"Well, there are better men in Hawaii, that's all. Really,
you know, the way you harp on that one string would lead an unprejudiced
listener to conclude that you are prurient-minded--"
She stopped, appalled. His face had gone red and white with such
abruptness as to startle her. He was patently very angry. She sipped
the last of her coffee, and arose, saying,--
"I'll wait until you are in a better temper before taking up the
discussion again. That is what's the matter with you. You get angry too
easily. Will you come swimming? The tide is just right."
"If she were a man I'd bundle her off the plantation root and crop, whale-
boat, Tahitian sailors, sovereigns, and all," he muttered to himself
after she had left the room.
But that was the trouble. She was not a man, and where would she go, and
what would happen to her?
He got to his feet, lighted a cigarette, and her Stetson hat, hanging on
the wall over her revolver-belt, caught his eye. That was the devil of
it, too. He did not want her to go. After all, she had not grown up
yet. That was why her logic hurt. It was only the logic of youth, but
it could hurt damnably at times. At any rate, he would resolve upon one
thing: never again would he lose his temper with her.
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