Ralph Stock

“ THE imitation pink coral factory was situated high up on a cliff about a mile along the coast from Levuka.
Those who associate the word "factory" with a mental picture of towering chimneys belching black smoke, the hum of machinery, and streams of pale-faced men and women hurrying to work with papier mâché dispatch-cases of lunch in their hand, will be grievously disappointed, because in this particular instance the factory belonged to Felisi of Luana, and, like its inventor, the process of production was as simple as it was effective. ”

“ They were solar topees, that rapidly evolved themselves into men—white men. One was short and plump and pink, the other tall and dark. Felisi had seen them both before, and knew one to be a well-known Levuka solicitor. The other she had seen coming down the gangway of the steamer the previous day. She remembered him partly because of his vague resemblance to Jimmie, and partly because he had brushed her aside when she offered the imitation pink coral. ”

“ He knows nothing of the native, and cares less, and he carries his troubles with him out of the world into the Islands, which results in his having a careworn appearance and always being in a hurry.
Then there is the super white man—he of speckless white flannel and white felt hat—but Felisi knew little of him, except that on the wharf he and his women-folk were the easiest prey to imitation pink coral.
Jimmie belonged to the first of this category, and for this reason Felisi understood and loved the old man, as she understood and loved the rainbow-tinted fish in a rock pool. ”

“ Why, just now, in your fever, you mentioned Watlington over and over again. When you first came to Levuka, you signed your name in the hotel register; there it is, in your own handwriting—J. Crothers. There aren't many Crotherses, you know, Jim. What's the use of pretending? It isn't as if you left anything to be ashamed of in Watlington. You just went and never came back, that's all. It was a tremendous business to trace you, but I did it. The world's very small, really. ”

“ But then there was always Jimmie; he was as much a part of Levuka as the beach itself, and he offered no new problem to puzzle and enthral.
To Felisi, as to all natives of "The Islands of the Blessed," there are only two kinds of white man—those who belong, and those who do not belong. The former variety wears soiled ducks and a battered pith helmet, drinks rather more than the climate allows, understands the natives, and seems as happy and contented as the day is long, provided he has tobacco, whisky, bed, and friends. ”

“ Jimmie's voice rose in a harsh crescendo. "Are they mad? Or am I?" His eyes came to rest on Felisi in a challenging glare, and she knew that he saw her now.
"Queer, isn't it?" he said, with sudden quietness. "People are doing that now—over there. And they think it so fine that they want everybody to do it. They wanted me to do it. I did it for four years. Then I came home to Watlington one night and told them I wasn't going to do it any more. ”

“ There was the shadowgraph of a hand going out and filling a glass very carefully from a bottle and a syphon.
"Call that a drink?"
"We're going to fight it out, Jim, up here alone. A little less each time; you won't notice it."
"What's all this?"
"Pyjamas. Don't they feel nice and cool and—and clean? Lie still, Jim; you're not strong yet, you know." ”

“ Hurricane season, indeed!" His indignation had the effect of accelerating the consumption of biscuits. "They should go to the Malay States if they want to see hurricanes. Ours are a mere zephyr—zephyr, sir, in comparison." At the end of the counter were stacked packets of safety matches and tins of tobacco. Jimmie sidled along the counter, talking as he went, and appropriated one of each with the utmost delicacy and frankness. Missi Parsonie's quick glance followed his movements, but he said nothing. This was how Jimmie lived. Everyone knew Jimmie. ”

“ Boulton always pays in advance. One must live, you know," added Jimmie, with quiet dignity.
Missi Parsonie disappeared behind a stack of kerosene cases, and to Felisi it was a curious thing that, while he was gone, Jimmie helped himself to nothing, not even a biscuit. ”

“ Listen to the rain! Watlington!" Jimmie's head sank down on to his arms. "Parsons'—zephyr—vests!" he muttered drowsily. "Cool ... pool ... rule ..." He was asleep.
He was really still asleep when Felisi led him to his bed in the corner, and left him with the mosquito curtain well tucked in under the mats. She fitted together the puzzle as she went down the red earth track leading to her aunt's grass house on the outskirts of Levuka, and she found it entertaining. The way of the white man had always interested her. ”

“ Felisi was far from pleased at the change of employment. For an ardent student of the white man and his ways, the tourists on the wharf, not to mention a nagging aunt at home, offered a poor substitute for the freedom of movement and observation in a white household. To be sure, there was Jimmie. ”

“ Underground—crowded—have to stand. Nine o'clock—sign book and climb on to a stool ..."
Jimmie was still looking at Felisi, but he did not see her. He was listening to the rain, and his voice had become a dreary monotone.
Felisi was thoroughly enjoying it. It was another puzzle that only needed to be put together, and she was becoming an expert at the game.
"... Stay on stool adding up figures ... One o'clock lunch—one shilling ... stool, stool, stool ... six o'clock train—Underground—crowded—have to stand ... Watlington ... Rain ... Dinner ... Read, talk drivel ... ”