him. It lit up the glow women fancied in him. When he laughed it would turn pale, starkly pale; when he was angry
it oozed red, blood-red. . . .
For a vigilante the road to gallantry was clear. Heart of iron, nerves of steel—to be able to club a soused Marine to smithereens . . . possessing these, it was logic to exact tribute from the sulky vermin of the salons. . . .
Inflated by such authority, the Captain swore, spat, dug his heels in the faces of the English....
Applying a Javanese fan to her furious bosom, Miss Buckner, her taffeta silk kicking up an immense racket, returned to the Captain. A bolden smile covered her frank, open face.
“Now, you impetuous Panamanian!” she warmed, the pearls on the top row of her teeth a-glitter, "you must never be too impatient. The Bible says, 'Him that is exalted. ...' The gods will never be kind to you if you keep on that way. . . . No use . . . you won't understand the Bible! Come! . . ."
Gathering up the ruffles of her skirt, she sped along. Into a realm of shadowy mists. Darkness. “Too much liquor," she turned, by way of apology, tapping her black bandeau and indicating the tossing figure of the British Postal Agent "too much liquor . . . don't mind . . .el es Ingles . . . postal agental . . . Ingles. . . ."
“Necios! Barbaridades!”
". . . no matter what he says. . . . "
"Nigger bastard!”
“Baldy! Why, the very itheah! . . . Go quietly, dear. . . ."
“Really, Captain,” Miss Buckner waved a jewel-flaming wrist, “it is quite comic. Why, the fellow's actually offensive! And all I can do is keep the dear child out of the wretch's filthy embrace . . . advances!”
It didn't matter very much, after all. And brushing the slip aside, Miss Buckner went on, "But of course," she conceded, "one has to be pleasant to one's guests. O! Captain, in dear old Kingston, none of this sort of thing ever occurred. . . . None!—And of course it constrains me profusely!—
“Anesta, where are you, my dear?”
