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The island door bell

Know you haven't told me a thing about yourself. All that I know is that you are Miss Joan Lackland from anywhere. You'd have to go farther west to find my stamping grounds. Ah, let me see Nevada? She shook her head. California? Still farther west. It can't be, or else I've forgotten my geography. It's your politics, she laughed. Don't you remember Annexation'? The Philippines! he cried triumphantly.


No, Hawaii. I was born there. It is a beautiful land. My, I'm almost homesick for it already. Not that I haven't been away. I was in New York when the crash came. But I do think it is the sweetest spot on earth Hawaii, I mean. Then what under the sun are you video door camera doing down here in this Godforsaken place? he asked. Only fools come here, he added bitterly. Nielsen wasn't a fool, was he? she queried. As I understand, he made three millions here.

Only too true, and that fact is responsible for my being here. And for me, too, she said. Dad heard about him in the Marquesas, and so we started. Only poor Dad didn't get here. He your father died? he faltered. She nodded, and her eyes grew soft and moist. I might as well begin at the beginning. She lifted her head with a proud air of dismissing sadness, after, the manner of a woman qualified to wear a Baden-Powell and a long-barrelled Colt's. I was born at Hilo. That's on the island door bell