OF THE SOUTH SEAS 323 



great urn. The champagne bubbled in the heavier por- 

 ter, and the brew was a dark, brilliant color, soft and 

 smooth. It was delicious, and seemed as safe as cocoa- 

 nut milk. I drank my share of it in the cinema cafe, 

 and after that was conscious only vaguely of going to 

 the Cocoanut House garden, where Miri and Caroline 

 and Maraa danced nude under the trees by the light of 

 the full moon. 



Then came blankness until I awoke several hours 

 after midnight. I was sitting on the curbing of the 

 Pool of Psyche, and some one was holding my hand. I 

 thought it must be Atupu or Lovaina, and groped for a 

 moment before I could pull my senses together. I 

 looked up, and saw a wreathed and bearded native, and 

 then down and saw his attire, mixed man's and woman's, 

 and knew he was one of the mahus who loafed about the 

 queen's grounds. I drew away my hand as from a ser- 

 pent's jaws, and clasped my head, which rocked in an- 

 guish. A horrid chuckle or dismal throaty sound 

 caused me to see the Dummy standing in the gateway, 

 looking contemptuously at me, and witheringly at my 

 companion. I had a second's thought of myself as a 

 son of Laocoon. 



The mahu got up and hastened away, and Vava put 

 his hand on my shoulder and lifted me as a child to the 

 road. He pointed toward the Annexe, and as I went 

 haltingly with him, he now and again uttered unearthly 

 cackles and bawls as if enjoying a farce I could not see. 

 He, like the mahu, was one of those mishaps of nature 

 assigned to play an absurd and sorry part in the tragi- 

 comedy of life in which all must act the roles assigned by 

 the great author-manager until death puts us out of 

 the cast. In that scene I myself was the buffoon of fate. 



