en so absorbed in Ethel he would have noticed
that many eyes were fixed on him curiously, and he would have seen the
glances of the white ladies and noticed how they put their heads
together and gossiped.

Afterwards, when the men who lived at the hotel were having a whisky
before turning in, Nelson burst out with:

"Say, they say Lawson's going to marry that girl."

"He's a damned fool then," said Miller.

Miller was a German-American who had changed his name from Mueller, a big
man, fat and bald-headed, with a round, clean-shaven face. He wore large
gold-rimmed spectacles, which gave him a benign look, and his ducks were
always clean and white. He was a heavy drinker, invariably ready to stay
up all night with the "boys," but he never got drunk; he was jolly and
affable, but very shrewd. Nothing interfered with his business; he
represented a firm in San Francisco, jobbers of the goods sold in the
islands, calico, machinery and what not; and his good-fellowship was
part of his stock-in-trade.

"He don't know what he's up against," said Nelson. "Someone ought to put
him wise."

"If you'll take my advice you won't interfere in what don't concern
you," said Miller. "When a man's made up his mind to make a fool of
himself, there's nothing like letting him."

"I'm all for having a good time with the girls out here, but when it
comes to marrying them--this child ain't taking any, I'll tell the
world."

Chaplin was there, and now he had his say.

"I've seen a lot of fellows do it, and it's no good."

"You ought to have a talk with him, Chaplin," said Nelson. "You know him
better than anyone else does."

"My advice to Chaplin is to leave it alone," said Miller.

Even in those days Lawson was not popular and really no one took enough
interest in him to bother. Mrs Chaplin talked it over with two or three
of the white ladies, but they contented themselves with saying that it
was a pity; and when he told her definitely that he was going to be
married it seemed too late to do anything.

For a year Lawson was happy. He took a bungalow at the point of the bay
round which Apia is built, on the borders of a native village. It
nestled charmingly among the coconut trees and faced the passionate blue
of the Pacific. Ethel was lovely as she went about the little house,
lithe and graceful like some young animal of the woods, and she was gay.
They laughed a great deal. They talked nonsense. Sometimes one or two of
the men a