Some Bonbons and a New Dependency.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XLVI, Issue 10, 8 March 1911, Page 42

Some Bonbons and a New Dependency.

By

STUART B. STONE.

TtV?'®’ HEN the last boat from the ■/ I Equatoria sighted the lowI I L lying island, Mr Bill Archer, of t'squi dunk, Connecticut, raised his fat, bristly head and gasped, wearily: “Land, by gravy!” Three of the ill-aborted ,erew,, paid no heed to Mr Ari Iler's elegant expletive These mere the twv .younger LeGrand sisters, with the ftainboW-Land Compan V, and ■ the, girl .vUio had sat «•>- co-mmuniiative and unnecessarily charniim»' in her Scilt:tv.ati-MF disarray . since the bout h f ad gone orei<the side of the doomed ship: .lint-the; man m the ;bow and the eldest .■ Miss Let hand looked eagerly for Mr Archer's discovery. "How far from ’New York?” asked Miss’ LeGrand, .Senior. In RainbowLand she was called Tutti-Frutti, assisting in the dance of the fifty-seven pickl s iiAhe South Dakota widows’ march and in the lilial coronation scene. The man in the bow shook his grotesque head, setting the little, bells on his crown to ringing. ?j "Eleven thousand miles, more or less, he answered, sadly. "You won’t get a car in to-night, little girl. ’ The man in the bow was lying m Rainbow-Land. and he had been pirouetting about on the ship’s modern stage when the Equatoria ploughed into the fateful derelict. The red of his flowing mantle was greatly streaked, the blue of his blouse was faded, the yellow of his splashed pantalets was brown in frequent spots, where brine and boat-dirt had united at the work of soiling. “Eleven thousand miles,” be murmured again, "or thirteen or fourteen — what "in the Sam Hill does it matter? This is the first boat in this place since Ham, Shem and Japhet. „ "I knowed a boat once named .Taphet.” observed Bill Archer, looking gloomily at the palm-studded beach toward which the boat was steadily plunging on the South Pacific’s gentle wavelets. ‘lt run out of Gloucester and—” But Miss Bessie (Snowdrop) LeGrand and Miss Tessie (Extra Dry) LeGrand had aroused from their rough bunk in the boat’s wet bottom and were propounding momentous questions. “Where can we get dinner, Mr VanHoy?” “Do you suppose they have souvenir post-cards showing the funny trees? “Shall we have an evening performance?” Billy Vannoy waved the spangled, pink-tighted ladies of the ballet’ into silence. “Be ready now,” he warned, “were going upon that beach in a minute.” He turned to the gloom-ridden lady in the stern. “Watch your chance now. It’s smooth sand and we’ll come through all right. Be ready to jump. Miss —” For the first time since the departure from the drifting, storm-driven liner, the Udy spoke:

“My name is Corinne Bradbury.” “Not Toledo, Ohio!” yelled Vannoy. She nodded, causing.the great bunches of soaked black hair to wobble above her deep, grey eyes. "Notify Sanford N. Bradbury, 716 Osgood-avenue, if any of you get through and I don’t.” Billy Vannoy whistled the first two lines of his “1 am a deuce of a king!” song, while the black fleur-de-lis painted over each eyebrow wrinkled into shapelessness-.. “Look out!” bawled the fat Mr Archer. Then that sprightly deck-hand began a sing-song petition: “Now I lay me down to sleep—now 1 lay me—” The boat went in on a white : capped breaker, soused through a second and rode a third high up but of harm’s way on the pebble-strewn shore. The occupants pitched in a bunch on the sand, then, recovering breath, crawled limply up to where the tropical breeze swished beneath the cocoanut palms. “Isn't it a pretty place!” exclaimed tile charming Tutti-Frutti, rubbing her bruises. “I think I’d like to live here.” “But where would you get lobsters and champagne?” sighed the lady called Extra Dry. “They haven’t even a subway,” Miss Snowdrop LeGrand complained. "Look here!” growled the practical Bill Archer. “What we goin’ to eat?” V annoy did not. respond to the chatter of his storm-tossed court. He was gazing after Miss Corinne Bradbury, of Toledo, Ohio, and Miss Bradbury was walking steadily down the curving beach. "Her Royal Kerosenic Highness had better not go too far,” Vannoy muttered. Then, as the lady seemed about to disappear around a jutting rock, he yelled aftci her: "Hi, theiy. Miss Bradbury! Better not go too far. There’s no telling what's on these islands!” But tile beautiful lady clambered round the protruding rock and was lost to view. Vannoy started up. “This won’t do—we’ve got to keep together. You people stay here and I'll go after Miss Bradbury. Her wicked old dad is worth a hundred million dollars if he’s worth a slick dime.” The Misses LeGrand shrieked in unison: “You don’t say!” “I'm going to ask her to back me in a leading part,” announced Miss Tessie LeGrand. “You stay right here,” said Vannoy. “We’ll go look at her diamonds,” declared Miss Bessie LeGrand. “Stay here!’’ stormed Billy Vannoy. “1 want to ask about her relations,” declared Jessie LeGrand. “My mother’s aunt was a Bradburn—that’s nearly the same as Bradbury.” “You stay here!” Vannoy reiterated, eo savagely that the three dazzling LeG rands completely subsided. Mr Bill Archer was pulling and pulling at some article* from the swamped boat

and did not stop for the story of the oil-grimed millions. The comedian hurried away and, as he looked over his shoulder, he could see the LeGrands in a line on the beach, solemn in the pink tights, morning-glory skirts, and lowcut, fluffy bodices of the coronation ensemble. “That gang,” he murmured, “will be hungry before long, and they’ll be sending me out to find a good hotel, qn the American plan at a dollar a day, steam heat, private bath and a conservatory.” Just before reaching the jutting point of rock, Vannoy stumbled upon a small box of glossy, pink cardboard. Stooping, he picked it up and examined it. There was a glit cord around the box, and across the de luxe top ran the word “Alvaretti's,’’ in wonderful, brown script. “She’ll be needing these bonbons,” he muttered. “In a week four hundred tanks of her father’s best grade petroleum wouldn’t buy an all-day sucker.” Around the jutting crag the king of Rainbow-Land climbed slowly, then over, a bush-grown hill and across a lazy stream. There were cliffs beyond the little stream, and, as he toiled around them he grumbled. “There was no need of Miss Millions going after the twentyfour hour walking record just at this juncture. -She might have left out a red marker, anyhow.” Then he clambered around the cliff and tripped upon an object that jumped at his touch. It was a sprawling, brown man, who might have held front rank in a Zulu impi: There were a hundred of the fellow, bare except for loin-cloth, bracelets and anklets, and carrying huge shields and spears. In the center of the ring sat a greater, finer, brown man—and Miss Corinne Bradbury, of Toledo, Ohio, U.S.A. At Vannoy’s entry the hundred brown men bounded agilely to their feet, and a hundred crude spears pointed at his paintstreaked countenance, while from behind strong, lithe arms pinned him fast. The

ric-h Miss Bradbury had jumped to her feet with a little cry. But the big chief only grinned, displaying the most entrance ing white teeth, and indicated that Vannoy was to be released. Then he came close and looked the comedian over, touching the bell adorned gilt crown the breast-plate with the “ Hands off!” sign, and the gondola-shaped clog sho»s. Presently he held a guttural confab with a sleek, wicked-looking fellow, who was un-. armed, and the latter approached Vannoy. THE FIRST CHOCOLATE CREAM—TRANSLATION. When directly in front of the comedian, the sleek savage winked so knowingly, so altogether suggestive of electric light,

pea-nut roaster, silk shirt-waist civilization, that Vannoy yelled out: “ Who the devil are you?” - The savage winked again, speaking ths king’s very good English: “ Steady, old Barnum clown. Keep) your royal head,, and maybe I can savq you from conversion into fresh, round steak!” - “ What do you mean?” gasped Cannoy. “ They’ll want to eat you,” explained! the fellow. “ The king has been hesitating whether to put the lady on to boil oxi to propose.” “Who are you, anyway?” the comedian demanded again. • f “ Oh, just like you—shipwrecked and drifted—used to do a patent medicine business in the West —piled up here wills a Hartford school-teacher, and they, gobbled her. Said it was the finest mess they’d ever had, and that is why the king is so set on cooking your lady, friend there. I was too smooth and too tough for ’em blacked up. picked out the lingo, and I’m high in royal favour now; My name’s Boanga. Great God, man! You’re the first white people I’ve seen in twenty years!” The giant king had nudged ip close, manifesting some impatience, and the fellow continued: “ Hurry up now with your yarn.” “ We’re from the O. and O. liner Equatoria ” Vannoy began, but the exile checked him. “I have, had all that from the beautiful lady. You give me some razzle-dazzle that’ll save your bacon. Tell him some horrible lie.” ’ , - Vannoy scratched his bewigged head. “ Tell him I’m a king—the kinglicst kind of a king.’ Say that my country is bigger than a mill ion palm-gardens-like this. Tell him the lady is worth a'square mile of diamonds.” “Hold on!” interrupted the interpreter. He translated it to. the impatient monarch, who received the intelligence with grunts and groans. “ He’s impressed all right,” confided the interpreter, “Keep hittiu’ him along

that line. Say, what have you got in that box ?” “ They’re chocolate creams. Belong to Miss Bradbury there.” At the mention of chocolate creams Miss Corinne Bradbury reached forth her hand. “ I’m so glad you found them. If I have to die, or be queen of the South Seas, I’d just as well have a sweet taste in my mouth.” “Good Lord!” cried Boanga. the interpreter. “Chocolate creams. Gimme one!” “ They’re Miss Bradbury’s,” said Vannoy. . 1 “Gimme a chocolate eream drop!” yelled Boanga. The interpreter had become suddenly infuriated, beating the air with his fist, stamping on the sand. “Gimme a chocolate cream, or I’ll have you

khd the lady both served for supper. Do Vou think a man can live twenty years in this hell, and stand back on paliteatss!” jt’annoy unfastened the frazzly, gilt p’ord, and lifted the top of the pink box. feeneath the'fancy white fringe ten fat, Ibrown, chocolate creams nestled. Van«ioy handed one to the enraged interpreter. The clear, gray eyes of Miss Corinne Bradbury looked on most covetously, and the king, the king’s harem, and the king’s fcabinet and standing army crowded about 5n extreme curiosity. Boanga placed the .plump, brown confection between thumb and forefinger and bit into it. The luscious white filling ran from the crisp cocoa sides, whilst the interpreter licked his dips in ecstasy. “Yum, yum!” he murmured. “That did me good. Now, maybe, I can be a gentleman!” THE SECOND CHOCOLATE CREAM—DOMESTIC FELICITY. As the interpreter lolled the cream in his mouth, the king talked choppy, guttural stuff, sniffing at the smeared chocolate and grinning as only a cannibal potentate can grin

“ He’s crazy about the candy,” Boanga freely translated. “But he’s afraid of magic.” . A great hubbub had arisen around the American gir], and Vaiinoy took ad vantage of the confusion to place the pink box in his blouse. A stout fat belle'had set Upon Miss Bradbury, and administered some terrific slapping before the' tribesmen could pull her away. . “Here!” shouted Vannoy. . “Keep that Amazon wild-cat away!” “ Oh, cocoanuts!” cried Boanga. “That’s Netia-, the king’s two-hundred-pound favourite, and-she’s ready for the feast. She’s jealous,” “Tell her it’s wrong to eat people—that we never do that in the great; America.” Boanga translated and the irate Netia came and stuck out her tongue at Vannoy. “ The gist of her remarks,” explained Boanga, “ is that you are several degrees lower than a yellow dog with a tomatocan attached to his tail. But sire wants to know what you do eat in your precious country.” Vannoy creased his brow. “ Inform her cannabilistic majesty,” he drawled, “ that in my country we devour the milk pf the cow frozen to unhealthy solidity, and the coy, red lobster boiled alive; that jive eat the leg of the bull frog, the b ick Pf the crab, the foot of the gentle pig; that we gulp soups distilled from ox-tails, from birds’-nests, from the moody s’lent toyster; that we nibble at canned hog, panned dog, canned cow, and all the vege--ftable and mineral kingdoms canned and iontents guaranteed under a beautiful, Jnew pure food law; that we indulge in Chile from Mexico, chop souey from Cathay, Italian spaghetti, Dutch Limburjger, and the odoriferous messes of all mations; and finally that we partake of Sill these in one grand ensemble served at bur leading boarding-houses, and called Slash: -Tell her that the last is considered fine of our best jokes and'brings good money yet. But say that we never eat •acli other.”

Boanga translated the string, and Netia jabbered back. “ She wants a sample of your wonderful national foods,” grinned Boanga. Vannoy waved his hands impatiently. “ Does she think I came over in a floating dairy lunch?” “ Where’s your candy ?” suggested the interpreter. Vannoy fished another of the chocolate creams from the box in his blouse, and motioned to Netia. The dark, sleek queen approached and eyed the thing closely, but indicated that Vannoy should first eat the food himself. At this, the comedian bit into the bonbon, smiling and smacking his satisfaction. Thereupon Netia, queen of love and beauty in the isle of palms, tasted the food of the great, free land, first nibbling, then champing great, joyful champs. “ It’s all right,” announced Boanga, the interpreter. “ Netia says to hold up the feast.” THE THIRD CHOCOLATE-CREAM—-INCANTATION. His Majesty of the palms was grumbling though, and, in a minute, a patriarchal scamp, with grey kinks and humped form, came pottering around Vannoy. “ That’s Solsol, the witeh-smeller,” remarked Boanga. “ He can scent any form of noodoo, voodoo, evil eye, crossed fingers or rabbit-foot oil the map. The king’s got an idea you’re a magician.” The witch-detector nosed .around, sniffing and keeping up a low, guttural grumbling. Vannoy caught his wicked old eye and winked, wondering if the telepathy of civilisation would hold good in the queerer places. It held — Solsol came nearer, watching the comedian keenly, and Vannoy passed him the third chocolate ream. The witeh-smeller slipped it between his snaggy, yellow teeth, and closed his mouth. In three seconds a grotesque smile passed over his black face and he turned, jabbering to the king. “ Solsol gives you a clear ticket, says you are sweet and innocent as a springlamb in the Union stock-yards,” said Boanga. The king, however, was not appeased, and began a horrible uproar. The dusky ladies,of the harem scattered, the naked children scampered away, and the bg spearmen closed in on the heiress and the opera singer. “What’s up?” yelled Vannoy. ; “ You’re bewitching the niggers with your chocolate drops!” shouted the interpreter. “ The king says so, and it’s you both to the Bastile!” THE FOURTH CHOCOLATE CREAM—BEAUTY FOOD. They dragged them—the man and the ghl—over the smooth sand and across another little creek to where their miserable village of thatched huts squatted in a circle. In the midst of these, and of size commensurate with the much-wived state of this Solomon of the southern sea, stood King Danno’s palace-hut —and on the right of the palace-hut stood one of the commoner houses. Into the latter were shoved Billy Vannoy," comedy king of Rainbow-Land, and Corinne-Bradbury, beloved of half the impoverished blood of Europe. For a while the entrance to the gloomy hut was blocked with curious women and children —but these drifted away and there was no sound in the pla.ee, save the asthmatic breathing of the big brute of a warrior on guard in the doorway. Billy. Vannoy removed his ridiculous gilt crown, setting up a soft, little tinkling of bells in the fast-darkening hut. “Well, Miss Bradbury,” he suggested, “we’re not hurt yet.” Her answer surprised him. “I would like very much to see you once with that ridiculous paint off your face.” “Oh,” said Vannoy. He fancied that he could hear her laughing softly, and he stiffened a little. “The paint has worked very well for everyone concerned to-day.”. “You have done me a wonderful service,” she assured him. “1 can’t begin to thank you.” “Don’t try. It was Boanga and the chocolates, anyhow.” “Oh, those chocolates,” she murmured. “Who would have looked for sweet teeth at sixty degrees south?” And presently she shocked Vannoy again. “1 want you to tell me of yourself.” • The comedian sighed. Iler voice had a delicious, appealing timbre, but he could not say whether this meant sympathy, “There’s nothing much to tell," he answered. “It’s the old humdrum of {American biography—-farm days—the country etore, —to the city with Um doll>ws—then hopes and kicks and cuffs and (buffets —and finally, from eighteen a

week in the chorus to this present grandeur of breastplates, robes and • pasteboard crown.” He made a little gesture of despair. “Take she comforted. “A pasteboard king in a prison of straw—an American girl on a manless island. We’re in the same boat.” “Shall we ever get away?” she asked, after a while. “I don’t know,” said Vannoy, “but, if we stay, I’ll be king of the palms—you can bank on that.” “And I’ll be the queen,” said Miss Corinne Bradbury, shocking Vannoy for the third time. For a great while there was silence. Then, “Do you know,” said the girl, “1 am just dying for one of those chocolate creams ?” Vannoy proffered the box. “You may thank the bonbons,” he said. “It is the fourth time they have saved you this day.” THE FIFTH CHOCOLATE CREAMDREAM STUFF. She nibbled at the plump, soft confection and Vannoy chuckled. “Go slow with it,” he advised. “When these are gone, all your pater’s tainted, petroleumgrimed treasure couldn’t buy another.” “Don’t,” she pleaded, “don’t talk of money now. What does it count here in no-name island, in Danno’s royal prison, at night, with a painted, brown man on guard at the door? It’s the first time I’ve been able to get away from my money and be myself—and I like it—don’t you?’.’ “Very much,” answered Vannoy ly“Look,” she said, softly, “the Southern Cross—see the four brilliant stars.” “It is very fine,” said Vannoy, drearily. “Can’t you hear the breaking of the water now and then like a tireless army dashing at a wall of stone?” “Yes,” he murmured. “I hear.” The warm southern night wore on. Vannoy, the opera singer, growing solemn and sombre, where before he had jested at his unpromising fate, while the girl of millions, who thus had saddened him, cheered and livened as the Hight waxed black. Finally she held out her hand. “I really think you are entitled to one of your own fateful chocolates.” Vannoy shook his head. “We won’t waste one that way.” “It is no waste,” she declared. “It is the token of my glorious, unfettered day.” lie reached for the tidbit very quickly, but she thrust it toward his mouth and he must nibble from her fair, warm hand. “Now,” she yawned, “I am sleepy as ever I was in good, old, nursery days.” The sky gloomed more and more, the stars blazed out, with the quadruple glory of the Southern Cross hanging slantwise in the firmament, and the prisoners of quality—the mummer and the millionairess —?pt in the J r-sonwhut of King Danno of palm-land. Even the ravage guardsman snored exasperatingly before the hut door. THE SIXTH. SEVENTH AND EIGHTH CHOCOLATE CREAMS DEMONSTRATION. The sun was peeping above the bananarimmed East when Boanga, the interpreter came to the hut. The occupants were already astir. “Big doings last night,” he announced. “Cabinet meeting to consider the present crisis in Dannoland. Preparations under way for unparalleled exhibition of insular industrial and classic arts this morning.” “Talk sense.” suggested Vannoy. “What happened?” “Why,” said Boanga, fumbling with the kinky hair of the sleepy spearsman, “I spoke eloquently in your behalf—«> did Netia, the queen, and the old witehsmeller, Solsol. But we had all eaten of the chocolates—anil we’re bewitched. But he’s impressed—man, he’s impressed with you and your eandy and country. And he’s going to show you a few things of his own.” “Not in the execution line, I hope?” asked Vannoy. '‘That’ll depend on you. I used my head once and saved it!” Two hours later the white visitors were seated upon the level sand before the royal hut. The big, brown king, in the splendour of a brand-new, bananaleaf, loin dress, sat opposite them, his baker’s dozen of strong-limbed wives about him, the solid war-footing of his island-country behind him. Every brown skin glistened with the grea.seshine of holiday guise, every brown body was resplendent with fete-day feathers and claptrap.

•They’re tjlked tip Iff thefr Bunday best,” explained Boanga. “I think they’re flshjng for compliments.” “Tell the king,” ordered Vannoy, “that he is a deuce of a fine fellow, and that his new banana-leaf girdle is • wonderful sight to see; inform his majesty that the ladies of the harem afjj like the moon and the stars for beautyj say- to King Danno that his bally standing army is a ravishing delight—tell him that he has a nice, tight, little island—l but that twenty countries like his wouldn’t make a pebble on the American beach.” Boanga translated, with rapid-fire gesturing, while the king alternately grinned and shook his befeathered head. “He says,” declared the interpreter, “that your country is a wondrful place —if you do not lie. By and by he will determine that.” A strapping, big warrior brought out a tinnish thing; there was a sound as of the winding of clocks, and a red and green Nuremberg train whizzed over the sand, finally overturning at Miss Bradbury’s feet, where the brass cogs whirred out the rest of their pent-up power. The palm-landers looked expectantly at their visitors. “That came over with me,” whispered Boanga. “If the Hartford lady had been fixed for South Sea trading, she’d have been a queen to-day.” “Tell the king,” said Miss Bradbury, “that my father has a thousand machines like that; that each machine is larger than the Dnnnorian palace, and that they run over and slay more good Americans in a year than the king has subjects.” Danno, the king, received the intelligence with delight. “He wants to know,” explained Boanga, “if the big chief would send him a machine. He wants to try it on some of the women.”

Next the king produced a match and lit it, the army keeping up a dolorous howling while the long, straight stick from Grand Rapids burned itself out. “Pshaw,” said Vannoy, “tell him about Pain’s fireworks and tho San Francisco conflagration, the Ferris Wheel at night and tlie red-blue-yollow, illuminated beer signs on the sky-piercers.” After industry, the king tried art. Half a dozen sinewy, well-oiled maidens came out, and launched into a wriggling dance. “I wish," sighed Vannoy, “that I had Tutti-Frutti and her bunch here. I’d wake this island up. I wonder what the gang is doing, anyhow." The dance progressed, and the king made inquiry. “Who is king of your island?” “Tell him,” Vannoy explained, “that our system of royalty is different — that we have a king of coal oil, a king of euiel.

Hid kings for celluloid collars and automobiles aud church benches.” Tlie king was still puzzling over Vannoy’s elucidation, when three piuk-tight-ed, gauze-skirted figures bounded into the open space and tugged breathlessly at the comedy monarch of Rainbow Land. “We’ve washed our - duds,” chirped Miss Tessie LeGrand. “Aren’t they swell.” “What in the world are you doing with all these Williams and Walker minstrels?” demanded Miss Bessie LeGrand. “That’s an awfully slow danee the front row’s giving,” declared Miss Jessie LeGrand. “Let us give them the Fiftyseven Pickles Ballet!” “Hamlet and King Dodo!” shouted Vannoy. “It’s the very thing!” With little gurgles of delight the Sisters LeGrand whirled upon the sandy stage and rendered the Broadwayesque danee—spinning, turning, leaping and kicking, coquetting, vaulting, wagonwheeling, somersaulting, the three redgauzed skirts seeming thirty, the trio danced upon the sands. The king of the palms beamed his soul’s delight—his dusky women swayed in unconscious effort—his barbaric warriors grinned and (howled their satisfaction. “We’ve got him going,” whispered the comedian to Miss Bradbury—and, when the dance wound up to the salvos of a kingdom, he stepped graciously to tho panting ballet. “Have a chocolate apiece,” he invited, with his hand on his heart, “but don’t take any more.” “Goody!” shouted the Misses LeGrand. “Too many would make us fat, anyhow.” Over on his seat of thatch the king watched the consumption of chocolates, ■while he explained to his henchmen that the strangers lived in the sun, and that he, the king, would visit them in time. THE NINTH CHOCOLATE CREAMPURE HOGGISHNESS. “What strange food is this, that is black and round like a walnut and that causes all its eaters to laugh like naked children at play?” the king asked, through his faithful interpreter. Vannoy sprang up with celerity. “It is the beauty-food of our women, O King! Producing pink-skinned maidens such as the damsel here. It is eaten on Wednesday and Saturday afternoons when the red-skirted girls dance upon the stage.” “Is there no magic?” “Not a bit,” answered Vannoy. “Just have one nibble—but look, who’s here!” Two grim giants entered the circle, dragging a struggling, screaming mountain of flesh. When the giants had withdrawn, leaving the flesh-heap cringing before sleek, brown royalty, the mountain resolved itself into Mr Bill Archer, of Usquedunk, in Connecticut, late deckhand on the crack liner Equatoria. Tucked under Mr Archer’s fat, right arm was a bundle of stick-like things, rescued stage properties from the ship. The king jabbered in excitable palmese. “He says you’d make a fine meal,” translated Boanga. “You’re so fat.” “Oh, save me—hel-lup, hel-Iup!” screamed Mr Archer. \ “Shut up!” commanded Vannoy. “Keep your mouth, and nobody will hurt you.” “I’m hungry,” whined the deck-hand. “The girls got the last of the grub last night, and I could eat a soaked sea-bis-suit.” “Stand over here,” ordered Vannoy, “or I’ll soak your thick head! As I was Baying, your majesty, the chocolate cream is a delicious edible. Kindly sample one, and Miss Bradbury will take care of the other.” The comedian passed the pink and gilt box, with Boanga rapidly translating. Tho smiling king, his last shred of Oceanic conservatism gone, reached for the dainty. “Oh, lord!” cried Mr Bill Archer, “don't waste that chocolate drop on a nigger king!” And he clapped the bonbon into his great mouth. THE TENTH CHOCOLATE CREAMSTR A NG U LATION. Vannoy scowled at the hungry deckhand, drawing back as if he would strike. “Seize him!” roared the king. “Seize the fat hog!” A dozen of the royal guard made for the startled Archer, while Vannoy groaned : “1 he blanked fool will spoil everything!” The LeGrand* clustered about Miss Bradbury, crying “Goodness me!” in a tinkling chorus. Mr Archer retreated from his assailants, drawing a fat arm across his fare to ward off the coming blow. His hand grasped the rescued stage seeptre of the king of Rainbow Land, and, in his agitation, he touched the spring that Vannoy wu accustomed to release m Uie

darkened third aet. The seeptre sprang into glaring, sizzling light throughout its length, and the startled palm-warriors jumped back. “Golly!” shouted Bill Archer, “the stick’s on fire!” He hurled it into the air, and the flaming thing landed upon the infuriated king. “Magic! Sorcery!” yelped the brown monarch. “Secure the white demons!” But Mr • Archer had accidentally fumbled his second reserve—the spear. The king of Rainbow Land used the thing in the grand finale to chase the ugly print ess, who desired to marry him, round and round the stage. Tae spear released a dozen, rubber serpents, and when Mr Aicher found the button, the coloured reptiles wriggled out, and three of them coiled about the person of the king. “Whoop!” went his majesty. “Whoop!” and he tore at the quivering snakes. The eager guards grabbed Vannoy and the white women —and Bill Archer released his final bit of voodoo. He fumbled the spring on a thick police club, and a concealed musie-box went grandly off into: “There’ll Be a Hot Time in the Old Town To-night!” “Cook the last one of them!” bawled the king, who had come free of the reptilian peril. “Boil the magic from their bones!”

“Yow, yow!” went the warrior chorus. The procession hurried by the maddened king, and the monarch opened his mouth wide for further taunt. "Roast them alive! Put them on—• gu rgl e—gurgle—ugh! ” Miss Corinne Bradbury, of Toledo, Ohio, U.S.A., passing in miserable review, had thrust the final chocolate cream into the wide-drawn mouth of the king, shoving the half-melted confection deep into the gaping, brown jaws—almost strangling the irate ruler of coral and palm. “Ya—a —a!” went the king. “Ha—a—ya—ah!” He sputtered and choken on the. sweet confection —then, the white, mealy fondant mixed with the crisp, brown coating and lolled and sloshed upon the imperial tongue. The king had intended to spit, but he changed his mind—as kings may do. Instead, he crunched the sweet, sweet mixture, pressed it against his tough palate, kneaded and worked it with his tongue. The prison procession had halted, and the' excited guards had released their captives. “Yow,” went the king in satisfaction, and a blissful, child-like smile sat upon his great face. “The king wants another chocolate,” Boanga, the interpreter, announced. “There are no more,” responded Vannoy, producing the empty pink box. “But in my country there are ” But Boanga was already translating, and the king had seized the pretty box, and was smelling and licking the brown coating from the sides. After that, he raised his hands for silence. “O, my children and the children of ray children! There is a land where the white people live, and where all

things are big and fair and deadly. It is a land of magic—but the magic ie pleasant as bee’s honey and cow’s milk. It is the magic that makes the beautiful lady pink and plump as a young pig, making even the sour Netia and the shrivelled Solsol to smile. Now, I say that I will go, and the best among you shall go to the land of the beautiful magic, and we will eat the beauty-food and grow fat and pink as these, our strange visitors. We will make long boats and go with the white people, who will show us the way. It is Danno’s will!” “Yow, yow!” boomed the Dannoland infantry. The Misses LeGrand were dancing once more upon the sand—Mr. Bill Archer snarled over the piece of cold mutton he had found —the comedian and the lady of gold and petroleum held hands in the sunlight, while the ridiculous music-box chimed the Hot Time piece on the ground. “We're going back,” Vannoy sighed, “back to the gas tanks and curtain calls, and ugly, ugly billboards and the sad things of the Rialto.” “Yes,” said Corinne Bradbury, looking toward the illimitable East, “but we are going together—you and I.”

THE CABLE IN THE MAILBONBONS OF PAIN. On tho fourteenth of last November the San Francisco evening “Mail” printed this: — A KINGDOM COMING. “Honolulu, Nov. 14. (Special cable.) —The U.S. cruiser Penobscot arrived here this morning from Auckland. When three days out from Auckland, the Penobscot encountered the tradingvessel Pearl, having on board Miss Corinne Bradbury, only daughter of the Toledo oil magnate, William Vannoy, the well-known comedian, Misses Bessie, Tessie and Jessie LeGrand, late with the Rainbow-Land Company, and William Archer, of Usquedunk, Connecticut. The party comprised the sole survivors from the O. and O. liner Equatoria, which rammed a derelict in July of this year. On board the Pearl also were Danno, king of the little-known, but rich, island of Dannoland, in the South Pacific, and a dozen of his principal advisers. Danno is desirous of annexing his country to the American republic, and will visit Washington in furtherance of his plan. The party hoisted a small American flag on the island before leaving. Tho Dannoland king became violently sick after reaching Honolulu, ae the result of eating too many chocolate creams, but his condition is not considered serious. It is announced that Vannoy and Miss Bradbury are to be married on reaching Toledo.”