ugh in his
throat.

"Why do you laugh?" she asked gravely.

"At a thought. Of you--an angel with one wing."

"Meaning that I don't belong anywhere, in heaven or on earth?"

"Meaning that you must cut off the wing or grow another to mate it.
Let's go up and see how the patient is doing. Wu may have news for
us. We'll get those books into your room first. And I'll have
supper with you."

"If only...." But she did not complete the thought aloud. If only
this man had been her father! The world would have meant nothing;
the island would have been wide enough.

"You were saying--?"

"I started to say something; that is all."

"By the way, did you read those stories?"

"Yes."

"Worth anything?"

"I don't know."

"Silly love stories?"

"No; love wasn't the theme. Supposing you take them and read them?
You might be able to tell me why I felt disappointed."

"All right. I'll take them back with me. Probably he has something
to say and can't say it, or he writes well about nothing."

"Do you believe his failure caused...."

"What?" he barked. But he did not follow on with the thought. There
was no need of sowing suspicion when he wasn't really certain there
were grounds for it. "Well, you never can tell," he continued,
lamely. "These writer chaps are queer birds."

"Queer birds."

He laughed and followed her into the hotel. "More slang," he said.
"I'll have to set you right on that, too."

"I have heard sailors use words like that, but I never knew what
they meant."

Sailors, he thought; and most of them the dregs of the South Seas,
casting their evil glances at this exquisite creature and trying to
smirch with innuendo the crystal clearness of her mind. Perhaps
there were experiences she would never confide to any man. Sudden
indignation boiled up in him. The father was a madman. It did not
matter that he wore the cloth; something was wrong with him. He
hadn't played fair.

"Remember; we must keep the young fellow's thoughts away from
himself. Tell him about the island, the coconut dance, the wooden
tom-toms; read to him."

"What made him buy that sing-song girl?" Regarding this, Ruth had
ideas of her own, but she wanted the doctor's point of view.

"Maybe he realized that he was slipping fast and thought a fine
action might give him a hand-hold on life again. You tell me he
didn't like the stuff."

"He shuddered when he drank."

"Well, that's a hopeful sign. I'll test him out later; see if th