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About The Omaha morning bee. (Omaha [Neb.]) 1922-1927 | View Entire Issue (Dec. 10, 1922)
voyage!'’ about 9 o'clock that night. Kosaleen was packing at the time and laid it aside. Just before she went to bed she sat down in one of the green velvet overstuffed chairs which hotels spawn by the tliou sands and looked the letter over.. It returned to Inspection a suave ly unextraordinary front—an envel ope of thin, foreign looking paper, addressed in a fine slanting hand to Capt. Francis Creighton, ITnivet sity club, Honolulu. Kosaleen took It out and read it. One likes to know how one is being presented—in this case, more es peeially—by a stranger to a strang er. The text offered no vast signifl canoe; stereotyped wording, the us ual well bred phrases. "Dear Francis—" <lt appeared at least she knew hint so well—“This will tie given to you by Miss Kosa leen Clancy, whom I met today at tea with Celeste Love—" ("Clears her own skirts!" muttered Rosaleen) —"I think you will enjoy meeting her In Honolulu as I hove here Do anything you can to amuse her — and aorept my gratitude therefor . . .Faithfully"—(a slight blur there and the suggestion of an erasure) —"Faithfully yours—comme tou Jours— IRENE HEWITT." Thnt was all. It might have been to any man, from any woman. Itosaleen turned it about between thoughtful fingers, none the less. Mrs. Hewitt stimulated the imag ination. The silken contralto lin gered in one’s ears, the lace veiled glance in one’s mind. A spirit if not in prison, at least somehow iso lated—that was Mrs. Hewitt. Any man whom she recommended ns the most fascinating of his town ship would have distinct possiblli lies Itosaleen wished she had asked a question or two—as to Captain Creighton's general appearance— army, was he?—of course? Khaki, then, in addition to other charms 1 lie club Inferred intelligence. Fran t is was an engaging name. Sup posing he did what he could to amuse Rosaleen. as requested: Hon olulii might turn out to be beau tifully worth while! The innocent adventuress put the lid on imaginings and got into bed. Olttd I went to tea with Celeste.” she thought, vaguely, on the edge of a dream. Next morning she left for San Francisco, thoroughly at peace with i ho world. But San Francisco was foggy and out of humor. Chill with the chill that goes to the hone, windcurst and cheerless. Of the three newspaper people to whom Itosaleen had cards, two were out of town and the third proved a middle aged bore. She went aboard (he Kcundor on the fourth day with a determined posy of deep red roses, self supplied, and a large stock of ephemeral literature ... In case nobody and nothing turned up. (Jlobe trotting has Its moments undoubtedly of being not quite the life—that farewell glimpse of the smudgy gi .y dock in San Francisco would be forever one of them—so far as Itosaleen was concerned. She went wisely to bed at once and let the ground hells off the Holden Gate do their worst, unre sisted. Hying flat on her back in a narrow berth, she consoled herself for two dark days wltW the thought that Honolulu coming nearer every moment, would be something quite otherwise. Sapphire seas—curling surf—palm fringed beaches and mountains of living green. Whole trees in tlower, scarlet and gold and rose. Kvery twllght murmurous with steel guitars—every dawning odorous with strange, cool, white fleshed blossoms. Itosaleen knew her steamship fold ers. And added to that she hud cached in the topmost tray of her steamer trunk a letter—from a dark eyed woman of cryptic charm and in tensity—to "the most Interesting man In Honolulu.” What more could one ask? As a stranger with jp strange gates. Itosaleen wove a hundred gau/.y romances about Captain Francis Creighton. University club. Hono lulu, while she lay In her berth S'lth the blankets caught up to her chin and a persistent qualm pervad mg her girlish frame. He was tall—he was dark—he was dashing . . no! Too much like Desperate Desmond of Celeste’s amazing world! He was slender and quiet and cool, with steel gray eyes and a compelling smile. She would mail the letter to him at his club, as soon as she decently could, up >n ai riving . . . no, again! She would telephone him that she had a letter to him—voices tell so much --and he would say Instantly—In tones of deliciously deep impatience —"When may J come for it? At once? Tins afternoon'”' The only person she would -know in Honolulu . . . one's only ac quaintance in faerie land! How could something help but come of ii? Something to Rosaleen meant ad venture—merely. One doesn't start oft around -the world wltl^ nastrl^ ntony as an object. Whatever |M.,:.#ieWUff'tliow|'jy£|-|) she dict»«l«h»slM»'W*a..'»HfnMtr#IP<W>i deck, the third day out. drowsing JmttP ’y of rugv.s-ud Xtirs. with a magazine In her lap, un touched. when Home one brought her a wireless. Rosaleen opened it with a curious thrill of surprise—there were, of course, people in the world who might be moved to send her wire lesses, but which of them—and why? She lead with growing amaze ment. “Destroy letter of introduction on no account use it deeply regret having given it to you. "IRENE HEWITT.” And that, as the saying goes, was that! Rosaleen read the wireless over half a dozen times. It seemed too queer to be true—too melodramatic to be real. 1-ike one of Mrs. Hew itt's scenarios, perhaps, if they ran to that sort of shallow sensation, but hardly like life. "Rot!” muttered Rosaleen to her self. She had practically met Francis Creighton already in her day dream ing and she felt now distinctly like a tiger deprived of its favorite food. She said to herself—“1 alian t de stroy It at all. I shall certainly use it.” Hut at the same time reason and common sense blew like cold little winds across the heat of her fancy and gave her pause. "On no account use it; deeply regret having given it to you.” The woman wouldn’t have sent a mes sage like that unless something very definite and dreadful had hap pened to make tt necessary. What, in the name of all humor ous fates, had Capt. Francis Creigh ton done? To bo the cause of Mrs. Hewitt’s deep and dramatic regret? For nothing short of battle, mur der and sudden death could justify the lady's warning. Rosaleen cast back to the letter itself, sitting there, snug in her steamer chair, while the railing rose and sank against a grayish sky in the sickening manner pe culiar to railings of steamships, and thick, gray, dirty looking waves went by in endless continuity. ’’Dear Francis . . she knew him well, at least—whatever he had done, then, was recent— something that had happened since Rosaleen had left Dos Angeles . . . and there hadn’t been time for letter mall, so Mrs. Hewitt must have learned of the unspeakable crime by wireless—or cable. It had been In the papers, per haps. O, ghastly! On the other hand—wait! ' Faith fully yours—comme toujours!” Rosaleen hadn’t given the thing a great deal of thought until now —some people scattered French phrases like perfume or paprika— one didn’t take them too seriously . . . but surely—comme tou jours!—it smacked of intimacy— of auld acquaintance (to shift dia lects). It wasn't the kind of tiling one tacked on to one’s signature except to people one had liked— rather a lot. Comme toujours—almost a re proach, wasn't it? Suggesting feminine constancy—which is al ways being ill-rewarded if not down right resented, by the objects of it. “There's no question in the world she'd known him long enough to know what she thought of him be fore she gave me the letter,” Rosa leen decided, shrewdly. “Whatever it is—it’s something he’s done since—” Her charmingly CeNie little face took on an odd look of being hither and yon in the play of Mrs. Hew itt's decisions. She arrived sud denly at a decision of her own. “I shan't destroy it, whatever I do. I'll use it if I see fit. Just sit tight for a bit . . and see If I can get hold of anything to explain all this.” Which did not however give her back the vague alluring anticipations with which she had been approaching Honolulu. “The most interesting man"— whatever had he done—however had he desperately deported himself to be all at once disowned—violently denied—by his one time sponsor? His dethronement left an aching waste in Roaaleen's visions of the paradise of the Pacific. Folder nomenclature once more. She tucked the letter a trifle deeper under blouses and things when she went down for luncheon, but she by no means considered that she had done with it. Not Rosaleen Clancy! She wasn't given to taking orders—certainly not from other women not she! Being now comparatively nee or her earlier malaise she put in the. three remaining days of the voyage pleasantly enough. She was an old traveler, tolerant of deck sports, quite capable of dancing on an in dined plane, equal to long, lazy hours in a deck chair, companioned or otherwise . . and there was the usual selection of people aboard with whom Jd'ISffUfnme. A ^ |yjngffiv j5p,sonable, a brldlff * IrWWKl* • 1M?#1 llellShtful ,,ut \h? ,raFBU ,},Va> broke Ihtrf hlueL,£gf a.^piWtfMg£,'(DUt and fV«'t *sunshine sjy^pt, . through vapors and flooded the world . . . almost Rosaleen im agined Jasmine and gardenias, twen ty-four hours before the Ecuador slid In alongside Honolulu dock, and chains rattled overboard. She went to the Moana because she had heard it was rather a nice place to lie- —on the edge of the all loo famous Waikiki lieach—and by 4 in the afternoon she had had her first swim in the Pacific. The bridal couple went with her— Mr. and Mrs. Heath of Atlanta, Gu., young, deliciously southern, deli ciously sophisticated, and eminently easy to look upon, both of them. The girl was a human pastel—all delicate tones and soft shadows: the boy an upstanding young chief, dark and.arrogant as any of his fore fathers that ever yelled a rebel yell. After dinner in the wide, many windowed dining room that over looks the King's Surf, the thre$ of them foregathered again, this time at a table in the open court be neath the tree, to watch the dancers. It was there, at a trifle after 10, just when Rosaleen was sleepily deciding upon a dasli for her pjl low, that a tall, slim, duik haired young man came along, stopped be side the little table, looked ques ttonly at young Heath, and put out a sunburned hand. Young lleath jumped up with the pleasantest of smiles anil grasped the hand warmly. "Clad to see you again!” Can't you join us? I’d like to have you meet my wife . . . Beatrice, this is Captain Creighton Miss Clancy . . Beatrice lleath encouraged the newcomer graciously. “Do sit down —we’d love to have you!” Rosaleen tipped her smooth, dark little head ami veiled her sap phirine eyes, with a heart going like a trip-hammer. Captain Creighton sat' down. Talk flowed on. Movies? Not in it with life! Here she had planned to wait and see— to sit tight and see what she could learn—to scout around a bit, per haps—but in no moment, however mad, however patchworked with conjecture, had she dreamed of a thing like this! To have Captain Creighton himself walk up and sit down beside her, the first night in Honolulu. No need to use the let ter now—Mrs. Hewitt might have saved herself that cryptic wireless. Fate was a cleverer woman than Mrs. Hewitt. South Sea Jazz be gan upon the lanai, people swarm ed out to dance. "Will you—do juju care to—?’’ asked Captain Creighton of Mrs. Heath, and the hriile, swaying like a rosy wind flower, moved off be side him. Rosaleen danced with Heath. He apparently didn't talk when he danced; too much in love with rhe performance itself. Rhe put one question, coming hack down the steps to their table. “What is Captain Creighton’s Christian name —do you know, Mrs. Heath?" "Fellow that introduced him to me <alled him Frank, I think,” said Heath slowly. “Why?” "O!'1 said Rosaleen, disappointed. "Then you’ve only Just met him? 1 thought perhaps you might have run across—an old friend—out here . . lleath explained lazily. "Lord no! I don't know a soul west of Texas. Went into the University Club this afternoon with the ship's doctor— and this Johnny was just getting in from the country—riding clothes and all that. Doctor introduced hint and we had something cold together. Nice looking, isn’t he? I believe he lives at the club." "Yes, he is rather niee looking^’ murmured Rosaleen conservatively. To be accurate, his nice looking ness was of a kind and a quality that drew her at once and strongly. She watched him covertly, making idle talk with the Heaths of places to see and roads to go ... he had dark. long, velvety eyes, gor geously dark—and moody . . dark, smooth hair, as far from the lacquered shine of the dance-hound as from the roughness of tempera ment , . . good modeling In chin and jaw—a thin, cleari? sensi tive mouth . . Mouth and eyes contradicted each other flatly—as they do In most people if one looks . . You re keen on surfing, aren’t you. Miss Clancy?" asked Hie little Mrs Heath in the midst of Rosa leen's secret stock taking. "I should be if r could be," said Rosaleen quaintly. It appeared that Captain Creigh ton was offering to take them out next day In an outrigger. "] hope you’ll go along. Miss Clan ey." he put in. flushing. He was sijv. That appeared all at once and somehow engagingly. With the nice shyness of a well-bred little hoy. which state lay obviously about 20 years or so behind him. Also he had a delightful voice . . deep. V?,pressing draw). "t.boK where you're going, Rosie!" thongiit^My^ CJyncy with an inner tfVeet,y' ‘ T'OVP •»W’bVi>P flier asked her to dance; which she did lie met the test of contact nobly. Rosaleen was always able to be sure the first time she danced with a man if she were going to like him or not. Some dances one got through stubbornly, wincing all the time away from the clasp of alien lingers, the pressure of an alien arm . . T others, one wasn’t conscious of contact at all, just drifted pleasantly . . . still oth ers — and among these Captain Creighton at once took a foremost place—touched you and held you with just that odd suggestion of velvet and steel—and tire—which made the music only an echo of sweeter songs unheard. . . . O, well—it’s so futile to try and tell that sort of thing! She said, midway of tlie wailings of ’’Second llandn Rose,” ’’D’you know. 1 like the way you dance?” He answered simply, "A mail’d be a stick or a stone that couldn’t dance with you!” But that wasn’t finding out about the letter—and Mrs. Hewitt—and Die shriekingly mysterious why of it all. One thing Rosaleen did discover. She said to him demurely: "You're in the army, aren’t you. Capt. Creighton? It must he such an in foresting life.” And he replied with a touch of embarrassment: "No—I’m not in the army.” lie explained reluctantly: "I was in the royal flying corps—during the war—there’s no reason for call ing me that now—people just do. . . ' “O!" said Rosaleen, as innoeept as could be. "Did you transfer to our troops when we went in? I suppose, of course . . He told her: “No, I didn’t. My father, you see, was English—my mother American—” “Oh, 1 'see!” said Rosaleen. But she didn’t see nearly so much as she’d have liked. For almost at once, from that very first night at the Moana, she wanted—to see—very badly. It’s always a thankless task to try and tell a temperate zone just how these things happen so quickly In the tropics. The temperate zone has also a moon, but is able to en dure the sight of It more calmly ... it has flowers, but possibly doesn’t look at them so long, nor yet put Its nose so close to them ... its seas roar instead of purr ing ... Its skies beam instead of burning . . . put the whole thing this way—if the Pilgrims had landed on Diamond Head instead of on Ply mouth rock, should we today be a blue nosed and blue lawed race? Oblvlously not! Well, then! Rosaleen, besides being now In Honolulu, had been born only one generation away from Ballyclare. But she was usually able to stay on the road. By virtue of an excellent sense of humor. And a good deal of breeding. Captain Creighton hail apparently more than a little of both himself, which made things all the more difficult all nround. She got »Jt the fateful letter and read it again, up in her room that night. “Faithfully yours—comme tou jours.” Already Rosaleen resented that Gallic fling at a possibly amethy stine past. Black laces and jet! Would a nice girl wear ’em? Per haps. Nice girls wear almost any thing—and nothing—these days. Was that the sort of thing Cap tain Francis Creighton would be apt to fall for? Again—you sim ply couldn’t tell about men. The nicer they are the faster they fall. O, what a xoice the boy had—and what eyes! Rosaleen sat in her window and stared China-way, across endless leaches of moonlit fount. A moon on the wane, so touched with trng edy. She said to herself, ' This looks like the rlpplngest adventure I ever met!” And herself answered with an unsteady little snicker, “Cali it that if you like!” Because herself knew already that there was trouble conyng—moonlit trouble, with a moaning on cellos and flutes . . trouble with a rose over one ear and summer lightenings in its hand. " The most interesting man in Honolulu,' mused Ilosaleen worm iy But somewhere buck in her willfull consciousness like a liell chattering at a railroad crossing herself re minded doggedly: "Destroy letter of introduction on no account use it deeply regret having given it to you." Kosateen staring through tiie ar gent air. had one reluctant moment of admitting danger. "With those eyes—he might have done—any thing—lawless—if he wanted to— hard enough ...” But even there she pulled herself up. "With that mouth—nothin a million years— anything—unclean!" And upon that she went to bed. To dream of him shamelessly. Next day he took her surfing, with the Heaths—and the day after that he took her surfing alone. Which statement is intentionally significant, not a mere chronologi^ detail. "My dear—you've made a con quest—haven't you? said little Mrs. Heath delightedly. Matchmaking almost from the altar. "Think so?” asked Rosaleen modestly. But the liish eyes gleamed. "You know it, you outgageous little flirt!” cried the Southern girl. He can't take his eyes off you fen minutes at a time.” “I don’t mind ” said Rosaleen— —and no more she did. She added with a wily kind of carelessness; 'You and Mr. Heath like him— Captain Creighton, I mean?” "O. I think he's perfectly charm ing!" said Mrs. Heath. "And Aleck—Aleck says lie's the most in teresting man he's met In Hono lulu.” A phrase to make poor Rosaleen s blood ripple chill. She murmured subtly; "I think he must come—from nice people— don't you?” "O, no question! said Mrs. Meath. "lie's got the most thoroughbred hands and feet I ever saw.” Still, comforting as that conversa tion should have been and undoubt I edly was. Rosalcen reflected later on that even thoroughbred feet have been known to take hold on hell and thoroughbred hands to break in and steal. She put the thought away frotn her with downright violence. Krancia Creighton was proving far too vivid an adventure to he lightly renounced. So when he asked her to swim with him and dance with him and drive witli him daily, she did— reckless of consequences. "Two weeks—” he said, at abouW tlie end of tlie first one, sitting on the beach with her near Kaalawai and twisting a hit of dead seaweed about and about between long, brown, restless fingers , . . “It isn’t true that you'll be here only two weeks—1 can't believe it." They had wandered along the beach from Diamond Mead after dancing at the Moana all evening and come to haven ai last on a stretch of dully shining sand, with the Pacific sleepily lipping flat black rocks at their feet, the bluff rising stark to the road above them Stars made magic in a darkly, windless sky. Scents and whispers made magic in a deliciously empty world. "Yen—two weeks—” said Rosa leeen, making magic of her own with her soft Irish voice and the half-wistful daring in her eyes. "It doesn't seem—very long—docs it. now!" “It's loo short!" said Francis Creighton. "You'll stay longer.” "No, 1 won’t,” said Rosalcen. "I sail on the Kaiyo Maru a week from tomorrow if I have to be caf ried aboard, drenched fn tears.” “Don't you—tike us?" he ven tured with that astounding shy ness of his. "M-m-m! Most awfully!" said Rosa leen. "lint I'm on my way arouno tlie world—and I am a woman of grim determination. I stay not for stick and I stop not for stone—” "I'd hate to come under either of those heads," tie udm.tted gravely. "Well . you don’t!" said Rosaleen. "if that's any comfort to you!" g0 Me ventured yet further. "1 sup pose you wouldn't—no—of course you wouldn't—I've got no business asking you. . . ." "Wouldn't what?" "Nothing." She insisted sweetly, something starting an uneasy manner away hack in her head—"Why have you no business to—whatever it was?" if he would only tell her—any things! .She listened for c!ues when she was with him, like an Indian with one ear to the ground. “I've known you seven days," he fold her quietly. 'If you remember me half that long after you sail on the Kaiyo Maru I daresay I’ll be in luck.” "We—we don't know an awful lot about each other, either—do we?' suggested Delilah, cleverly. Creighton said rather moodily. "There's nothing much to know . . . about me.” Uiu yo never command a private ship?—nor run away with a chorus girl?—nor loot a bank?"—(Kosaleen's heart was horribly inquiet; it shook her laughing voice just a little)— none of those things?" "Not one," said Creighton, "of i hose especial things—unfortu nately." “Well—what have you done? Be gin—and tell me all! You couldn’t have a more perfect place nor time for it. Nor yet a more perfect listener. Is there any one you'd lather tell the story of your life to then me—if so-" .She felt herself suddenly flushing —a betraying flame—and blessed th^| dark that hid it. "No." he said simply; there's no body I'd rather tell it to—only there isn’t anything to tell." "Nonsense—you must have been a little boy once—times you still if'ontlnurd on V'hks ftareti.)