUSPICIOUSlookatme,directlyintomyeyes, b(!fore heanswered. U 'Once.'"Thetoneofthatreplyeffectuallycheckedanyfurtherexhibitionofthecuriosityitheightened."TheworstheatofthedaywasoverwhenwedroppedanchorinthebroadstreamoppositetheEuropean-lookingcityofSaigon.Tomypleasure,CaptainStronginvitedmetogoashorewithhim,andina fewminutesthegigwaspullingustowardstherowsoffine-lookingGovernmentbuildingswhichstretchbackfromthequays.. """Ve wenttotheGovernmentHouseandfilled up afewdozensofthoseuselesspaperswithoutwhichtheFrenchfunctionarydaredonothing,andreceivedvagueassurancesthatinafewdaysweChildrenofJamaica BARBARA, daughterofSirR.E.Stubbs, Governor ofJamaica, andLa,ly Stubbs,C.B.E.FIRSTofall,w11athaslittieBarbaraStubbsto dowiththe chilchen ofJamaica,sincesheonlycametoJamaicawithherfatherandmotherinAprilof1926? Well,MissBarbaraliveswithherparents,theGovernorandhiswife,inJamaica;shewillspend,withperiodicalholidaysabroad,sometimeinthiscountry;whensheleavesitforschoolsomewhereinEnglandshewillcarry away memoriesofitthatwillnotfade,forbythenshewillbebigenoughtohavereceivedlasting impress10ns ofthelandshehaslivedinanditspeopieshehasmet.Children,in deed,arefarmorereceptivethansometimestheyaregivencreditforbeing,anditiswhattheyseeandhearinearlychildhoodthattheyfrequentlyremembervividlyintheyearsto come. SoMissBarbaraStubbswillnotforgetJamaica,andmeantimesheisofthecountry,forherfatherisheadofthecountry,King'srepresentativeandpeople'srepresentativeinone.AnddoubtlessBarbarahassomethingofhisbrain:ifso,sheislearningandabsorbingmorethanyoumightthink.Anyhow,noonecannowdeny,afterherclaimshavethusbeensetforth,thatshemaybecalledoneofthechildrenofJamaica.shouldbeallowedtounloadthearmsofwhichtheFrenchtroopswereinurgentneed.Ourbusinesscompletedasfaraspossible.CaptainStronghesitatedforamomentortwo,bitinghislipinthatoddwayIhadnoticedcominguptheriver.Irresolutionofanykindwas a mostuncommonphenomenoninhim.Thensuddenly,evidentlygivingwayto a powerfulimpulse,Iheardhimmurmurtohimself,'Give'emachance,anyway!'"Throwingacurt'Comealong!'tome,hesetoffatatremendouspacethroughthestreetswiththeassuranceofamanwhocan'findhiswayaboutanytownwherehehasbeenoncepreviously.I followedhim,puzzledbythewordsIhadoverheard,wonderingwhitherhewasgoing,andnotingthe r.ative ,populationwithcuriouseyes.TheAnnamitemenareastunted,degeneraterace,inabject terror oftheirwhitemasters,butthewomenare,many of them,surprisinglyattractive.Ihadplentyofopportunityforcomparison,forverysoonwefoundourselvesamongaswarmofbothsexesatthestation of thesteam-tramwhichrunstoCho-lon,theChinesetowna fewmilesuptheriver."DuringtherideonthetramCaptainStrongdidnotopenhislips.Hestaredsteadilyinfrontofhiminacuriouskindofway,like,amaninexorablypursuingsomeallottedlineofaction."ArrivedatCho-Ion,hestruckquicklythroughthesqualidstreetsoftheChinesetown,lookingneithertorightnorleft,andsayingnotaword:'Wehadpassedrightthroughthetownbeforehegavemeahintofourobjective.Thenhemadeagestureupwards,as if toreassuremethatwewerenearourjourney'send."Beyondthelasthouses,onaneminencebackedbytheprimevaljungle,aBuddhisttempleofpagodafashionroseaboveus,theterminusoftheroughtrackupwhichwewerestumbling.AswedrewnearIsawthatitwasdilapidated,itscourtyardovergrown,desertedevidentlybybothpriestsandworshippers."WasthiswhatCaptainStronghadcometosee?Somewhatpuzzled, Iglancedathisfaceunderthepithhelmet.Hislipswerecompressed,hiseyessternasthoughdefyingsomesecretdanger.Attheentrancegateway,festoonedandalmostsmotheredinparasiticvegetation,hestoppedandstaredintothedesolatecourtyard.Then,afteramomentofthecurioushesitationwhichIhadalreadyremarkedthatday,heentered."Adeathlikestillnessbroodedovertheplace.Thegreatdoorlessportalofthetemple,flankedbyhugeandstaringfigures,confrontedus,openingonto ablack,unilluminedinteriorliketheentrancetoatomb.Weedsgrewbetweentheflagsofthethreshold.Anatmosphereofindefinableevil,asthoughtheverystonesheldthememoryofsomeawfulcalamity,pervadedthesilence.Ishudderedinasuddensenseofthesinisterinthisabandonment,andglancedinvoluntarilyatmycompanionas if fromhisfaceImightdivinethecause.Itwasimpossibletoguesshisthoughts.Hisjawwaslockedhard,hisfaceexpressionless."ThenIperceivedthatwewerenotalone.Slinkingroundtheouterwallcameawretched-lookingnative.Hislongrobewastornanddirty.Hisyellowface,litbytwoslantingbeadyeyes,wasemaciatedandsunken.Hisshavencrownwaswrinkled to thetop.Thelimbswhichprotrudedfromhisgownwereasthinassticks.Inhishandheheldabeggar'sbowl.Remarkingus,hestoppeddead,watchinguswithhishorriblybright,fever-likeeyes. Instinctively,Idon'tknowwhy,Iputhimdownasthelastofthepriests,stillhauntingthisonceprosperousandnowdesertedtemple."CaptainStrongtooknonoticeofhimandadvancedtowardstheportal.Somewhatapprehensively, I followedhimandpeeredin,butthedarkness,bycomparisonwiththeintenselightoutSide,was so completethatIcouldseenothing.Mycuriositygettingthebetterofmynervousness,Isteppedinside,though,I confess,rathergingerly.Afteraminuteortwo,myeyesaccustomingthemselvestothegloom, Icouldseethegreat bronze figureoftheBuddhatoweringaboveme,facingthedoor.Itsplacidface,upliftedfarabovethepassionsofmen,lookedasthoughitwerepatientlyawaitingthedaywhenthisabandonmentshouldceaseanditsworshippersreturntoadorationofitsserenity.Nopreciousstonenowreflectedthelightfromthedoor,andthehugecandlesticksoneithersideofitwereempty,thedaysoftheirscintillatingilluminationlongpast."CaptainStrong,Inoticed,remainedonthethreshold,silhouettedblackagainstthesunshine;but,emboldenedbymyimpunity,Itookanotherstep,ortwoforward.Irecoiledquickly.Somethingstirred...inthelapoftheBuddhaandasnakeerecteditsheadinasuddenmovement.Itseyesgleamedatme from theshadowliketwogreenpreciousstones."IswungroundtoshoutawarningtoCaptain.Strong.Iftherewasonetherewereprobablyothers.ofthesedeadlyguardiansofthedivineimage.There:were_ Tomyhorror,Isawanothersnakeuncoilitselffromacreviceinthedoorway,ona levelwithhisneck,anddrawitsheadbackinthepoiseforthefataldart.Idon'tknowwhetherheheardmyinarticulatecry.Hisperceptionofthedangerwassimultaneouswithmine.Buthemadenoblunderingmovementofconfusion.Swiftaslightninghishandshotoutandgraspedthesnakefirmlycloseunderthehead,whereitsfangscouldnottouchhim.Thenwithaquickjerkheflungitintothecourtyard.Thesnakewrithedawayina flash."Suchadisplayofcool,swiftcourageIhaveneverseenbeforeorsince.Iranouttohimwherehestoodinthecourtyardgazingafterthevanishedsnake,andexcitedlyexpressedmyadmiration.Heturnedroundonmewithagrimsmileandshrugged (ContinueClon Page 11).


12PLANTERS'PUNCH1928'THELUREOFMONTECOBAYA A"merican, mentioningtheinduce--mentstotravelwhichhadenteredin-tohisexperience,setdownasamongthechiefofthemthesunsetsofMontegoBay:thosehadlingeredinhismemoryandwoulddrawhimonceagaintocrosstheoceanandtovisitthislandofpalmandsunshineandpurlingbrooks.AndofatruththepageantryoftheskiesistobeseeninallitssplendourwhenthesunissinkingintothegreatsheetofgreenandazurewaterwhichfrontsthetownofMontegoBay,thetownthatsitsupontheslopinggroundatthewater'sedge,bathedinthelightwhichsuffusestheatmosphere,a mellow,goldenlightthatlingersalittlewhileuntilthedarknesscomeswitharushandthestarsofheavenshineforth.Itisasight,onceseen,thatnevercanbeforgotten. To thewestthehorizonflamesintoscarlet,withwidebandsoforangeflungacrossit,andtherimoftheseaisdeepestpurpleandthecloudsabovearetingedwithpearlandpink.Itlooksasthoughamightyconflagrationragedoutyonder,asthoughafarandunseenforestwerebeinggiventothefire;thenthecoloursdeepen,blend,spearsoflightareflunguptowardsthezenith;suddenly,almosttakingthespectatorunawares,therecomesachange. The coloursarefading,theluminouswatergrowspale,theheartofthesunplungesswiftlydownbelowthelinewhereskymeetscloud;anditisnight.Eveningaftereveningthispageantryisdisplayed,thismiracleofskyandwaterandpalpitatingsun.EveningaftereveningApollodriveshomewardshisfierysteeds,andhispathisapathofgloryandhiswaythewayoflight.NowonderthosewhohavewitnessedfromsomevantagepointinMontegoBaythisdiurnalcarnivaloflightandcolourlongforitagainwhentheyhaveleftitfarbehindthem.'0wonderthattheythinkandwriteaboutitasofoneofthepricelesspossessionsoftheirminds.THEREisapeculiarattractionaboutMon tegoBay.Thismaybeduetothecircumstancethatwhileitisaprogressiveplaceitisalsooneoftheoldesttownsintheisland;ithasgoneforwardbutstillretainsitsholduponthepast.PortAntonioismodern.SpanishTownisancient.Savannala-MarandBlackRiverareessentiallyportsofparishes;theyhavenotgrownconsiderably,neithercaneverhopetobeclassedasthesecondtownofJamaica;theyhavenoprospectofdevelopingintocities.ButMon tegoBaywillgrowintoacityandconfidentlyexpectsto do so.Yetitspeoplestillhavemuchofthepastaboutthem;theyarestillapeoplewithruralaffinities,theyhavenotbecomecompletelyurbanised.Wheninl\lontegoBay,onefeelsthatoneisamongcountryfolkwhohavcsomeorallofthevirtuesofsuch folIc And.withoutknowingit,visitorstoMontegoBay,whetherfromEngland,Canada,America,orevenKingston,areattractedbythischaracterofthetownspeopleasmuchasbythewonderfulseabathingofMontegoBay,thebeautifuldrivesinthevicinity,andthesplendidsunsets.HospitalityandfriendlinessmarktheattitudeoftheMontegonians;theytreatthetouristasafriendwhentheygettoknowhim,andtheygettoknowhim ve;'y easily. The visitortoMontegoBayfindsthatthoughhemaybeastranger,withatemporaryresidenceatoneofthethreeexcellenthotelswithwhichthetownisprovided,he(orshe)willbewelcomedatthetennisclubandwillreceiveinvitationstopTivate'parties; will bemademuchofifheorsheisagreeable,andwillrealiseoncemorethatitispleasanthumancompanionshipthatmakesasojournanywhereadelightfulevent."Everybodyissofriendly,sonice,"isanexpressiononehearsoftenonthelipsofthosewhohavevisitedMontegoBay.AndsopeopletravelfromEnglandandtheStatesagainandagaintostaysometimeinMontegoBay.Theydonotfeellikestrangersaftertheiroriginalvisit;theyfeel"athome"inthislittletownofthetropics. It couldhardlybethesameina big city.ItmightnotbethesameeveninatownofnineortenthousandpeopleinanyotherpartoftheworldexceptJamaica.THEreasonisthatMontegoBayretainsthefeelingofolddayswhenitwasalmostareligionthatthestrangermustbemadehappyandaguestappreciated. I)QCTOR'SCAVE.ONEOJ,' THE FIXESTBATlLlXGBEACHES TO BEFOUXDAXYWHERE I' 1'HESQUARE,i)IOXTEGOBAY, THE CENTRE OFTHE TOWN'SCO:lDIERCIAL ACTIVITIES MONTEGOBAY, SEEN FROM THEHILL. A VISIONOFNESTLINGHOUSES ANDSHHHNGSEA


1928PLANTERS'PUNCH1 ... .)'Therewasatimewhentherewerenohotelsin.Jamaicaoutside of Kingston,andeveninKingstonnoonegreatlydesiredtoliveinahotel. If youtravelledthroughthecountryyou'muststaywithsomeproprietororother;youmustthrowyourselfuponhishospitality.He,ontheotherhand,lookeduponhimselfasobligedtorenderyouanyservicehereasonablycould;andtodothiswasmorethanaduty.Itwasapleasure;youbroughthimnewsfrom elsewhere, youcametovarythemonotonyofhisexistence,youwereastimulantinhislife.Thisfeelinggrewwiththepass age oftheyears,andwhentimesandconditionschanged,whenhot elshadto bebuiltforvisitorsandstrangers.thefeelingitselfpersisted.Sothevisitorisstilla guest, hestillhasclaimsupontheconsiderationandservicesofthepeople.Hestillisserved,outof ;;heer goodwillandnotmerelyonaccount ofhismoney.Heisnot a merenumber,heisaperson.Unless he choosesheneednot re mainastranger.Hemaybecome a friend.ItissymbolicaloftheMon tegoBayatmosphere,themeetingoftheoldwiththenew,thatal mostwithinthetownitselfthereis asugarestate.Fromnearlyany'partofthetownyoumayseeitstallchimneysandwatchthesmokebillowingfromitssummit.SugarisoneoftheoldestthingsproducedinJamaica,andoriginallyMontegoBaywasasugarport.Itis muchmoreto-day,yetitremainsasugarport;toS0111eextentitisyetasugar'town,thoughtheeconomicinterestsoftheparishofwhichit is thebusinesscentrearenow1110re yaried thanevertheywerebefore.Sotheoldatmospherelingersin the town,anatmospherethatbringstothemindanostalgiaof"farawayandlongago,"anostalgiathatmingleswiththeemo tions 0[ modernityofwhichoneis consciouswhenoneseesthetownlitupbynightwithelectricityorhearsitspeopletalkabouttheconstructionofa deepwaterpierwhichisto accommodateshipsthatcomefromthegreatercitiesoftheworld.BUTitisnotoftheatmospherethatmostpeoplespeakwhentheyaretalkingaboutMontegoBay;thatisathingtheyfeelwithoutputtingtheirfeelingintowords.Whattheytalkaboutandraveoveristhesea-bathingof :\10ntego Bay.Asyouapproachthetownbytheroadfromtheeast.theroadwhichrunsformilesalongacoastrenownedfor beauty.yourattentioniscaughtby asheetofsilversandwashed hy pellucidwatersofblue.'fhissandisfirm. fine, and theextentofitatonceproclaimsitsattractionsasabathingbeach.ButitisthewaterfarmorethanthesandwhichhasmadeMontegoBayfamousas a resort.Whatisitthathasgiventothis ,vater itspeculiarqualityofexhilaration?Whydoesitstimulate,refresh,sendingthroughone'sbody athrillofjoy ousnesswhichisatonictothespirit?Whyshouldtheseaherepossessthispowerofspiritualrejuvenation?Isitmentalaswell as physical,isitdueto a com IJinationofgleamingsand,golden HUlllight. watercrystal-clear,anda holiday mood?Isitsomething ill theairaswellasinthesea? ,rhatever theexplanation,thefactitselfisindisputablethat nlonlego Bayistheisland'sgreat est bathingresort,andisprobab ly destined to becomeoneofthe v;orld's celebratedbathingresorts. The Doctor'sCave,asthebeachiscalled-thebeachwiththecave \';here theshadowslinger-isali sady writtenaboutinothercountries;thisbeachisrecommended by menlikeSirHerbertBarkerandotherapostlesofsun-cureasan idealspotforabsorbingthrough tbes1dn's poresthehealingraysofsunlight.Invalidsana olhers nowtravelthousandsofmilesto bask uponitandtobatheintheadjacentwaters,butthemostofthose who frequentthe 1])ocior's Cavearenotinvalidsbutpeo pleinsearchof1Jleasure;andpleasureinabundancetheyfind thel'e. Theairisfilledwiththesoundoflaughterand with happyshoutsinthemorningsand aflernoons,01.aJamaica winter'sdayasthebathersswimanddiveanddisportthemselves;andevenalldaylongtherearethosewhoseekthewater,findinginitanattractionirresistible.ThereisaBathClubinlVIontegoBay,andtheenergeticmembers of ithavebuiltbathhousesanddivingstandsatDoctor'sCave. Onholidaysaquaticsportsaresometimesgiventhere,andthentheTUE ETHELHAltT HOTELtown'ssocietyassemblesingarmentsofvariegatedco;oursintentuponenjoyment,andatnightthere".'illbedancinginthehotels,andtothesesportsanddanceswillgopeoplefromallparisofthe is, land,fornoonewishestomissthem.l\fontegoBay'sfe3tivities co notappealonlytothepeopleoftheTHE DOCTOWSC.1VE HOTELparishofSt.JamesandtothetouristswhomayatthemomentbestayinginthetOWI1.Theyhavea wider appealthanthat.FolkwilltravelfromKingstonandSt.Andrew,ahundredandtwentymilesaway,todancethenightoutinMontegoBayandtoswiminitsunrivalledwaters.Nowonder lVlontegoTilEST.U'.FOitDSHlRE HOTELDaybelievesthatitsmostvaluablepossessionisthatstretch'ofsandandmilesofshelvingseaprotectedbyagreatbarrierorsubmergedreefoverwhichthebreakersfoamcontinually.THEtownitselfisbuiltatthefootofthehillssurroundingit,withwharvesalongitswaterfront,businesspremisesaroundandnearthesquare,housesofoneortwostoreysinthestreetsthatleadinvariousdirectionsfromthesquare,andwiththeresidencesofthewealthierpeopleonthesurroundingheights.TheSpanishsystemoflayingouta town hasinfluencedatleasttwooftheurbancentresofJamaica.AlwaystheSpaniardslaidoutasquare,andaboutittheyconstructedtheirprincipalbuildings,usuallyacathedral,theGovernor'spalace,thechiefGovernmentoffices,whileroommightbeleftforim pOl'tant businessestablishments;andwhenMontego Hay begantorisetheSpanishideaofthesquarewithstreetsradiatingfromit,andthebuildingssurroundingit,prevailedamongtheEnglishresidents.UP tobuta fewmdnthsagoMontegoBaywasplungedindarknessaftertheflamingcolourshadfadedoutoftheskyandthedaywasdone.Fromthewindowsofhousescameadullgleamfromthekerosenelampsthatshedanunsatisfactoryilluminationwithin.Thestreetsweredark,thesquare.slumberedindeepshadow,onlythemoving-picturehouseblazedoutwithlights.To-dayitisdifferent.Afranchise grante<.l totheHenriquesBrothersofKingstonhasresultedinthecon-structionofapowerhouseillMontegoBay;electricityisgeneratedinthatpowerhouse,andnowthetown'sinhabitantsboastthatitsstreetsarebetterlightedthanKingston's,whichstilldependongas.Thesquareatnight,withitsbedsoffloweringshrubsanditsfountain,standsoutinablazeofbrightness;atfairlycloseintervalsinitsthoroughfaresriseelectriclampswhichhaveabolishedthemelancholydepressionthatthepromenadeI'feltwhenheattemptedtowalkaboutthestreetsofMontegoBayinformertimes.MONTEGOBAYisstillacountrytown,assaidabove,hencesomeofthepicturesqueaspectsofitsoutdoorlife. YoustandinthesquareofaSaturdaymorningandwatchthecountrypeopleastheyswarmin,someontheirwaytothebigmarkettodisposeoftheproducetheyhavebrought,othersthrongingto tha wellstockedshopstobuysuppliesfortheweek.Theycomewiththeirdonkeys,theycarryheavyloadsupontheirheads,theysquatupon the sidewalksvendingmerchandise,theygatherroundthegardeninthesquarediscussingmatters of interesttothemand filiing theairwithchatteringsound.Motorcarsspinpast.Themagnatesofthetown,themagnatesofthesurroundingcountry,driveby;theyareknowntoeveryonebysightandname;theysaluteandaresaluted;they tothetownandhaveinitapersonalinterestthatisalmostpossessional.Throughthestreetscreak wains chawnbymanyyokeofoxen,ponderous,slow, tile c;rivel'swavinglongwhipsandshoutingtotheircattlestrangewordsinastentori-anvoice. Mensaunteralong,goinghitherandyononbusiness;butnoonehasveryfarto go,forinsuch a compactcommunitythedistancesareslight.OUTyonder,onsomewhathigherground.standstheprinci pal churchofthistown,theAnglicanChurch.St.James,whichwasfinishedin1782. One eSChpes intoitforawhile,from the glareoutsideandthe c:amonr ofvoices,andonefindsinitscoolinterioragratefulcrepusculeandasilencebrokenonlybythestirringofwind-moved,surroundingtrees. fornearlyahundredand Hfty years,havegenerationsofthetownspeopleworshipped.Andinthegraveyardoutside,andbe,low thepavementofthebuildingitself,liethebonesofmenand women whoselivesanddeedsformedpartofMontegoBay'sstory.Theepitaphsonmonumentandgravestoneattesttotheir virtues,many of theirnamesarenowforgotten;fewofthemwouldrecogniseto-daythetown of MontegoBayastheplacetheyonceknew.Fortherehasbeenchange,andtherewillbestillmorechangeastimegoeson.'Withitall,onehopesthatthetownwillneverlosethecharm,soimpossibletodescribe,soperceptible,whichhasgainedforitsomanyloversandfriends.


14PLANTERS'PUNCH CJ3ERNARCfJ LODGETIlESUGAR FAOTORl: ATBERNARDLODGE: ULTUIATE CAPACITY20,000TONSTHEwriterrememberswellhisfirstvisittoBernardLodge.Itwasgrowingdarkwhenhegottotheproperty,andstandingabout-itsinglyoringroups,orlyingheaVilyontheground,werenumer

1928PLANTERS'PUNCH 15)lODERXAPrARATL'S FOR COXVEYIXGCANE TOTHE Sl:GARMILL ,one with aJamaicasugarestate.TheBernardLodgepeople, however,believethatitischeapertoburncoal intheirmill;therefuseofthecanetheyproposetopackintobagsandexportto amillboard-andpaper-makingcountry.Thepriceforthemegass is morethanthepriceofcoal,thereisgreaterprofitin.sellingitthaninemployingitasfuel.Bythismeansmoney is saved.Andbya fewsimilareconomiesa better financialshowingisachieved--agreaterdegree{)[commercialsuccess.AFTERaninspectionofthefactoryonthedaythewritervisitedBernardLodge,wetookour]Jlaces ontheopen platform ofatruckandwentfora longridethroughthefields.Thesunwasnowhigh up aboveusandblazingwithtrueWestIndianfervour;theplainstretchedaway,verdant,cultivated,thriving;asfarastheeyecouldreachweremanifoldevidencesofactivityanddirectingenergy.BernardLodgeproducesbananasaswellas.sugar.Therehavebeenyearswhensugarpriceshavesunkverylowandfruithasbeenfarmoreprofitable.Bananas,therefore,areasafeguardagainst lowcanepricesandsotheyarecultivatedatBernardLodge;besides,withintheboundsofevena moderately-sizedJamaicaplantationmaybefoundtwoqualitiesofsoil,oneonwhichitismoreprofit .able togrowfruitthancane,andviceversa. 'Ve eethisonourjourneythroughtheBernardLodgeproperties.Itisnotthecanefarmsthatarenearesttothefactory.WefirstCOllleuponandpassbananacultivations,andwearetoldithasbeenfoundmoreadvantageoustogrowbananasinthissituationbecauseofthesoilandoftheproximityto.abundantwater.Itistruethismeansthatthecanemustbebroughtfromaslightlygreaterdistance,butthecosthasbeencarefullyworkedoutandtheresultsjustifythearrangement.'Soitisgrowingbananaswe firstnoticeasweleavethefactory,andthifruitisamongtheverybestproducedinJamaica.THEKeeling-Lindoenterprisehasalwaysaimedatqualityaswellasatbulkproduction.Byattention toqualityithasobtainedmuchbetterpricesthanwouldotherwisehavebeenpossible.Irrigatedlandgivesbetterreturnsthannon-irrigatedland;the supply ofmoisturetothefruittreesisuniformand continuous,andthesoilcanbemuchmoreeasilykept freefromweeds. Sowefindsome2,300 acres devoted tothebananaatBernardLodge,andweknowthatthisareayieldsaverylargeproportionofbigbunchesofbananas,thesortoffruitthatthetradeprefers.Aswepassthesebananafields. a hasty glanceissufficient totakenoteofthecarewithwhichthetreesaretended.Theyai'enotpermittedto growasfortunemaydecree.Theyarecultivaterl.Speciallabourandattentionaredevotedtothem,andthepricetheirproductbringsisamplerecom pense.WHE -you havepassed these bananafieidsyoucnterintotheregionofthecane.Thisisplantcdindifferentsectionsorfarmsandisinallitsvariousstagesofdevelopment.Outyonderisastretchofploughedearthwithtinyplantsshowingfaintspearsofgreenabove the surfacehereandthere.Workersarescatteredaboutthisfield,singlyoringroups;youcanseethattheyaredoingsomethingtotheplants,thoughyoudonotquiteperceivewhat.Opposite.ontheothersideofthetraintrack,isa offull-grownripecaneuponwhichthe r2apcrs arealreadyatwork.Itgrowsthickly,itdisplaysamassofnarrowdark-greenleaves;you are toidthatitistheUba, adisease-resistingcaneresortedtowhenothercanesarebeingtreatedforthemosaicdisease.Itisnotthebestforsugarcontent,butitisahelpintimeofdifficulty.Itisuponothervarietiesofcane,however,thatBernardLodgeaswellasotherJamaicafactoriesforthemostpartdepend.Andasyouproceed you seetheyoungcanecover-iugthesurface oj' thefields,andstillfartheron, so farthatyoucanjustlocatethem,aretwogrear.FowlerSteamPloughs,machineswhichareengines alld ploughsinone,breakingnewground.Thesedigdeep,theybiteintothetoughestsoilandbreakitup,they al'e thelatestthingsoftheirkind,andthoughtheyareexpensivetheypayforthemselvesmanytimesoverbeforetheyneedtobescrapped.Otherploughsareemployedalso,theoxhashisfunctiontoperforminmakingthesoilfitforplanting.Andhumanlabourdoesitspart,for,inthelastresort.nomachinerycanfinallyreplacethehand and thebrainofman.THROUGHthisplantationthereislaidsomeelevenandahalfmilesofrailroadofstandardgauge.OneofourillustrationsshowsacanetrainoftheBernardLodgeFactory;abigBaldwinlocomotiveisdrawingittowardsthemill,thecars(eachofthirtytonscapacity)arefullyloaded;anditmayherebementioned atBernardLodgethereare --CONVEYUiG TOTHEFACTORYBY MEANS OF A BALDWINLOCOMOTIVE AXD SPFCIAL CANE CARS


16PLANTERS'PUNCH1928 LOADIXGA CA::-'ETRAIXATBZRXARD LODGE FRO)I OX-CARTS THATPICK UP THECAXEIX TilEFIELDSnofewerthanninetyofthesecars.TherearealsofiveBaldwinlocomotives,oneofwhichweighssev enty-fivetons.Towatchoneofthesecanetrainsrushingatfullspeedtowardsitsdestinationistoexperienceathrillofsatisfactionattheaidwhichinventionandenergyhavegiventoagriculturalindustry.Thereisasuggestionofpowerandofachievementaboutitallwhichevokesaresponseofadmiration.NearlyamillionpoundsisinvestedintheBer nard Lodgeenterprise.Thatisalargeamountofmoney for Jamaica.Whenitisrememberedthatit1923itwasestimatedthattheholdingsofsohugeacorporationastheUnitedFruitCompanyrepresent-edabouttwomillionsterling,itwillberecognisedthattheLindoinvestmentsinJamaica-theinvestmentsofanindividualentrepreneurandnotofacompanywithagreatnumberofshareholders-areastonishinglybig. Ofcourse,BernardLodgedoesnotrepresentallofthem;thereareothers;butthoseareanotherstory.BernardLodgealone,however,isconsiderableenough.AnditstandsoutasthepremiercentralsugarfactoryofJamaica.IthasbeensaidthatMr. CecilLindoisoneofthosemenwhoattractmoney;whichmeansthathe if; oneofthatsmallgroupofmeninwhomothershaveconfidenceandwhoselife-workistheestablishingoflargeandsuccessfulbusinessenterprises.HehascertainlydoneagreatdealtowardsthedevelopmentofJamaica.Hewilldostillmore.ItrequiresgreatcourageaswellasbusinessforesighttobringaboutadecisiontoproducesugarinJamaicaona consid eJ'able scale.Sugarhadfailedinthepast;therewereprophetsofwoetopredictfailureagain;eventhosewhowerehopefulbelievedthatGovernmentshouldtaketheriskinvolvedinestablishinga centralsugarfactory.ButtheLindoBrothersandMr.A.H.KeelingaskedfornoGovernmentassistance.Andbytheirexhibitionoffaithandenergyandenterprisetheydidagreatdeal,indirectlyaswellasdirectly,torevivethelong-moribundsugarindustryofJamaica. Barclays Bank andIts New Manager OtheretirementofMr.E.W.LucieSmith,O.B.E.,fromthemanagementoftheJamaicabranchofBarclaysBank(Dominion,ColonialandOverseas,stillfamiliarlyknownastheColonialBank),M1'.ReginaldV.ButtcametothiscolonyasmanagerofaninstitutionwhichisahouseholdwordinJamaicaandwhichisnowapproachingitscentenary.Mr.ButtwasnostrangertoJamaica.HehadoftenbeenherebeforeontoursofinspectioninconnectionwiththeColonialBank,foryearshehadbeenconnectedwithJamaica,hewasalreadyknowntoalltheleadingbusinessmenandtohundredsofothersbesides,andtheseallagreedthatabetterchoiceasmanagercouldnothavebeenmadebythemeninEnglandattheheadofBarclaysBank.ForMr.Buttwaspopularandrespected,likedandesteemed,andthisenviablepositionhehadwonbyasimplenaturalcourtesyandakeenunderstandingofJamaicaconditions.HehadbeenmanagerofBarclaysBankinTrinidad.Thatwasanexcellentpostandbyallaccountshehadfilleditexcellently.ButtheBank'schiefsknewwhattheywereaboutwhentheysentMr.ButttoJamaica;theywishedtheirJamaicabranchtogrowstrongerandstrongerandtheyselectedforthefulfilmentofthispurposeamanwhotheyweresatisfiedwouldaccomplishtheworktobedone.Inagreatcitythelittlepersonaltraitsandcharacteristicswhichmeansomuchinaplacewheremanypersonalcontactsareinevitable,maynotverymuchmatter.ButtheymustalwayscountinacitylikeKingston,inanislandlikeJamaica,wherepersonalityissometimesfiftypercent.ofsuccess.Itisamatterofimportancetoanyinstitutionherethatitsheadshouldbeliked,thatthereshouldbegeneralconfidenceinhim,thatheshould '1e abletomaintaintheprestigeofthatinstitution.AndthemanyfriendswhomMr.ButtmadewhenformerlyhecametoJamaicaweresatisfiedthattheJamaicabranchofBarclaysBankwouldforgeaheadunderhismanagement,especiallytooasitwasnowcon-nectedwithoneofthemostpowerfulBanksintheBritishEmpire-thecelebratedBarclaysBank.VisitorstoEnglandfromJamaicaareatoncestruckbythenumberofbranchesofthisbankto UR. REGINALDV.BUTT,MallagerofThe Janulica.lo Branchof Barcla3-'"S Bank(Dominion,Colonialand O..-ersens) befoundalloverLondonandEngland.Theyareeverywhere;theyimpressyouwiththefeelingofbelongingtosomethingbig;andthatisexactlytowhattheydobelong.BarclaysBankisagreatconcern.Whenitisstatedthatthedepositsmadewithityearlyamounttoover,000,000thereislittleneedtoaddanotherword.YetitshouldbementionedthatBarclaysBankhasoverfourhundredbranchesintheOverseasBritishEmpire,andthatthereisnocityinthatEmpirewhereabranchofitwillnotbefound.Naturally,BarclaysBankhasbusinessconnectionswithsimilarinstitutionsinforeigncountries;andthroughtheparentbanktheJamaicadivisionisintouchwithallpartsoftheworld.ThusthroughtheBank'sofficeandstaffinHarbourStreet,Kingston,menheremaydealwithanypartoftheworld:EgyptorAmiens,RioJanieroorHongKong.Thewebofconnectionsisnotmerelythrownwideandfar;itiseverywhere.HencebytheamalgamationoftheoldColonialBankwithBarclaysBankofEngland,Jamaicahasbeenbroughtintocontact,financiallyandinthewayofbusiness,withthemostdistantandaliencountries.ThecourtesywhichonemeetsattheKingstonofficeofBarclaysBank,andatthebranchesinourseveralcountrytowns,isduplicatedinanyofthebranchesofBarclaysBankinEnglandandelsewhere.TheJamaicanwhotakeslettersofcreditfromtheKingstonBanktoEnglandiswellawareofthis.Anaccountwillimmediatelybeopenedforhimatanybranchneartheplacewherehelives,ifhesodesires;everythingpossibleisdoneto facilitatt' him.Andnomattertowhatcountryhegoes,hewillfindthatthroughBarclaysBankheisenabledtodrawfundswithaminimumoftrouble.InJamaicatheBank'sSavingsDepartmentismakingrapidandsatisfactoryprogress.ItisapopularsideoftheBank'sactivities.TheBankitselfisthefavouritebankinginstitutionofJamaica.Itisregardedaspartof. colony'slife.


1928 PLANTERS'PUNCH17Mrs.W. A.Alexander,wifeoftheManageroftheCanadianBankofCommerce,isamemberofthetinyCanadiancommunityofthiscolony,whoislikedbytheisland'ssocietyforherunaffectedandfriendlymanner.Itisonlyin,thelastfewyearsthatanyCanadianshavebeencomingtothisislandforlongerperiodsthanafewdaysorweeks.LittlethereforehasbeenknownaboutCanadiansinJamaica.Mrs.Alexander,asoneofthem,hasdonehershareinthewayofengenderingamongstJamaicansafeelingofappreciationforCanadaandCanadians,andintheisland'ssociallifesheoccupiesaplaceofhighesteem.edintoacuriouspattern.Iheardastartled excla mationbreakfrommycompanion.but befo.e eitherofuscouldutteranarticulate word theconjurer'shandhaddescendedswiftlyuponthetable.Asecondlaterbothjewel-orcoin-andtheconjurerhaddisappearedintothethrongofwatchingAnnamites."IglancedatCaptainStrong.Hewasdeathlypale,andonehandwasfeelingnervouslyoverthebreastofhissilkshirt.Then,afteralongbreath,heturnedandsmiledatme. 'Clevertrick.that!'hesaid."TheassumptionofpersonalunconcernwassomarkedthatIfeltanyremarkofminewouldhavebeenanimpertinence.ButIcouldnothelpwonderingwhatCaptainStrongworeunderneathhisshirt."Hepaidthenativewaiterforourdrinksandrosefromthe tab!e withoutanotherword.Weturnedourstepstowardsthequay."'Comeandhavesupperaftwithmeto-night,Mr.'Williamson,'hesaid,carelessly.'Imeanttohaveinvitedyoutodinnerintown,butthatrestaurantwasreallytoodepressing.'"Ithankedhim.secretlyastonishedatthe ation.CaptainStrongnevercompromisedhisdignitybysittingattablewithhisofficers.Heatealone,inthebeautifully-fittedsaloonunderthepoop.AtthetimeIwonderedwhetherhehadsomereasonforpreferringmycompanytohiscustomarysolitude.Buthismannerexpressedmerelythecourtesyofasuperiorwishingtogivepleasureto ayoungofficer. "We hadarrivedonthequay,andIwaslookingoverthecrowdofvociferatingboatmenwithaviewtoselectinga sampan forourreturntotheship,whenasuddencryfromthecaptainstartledme."'Look!Goodheavens!Look!Don'tyousee?'Withonehandhegrippedmetightlybytheshoulder,withtheotherhepointedtotheMaryGleesonanchoredinmid-stream.'Look!Theyellowjack!'"Igazedwithhimacrosstotheship,andtomyhorrifiedastonishmentsawthedreadedyellowflag,whichdenotesthepresenceofyellowfever,flutteringintheeveningbreeze.Shockedandalarmed,1askeddenialwasbothhavebeenondeckwentashore,sir.'justificationofhismyselfwhowasthevictim.Therewasnosicknessamongtheship'scompanywhenwewentashore.But1knewwellenoughtheswiftnessofdeathintheselatitudes."'Quick!Getasampan!'orderedthecaptain."Privately.1doubtedwhetheranyboatmanwouldventureintothetaintedneighbourhoodofashipwithyellowfeveronboard,and1wasagreeablysurprisedtofindthatmyowndifficultywastochooseamongtheswarmthatofferedthemselves.Icouldonlyconcludethattheydidnotunderstandthemeaningoftheemblem.Amomentortwolaterwewerebeingpropelledswiftlyacrossthestream,oureyesfixeduponthatfatalflag.Thesecondofficerstoodatthetopoftheladdertogreetusas we climbedonboard.All well,sir,1heardhimreportinaperfectlynormalvoice. 'What?'ejaculatedthecaptain,inastonishment,aboveme."'Allwell,sir,'herepeated."BythattimeIhadjoinedthecaptainonthedeck,andweexchangedapuzzledglance.ThenwelookedaroundliS.Toourutterbewilderment,oftheyellowjacktherewasnosignatall.Therewasnotaragofbuntingabouttheship."Thecaptainbithislipandwrinkledhisbrow.1couldcomprehendhisperplexity.Heturnedsharplytothesecondofficer."'Svendsen,hasanyonebeenmonkeyingwiththesignal-flags?'"'No,sir.'Thepromptsurprisedandemphatic.'Imyselfeversinceyouaddedtheoldman,incertainty."'H'm!Allright.'Thecaptainshruggedhisshouldersandturnedtome.'Yousawit,didn'tyou?'heasked_"'Yes,sir,'Irepliedconfidently. "'A mostextraordinaryhallucination!'hesaid.'Butdon'tletitworryyou.Comeandhavesupperwithmeatsixbells.'"Icouldseeplainlythathewasmuchperturbed,andImyselffeltveryuneasyasIwentbelow.Followingupontheshockofthecaptain'snarrowescapefromthesnakeinthedesertedtemple,thestrangetrickoftheconjureratthe caN, andthishallucination,sharedbybothofus,ofthemostdreadedflag asailorknows,combinedtoawakeaprimitivesuperstitiousfearinme.Mynerveswereinastateofacutetension,andIfoundmyselfstartingatthemostordinarysounds."Thecaptainwasnormalandcheerfulenough,however,whenatseveno'clockIjoinedhiminthebeautifulsaloon,whichhehadhadfittedregardlessofexpensewitheverythingthatcouldministertohiscomfort.Itwashisoneluxury,TheChinesestewardstoodbythesideoftheelegantly-laidtable,readytoservehismaster.Itwas,as1said,thefirsttimeIhadeatenwithCaptainStrong,andIwasratherimpressedwiththerefinementofhisprivatetastes."Themeal,anexcellentone,passedwithoutincident.Myhostwasagreeablyconversational,buthistalkwasconfinedtothoseimpersonalsubjectswhichhepreferred.Notoncedidherefertothehappeningsoftheday,andIfeltthatitwouldbediscretiononmypartequallytorefrainfrommentionofthem.Thesilent-footedChang-Fuclearedthetable.pulledtheawningsacrosstheopen,mosquito-nettedskylight,switchedontheelectriclamps,andleftustoourcoffeeandcigars."Thecentretablefoldeddownsoastoleaveaclearspace,whichmadethesaloonappearlargel'thanitreallywas,andwesatuponacomfortableleather-upholsteredsetteeatoneend,withourcoffeeonalittleChinesetablebetweenus."Ataponthedoorinterruptedourtalk,andChang-Fu,thesteward,glidedintothesaloonandmadearespectfulobeisancetothecaptain."'Master-Chineseconjulorin sampan 'Iongside-wantspeakmaster.Himnumberonetop-holeconjulor-makeeplenty-heapbigtlick-metalkeewithhim-himvellygleatconjulor.'Thesteward'swheedlingvoicehadanoteofgenuine,awedadmirationinit.'Masterseehim?'hefinished,insinuatingly,rubbinghishandstogetherunderhiscringing,wrathdisarmingsmile. "I glancedatthecaptain."'1wonderifitisthefellowwesawatthe cate sir?'Iventured,andthenimmediatelyregrettedmywords.LiketheyoungfellowthatIwas,1waseagertoseemoreoftheskilloftheseOrientalmagicians,butdoubtlessthecaptainwouldnotwishagaintocomeintocontactwiththemanwhosestrangetrickofconvertingthecoinintoajewelhadsoperturbedhim."Possiblyhereadmythoughtsandresentedthesuspicionofmoralcowardice.Histonewascurtashereplied:-"'Verylikely.Bringhimdown,Chang-Fu.'"Oncemorethemusclesstoodoutalonghisjawandhisfacesetdoggedly.Itwasasthoughhepreparedtoconfrontanadversary.FascinatedbythemysterywhichIfeltunderlayallthis,IthrilledwithasenseofhighadventureasIsawthecaptain JamaicainCanadaYELLOWMAGIC (Contin1edtTom Page11).hisshoulders.Thewretchedpriest,ifpriesthewas,hadapproached,andhesmiledalso, a foolish, exas peratinglyinscrutablesmile,likeanidiotenjoyinganimbecileesotericmeaningwhichisameaningforhim alone.YetatthesametimeIthoughttherewas asuggestionofslymenaceinthatcringinggrin."'ComebackintoSaigon,'saidCaptainStrong,ignoringhim.'We'llhaveadrinkbeforewegoonboard.'Therewasnothinginhismannertoremindyouthathehadjustescapeddeathbyafraction."Iwasnotatallsorrytoquitthisunpleasantplace,andIdescendedthatroughpathwithconsiderablymorealacritythanIhadmountedit.CaptainStrongwasascoollyself-possessedasthoughwalkingdownthemainstreetofSanFrancisco."'Imustcongratulateyouonyourluck,sir,'I ventured,whenwehadgonealittledistance."Hadthatsnakestruckasecondbefore--'"'Bah!'hereplied,shrugginghisshoulders.'Onecangettiredofluck.!'"Therewasaviolence,asombrebitternessinhistonewhichimpressedme.Ithoughtofallthemiraculousgood-fortunewhichmenattributedtohim-aspecimenofwhichIhadjustseen-andwonderedwhetherhewerereallyweariedofit.Icouldconceiveitpossiblethatamanofhistypewould findlife very dullifassuredbeforehandofsuccessandsafety.Itwouldbethestruggle,theperil,whichwouldappealtohim."Herelapsedintoagloomysilencewhich I didnotdareto break. "WereturnedtoSaigononthesteamtram,andshortlyafterwardswefoundourselvesseatedonthedesertedterraceof acafe, tricklingwaterthroughthesugarintoourabsinthe,foralltheworldasthoughwewereinsomebankruptquarterofMarseilles.Nativesthrongedaroundus,pesteringusto buy allsortsofworthlesstriflesintheirhorriblepidginFrench."Suddenlyaninsinuatingvoicewhinedinto myearsomenativewordsIcouldnotunderstand,andrepeatedthemwitha wheedlinginsistencewhichcompelledmyattention. Ilookedroundintoanuglyyel low facewhosemalicious,narrow-slittedeyesglitteredunprepossessinglyabovehisfawningsmile.Therewassomethinginthefacethatseemedfamiliartome,andyetI eould notplaceit.ndertheconicalbamboohatalltheseAnnamiteslookedaliketome. I wavedhimaway,buthewasnotto beshakenoff,reiteratingoverandoveragainhisincomprehensiblephrase."IglancedinquiringlyatCaptainStrong,whomIknewtounderstandmanyChinese dialects."'He'saconjurerandwantstoshowyou atrick,'heexplained,contemptuously,addingacurtwordandnodofassenttothenative."TheAnnamitebeamedidiotically and stretchedouthisskinnyhandsoverthelittletable."'Vous-regarder,'hesaid,eVidentlymakingthemost ofhisFrench,andgrinnedinsinuatinglyatme."Witha slow,snakymotionofhisskeleton-likehandshecommencedtomakepassesintheairaboutsixinches abovemyglass.Iwatchedhim,atfirstidly,butgraduallymoreandmorefascinatedas my eyes followedthesinuousmovementsofhishands.Presently, tomyastonishment,Isawtheglass,tallandfairlyheavy-atypicalabsintheglass-commence torockslightlyonitsbase.Thedirectionofthe passesalteredto averticalupanddownmotion,asthoughhishandswereencouragingtheglassto rise. Andsureenough,itdetacheditselffromthetable and,swayingalittleunsteadily,roseintotheairunderthehandsstillsomedistanceaboveit.Itascended slowly,asthoughheweredrawingitupby amagneticattraction,toanappreciableheightfromthetable,saythreeorfourinches.Then,ashechangedthecharacterofthepassesagainsothatthey seemed topressitdown,itsankslowlyoncemore tothetable.Thenative,childishlypleasedwiththissuccessfulexhibitionofhispowers,grinnedingratiatinglyatusboth."CaptainStrongthrewacoinuponthemarbletop ofthetable.Thefawningsmilestilluponhisugly face,theconjurerlookedstraightintotheskipper'seyesashegabbledsomenativewordsofthanks.Then.insteadofpickingupthecoin,hesuddenlyseizedhisbenefactor'shandinhisskinnygraspand,usingthecaptain'sforefingerlikeapen,traceduponthetable-top alargeellipsewhichcommencedandfinishedatthecoin.Theactionwasperformedso unexpectedly,andwithsuchswiftstrength,thatCaptainStronghadnotimetoresist.Theellipsecompleted,heflungasidethecaptain'sfingerandheld bothhishandsoutstretchedabovetheinvisibletracing.IfIwasastonishedbefore,Iwasamazednow.Wherethefingerhadpassedoverthatmarbleglowed a flexiblereddish-goldsnake,holdinginitsmouth,likeapendantonachain,notthecoin,butabrilliantly-flashingjewelofpreciousstones,fashion-


PLA N TERS'PUNCH1928toadrawerinalockerandgetoutaheavyrevolver,whichheslippedintohiscoat-pocket.Hereturnedtohisseatbymyside."AmomentlaterChangFuusheredintheconjurer,anddiscreetlyvanished.Itwasindeedthemanwehadseenatthe caN: morethanthat,Irecognizedhimsuddenly,beingnowwithouthishat,asthemanhangingroundthatdesertedtemple."Heperformedoneortwocleverbutnotparti "Suddenlytheelectriclightswereextinguished-Ididnotseehow,inthat'fogofsmoke,butthemagicianmusthavehadtheswitchexplainedtohimbythesteward.Thedarknesswasonlymomentary.Ontheinstantalmostadullredglowkindled itseLf inthedepthsofthebowl,illuminedluridlythedensemassesofsmokewhichstillwelledupfromit.BehindthemIcaughtaglimpseoftheconjurer'sface,smilingevilly,inscrutably,hiseyesglitteringintheredglow,hisfingertipssweepingroundandroundinthefumes.Then-Imissedtheexactmoment-hedisappeared.Amelancholy,sing-songchantcommencedfromsomewhere,hauntingthebrainwithitsbarbaricreiterationofmeaninglesswordsinaminorkey.Itwaslikethedrearylamentofsavageworshippersbeforeanidolthatremainsobstinatelymute,Irememberthinking,vaguely,asIlistenedandwatcbedwithfascinatedeyestbat ing,red-tintedbowl,expectingIknewnotwbat marvellousappearance."Suddenlythesmokerolledawayoneitberhand.Tfoundmyselflookingdownavista-notattbellarkenedcabin-walls,butintothebrigbtsunshineofthetropics-atapagoda-liketemplewberetwobugecarved,staringfiguresguardedtheentrance.toa.ninteriorwherelightsglimmered.IrecogmzedItwithapeculiarthrill-thetempleaboveCho-Ion! ."Notnowwasthecourtyarddesertedandovergrownwithweeds.Athrongofnatives,gesticulatingandchattering,thoughIcouldnothearthem,filledit-pressedbackoneithersideasthoughtomakewayforaprocession.InthatthrongwasaEuropeaninawhitesuit.HestoodoutconspicuousinthefrontrankoftheOrientalcrowd.Wbatwastheresofamiliaraboutthatfigure?Mydruggedbrainpuzzledvaguelyforamomentortwo-andthenheturnedhisfacetQwardsme.CaptainStrong!-ayounger.slighterCaptainStrong,butundoubtedlyhe.Isawtheflash of hiseyes.undertheheavybrows,thelivingman!My .checkedforamomentatthisphenomenon of duphcatlOn,andthenacceptedit.Itseemedanotherpartofmethatwaslisteningtothedeepbreathingofthemanatmyside-Ifeltmyselfminglingwith I sa,,: almostaswithactualreality-letmyselfdnftas m adream,wherethefantasticceasestobestrange. "The processionfilledtheopenspacebetweenthepressed-backranksofthethrong,aprocession.ofpriestswithshavenheadandgorgeousrobes,fihngintothegreatdoorwayofthetemple.Afterthem