"Here's your money," Gardner repeated.

The clerk started from his reverie, instinctively extending one thin hand for the money, his fingers shaking as he counted it.

"I send it to you?"

"No, I'll take it with me," Gardner informed him.

Again the clerk stopped to stare at the carving, his skin appearing a somewhat duller shade of green; but he made no effort to hand over the dragon. Gardner waited impatiently, tapping his fingers on the counter.

"My dragon, please."

With an evident effort the clerk pushed the money from him. "No, please, I not sell the dragon today."

"Why not?"

"It-it velly bad day to sell dragons." "Rubbish!" Gardner snorted "You've already sold it to me. Hand it over or I'll call the police."

With the mention of the word, "police," the clerk collapsed. Perhaps he had had past experiences with the police which he did not care to have repeated; perhaps there was a little room over the shop which would not bear investigation. At any rate he again picked up the dragon and made for the curtained door at the rear of the shop.

"Here!" Gardner called sharply, "never mind wrapping it up. I'll take is just the way it is.'

The clerk returned and gave over the dragon with a reluctance he could not conceal. "Velly bad luck," he observed with perfect gravity, "velly bad luck."

"Oh, I guess not," Gardner remarked cheerfully. "Anyway, I'm the one that's taking the chance." He tucked the dragon under his arm and walked calmly out of the shop, the clerk staring after him.

Back in his rooms, Gardner studied the dragon minutely; but he was unable to discover any peculiarity except superior workmanship. As far as appearances were concerned, it was a mere Chinese toy. With a sigh of disappointment, he gave up the riddle and began the more important task of dressing for dinner.

He was not, however, to be allowed to

A few moments later a bell boy knocked at his door and stood aside as Gardner admitted his visitor, a thin, little figure of a man in a long black coat that flapped about his slender legs as he moved. One hand clutched a soft, black felt hat; the other toyed nervously with a white shoe-string tie that had a tendency to slip to one side of his not over-clean collar. His mild blue eyes behind the thick lenses seemed fixed in a perpetual timid stare.

"Have I the honor of addressing Mister Gregory Gardner?" he began in a halting

manner.

Gardner bowed and pushed forward a chair. "Will you sit down?"

The professor took it; and resting his hat on knee, turned a mild face toward Gardner, but his eyes immediately fixed themselves upon the dragon which Gardner had placed on top of the book shelves behind him.

"I see you appreciate a good carving, Mister Gardner. Your dragon, may I see it?"

"Why, yes," Gardner said, reaching for the toy. "I think it rather neat myself."

The professor studied the dragon carefully and placed it on the table before he spoke again. "Frankly, Mister Gardner, I came to see you about this very dragon."

"I'm afraid you're mistaken about that," Gardner replied. that," Gardner replied. "I bought this dragon only yesterday at a little shop in China Town. You evidently have the wrong dragon.”

The professor shook his head, smiling. "No, Mister Gardner, this is the one."

Gardner regarded him attentively. Undoubtedly the man was a little demented. "You're a collector of carvings?" he suggested.

The professor laughed nervously. "No, Mister Gardner, I'm only a teacher. I

"One hundred dollars then? I am a poor man, Mister Gardner, but❞—

Gardner shook his head. "I told you I didn't wish to❞—

"Two hundred dollars! Surely you will sell it for two hundred dollars."

Gardner was amused at his persistency. "No, you haven't yet named my price. Still, I might be induced to part with the dragon for a very much smaller sum than the last you named upon one condition." "What is the condition?"

"That you tell me why you are so anxious to possess the dragon."

The professor slowly turned his hat around on his knee. "I regret it extremely, Mister Gardner, but that is impossible."

"And I regret it extremely that I can't sell it."

The professor considered for a moment. "Is there anything else that would induce you to change your mind?"

Gardner nodded in the negative. "Nothing."

With a wistful smile, the professor arose. "I cannot entirely give up hope. Mister Gardner," he said. "Perhaps I might comply with your terms if I only had time to think it over."

"Take all the time you want. I'm not likely to sell it to anyone else."

"Then I may have the privilege of call

"You may expect me at that time, Mister Gardner, and good-bye."

They shook hands and the little professor shuffled to the door. After he had gone, Gardner again examined the dragon. The morning sunlight streaming across it caused its tiny red eyes to gleam with an unholy light. The dragon did possess a curious fascination. As he gazed at it, Gardner would have sworn it winked at him. Bosh! he told himself, the thing was beginning to get on his nerves. His dragon was no different from any other dragon, and the China Town shops were full of them. Professor Smith was a little bit queer, that was all. Tonight he would give the dragon to the poor fellow and have an end to it. And yet, was the Chinese clerk who sold him the dragon queer, too? It was not a very probable coincidence. The more he thought of it, the more perplexing the affair became. He was in the act of putting the dragon in its place on the book shelves when an idea occurred to him. Slipping into his coat, he left the room, taking the dragon with him. In the lobby he stopped long enough to see the dragon locked in the hotel safe until his return. Then he walked briskly in the direction of China Town.

Professor Smith was punctual to the minute. It was precisely nine o'clock when he presented himself, timid and courteous as usual.

"Mister Gardner," he commenced, glancing up at the dragon, "I have decided to offer you three hundred dollars for the dragon, a price, which you must know, is far more than a man of my means can afford to pay-even if the dragon is an heirloom."

"An heirloom," Gardner replied, "why, it can't be over ten years old now; and how did it happen to be in a Chinese curio store. Your story doesn't ring true."

"Be that as it may, Mister Gardner, I am here to offer you three hundred dollars."

Gardner arose, lit a cigarette, and

walked to the window without replying. The professor fidgeted restively in his chair. "You will not sell?" he inquired plaintively.

"No," Gardner said bluntly, without turning around. "You know the condition I have made. Nothing will make me change my mind.”

"Perhaps this will."

A sudden change in the man's tone caused Gardner to wheel sharply. He found himself gazing into the business end of a wicked looking revolver.

A startling metamorphosis had taken place. The plaintive note in the professor's voice was gone; the mild blue eyes were now the blueness of steel; the once trembling hand held the revolver with perfect steadiness. "Now, Gregory Gardner," he commanded, "you'll do as I say, and do it quickly if you know what's good for you. Put the dragon on the table."

Gardner, nonplussed, removed the dragon from the book shelves and placed it in the centre of the table.

"There's a poker at the side of your fire place. Get it; but don't come too near me. Stand by the table."

Again Gardner obeyed.

"Now, my curious friend, I am going to show you why I wanted your pretty toy. Hit the dragon with your poker."

"Do what?" Gardner asked.

"Hit the dragon with your poker. Can't you understand plain English, man? Hit it! Break it!"

Gardner did as he was directed. The dragon broke into a dozen pieces. The sight seemed to delight the professor. "Good work," he chuckled. "Now lay down the poker and stand on the other side of the room.'

Still keeping Gardner covered with his weapon, the professor moved to the table and began searching among the scattered fragments of the dragon. Whatever he sought was evidently missing, for the expression of utter disappointment that came on his face was too apparent to go unnoticed. "That dragon!" he snarled, "where did you get it?"

and continued to search frantically among the bits of green stone. "It must be here," he muttered to himself. "It must be here. There wasn't another one with the same mark. I marked it myself. It's here or else or else I've been doublecrossed by the Chink. No, he wouldn't dare to do it. It must have been the right one."

"Anything wrong with my dragon?” Gardner asked innocently.

"Oh, damn you and your dragon!" the professor shrieked, shrieked, wild with rage. "While I've been wasting my time here that Chinaman has been making his getaway. Oh, if I could only get hands on him. I'd"

"My dear fellow," Gardner suggested soothingly, "perhaps if you'd explain"

"Explain!" the professor shouted, "I've lost enough time as it is. You sit down. in that chair. Quick, now!"

Gardner hesitated, shrugged his shoulders with an air of complete bewilderment, and seated himself in the chair. With a skill that showed practice, the professor quickly bound him, using a silken rope borrowed from the portieres. At the door he paused to turn out the lights.

"You needn't disturb yourself to phone for a bell boy to show me out," he said ironically, "I'll find the way myself."

The door of the apartment closed softly behind him.

It took some time for Gardner to work himself free. When he had succeeded, he turned on the lights and brushed the remains of what had been the green dragon on to the floor. Then opening a drawer in the table he took out another green dragon, apparently identical in every detail with the one he had just broken.

"If the professor had observed closely,' he chuckled to himself, "he would have discovered that the dragon I smashed for him was not the one he examined this morning, thanks to the fact that I found a duplicate for him in China Town this afternoon. Now we'll see"

He had placed the dragon on the table. Now he struck it a sharp, quick blow with the poker. It splintered into pieces. Among them, gleaming iridescent in the (Continued on Page 93)

States, to be employed in the Company's office at Honolulu. Instead I was marooned on the diminutive island of Lanai-scarce ten miles in breadth-in charge of a motley gang of rum-soaked vanilla-bean pickers who knew not even the definition of the word "work." The air was obsessed with the sickly-sweet odors of tropical flora. The scorching sun made my head ache; and the more I thought of taking a dip at Waikiki, with a certain Marian Young, or holding four kings at the Outrigger club, the more my head ached. That was my first day on Lanai, and I was to remain there I knew not how long.

After a half-eaten dinner in a cockroach-infested mess-room, I strolled seaward along a wild-pig trail. My thoughts were filled with gloomy, disjoined reminiscences and I was lonesome. And to make matters worse, some Kanaka, with a guitar, was beginning a chant. Not many notes had been struck before I hesitated to tread, lest the sound of my footsteps drown out his harmony in my receptive mind.

His voice was adapted to the pathos of that weird Hawaiian melody. It sprang into being, soft and mellow-sounding as a

it blended with the silken, rythmic vibrations of his accompaniment. And then it rose on the crest of the crescendo with a sudden, uncontrollable outburst of feeling as if intended for some Omnipotent in the Infinite, until at last, tenderly sweet, it melted away into the dusky haze of oblivion.

I was rooted to the spot in hypnotic fascination for some moments after the song had ceased. Who was this mysterious singer of seductive song which seemed to call me, as the music of the Pied Piper charmed the children. In spite of a sprained ankle I stumbled through the tangled masses of aromatic ferns and waxen-leaved creepers with agility. Again it coursed through my brain-the pathetic solemnity of that chant.

In the limpid twilight I glimpsed a tiny valley draped with a soft and purple down like a vaporous amethyst. Beneath a hau tree, before a palm-thatched hut, sat a man in likeness to The Thinker; and on his lap his guitar.

He started suddenly at my approach and turned full to me a pair of haunting eyes, and a face that was furrowed with youthful age. I was about to beg his pardon for intruding upon him, so un

ceremoniously, when I found myself, in speechless surprise, shaking hands with a school acquaintance of but a few previous-Kimo Kanalie.

years

After the banalities of a pleasantly renewed friendship, Kanalie cleared his throat and fastened his gaze upon some indistinct object in the semi-darkness, then began his tale in response to my queries.

"King Hokalau was my sire. He possessed, in the interior of Maui, a vast expanse of land. All that where now stands the Johnson Sugar Plantations, the ranches of the Irvines; the Babels; and beyond to the town of Wailuku, was our domain.

"When my father felt the austere hand of Time pressing his brow, he called me to his side. You will remember that I was unable to pursue my studies at school on account of father's illness."

"I remember you left rather suddenly," I replied.

"I reached his bedside just in time," went on Kanalie," for that night. life fled from him. It was his last wish that I acquaint myself with the daughter of Konakau, the greatest of all Maui chiefs, and seek her for my bride. And Konakua would be a valuable advisor and a powerful ally to me in time of need.

"The daughter of Konakua! How can I best describe her? There are no words in the haole (white) vocabulary that suffice. For she was a dazzling completeness of beauty-radiant with the beautiful glamor of stainless maidenhood and halcyon innocence."

I nodded a silent approval, during which time Kanalie gave a light to his cigarette. By the flare of the match I could see his eyes gleam.

"And we loved," he resumed. "It was a love, delicate and pure-all in the flush and heyday of youth and happiness. Ah, Herbert! What is greater than the love of a pure woman?”

of Japanese as well as Hawaiian. In vain I protested. He would not listen-but dismissed me from him.

"But to Konakua great respect is due. For ironclad was his rule, that his miniature kingdom remain pure and untaintea with the blood of foreign element. Not a drop of strange blood sported through their veins. No maiden or youth had adopted the haole sins or become shiftless and lazy from rum and squareface-gin; and in consequence the halcyon days of the olden-time still held place under King Konakua's regime, as they did no elsewhere in Hawaii."

He paused for a moment and laid aside his guitar.

"One day," said Kanalie, returning to his tale, "when I had long since returned home, there came to me a runner from Konakua who bade me haste to see him. I lost no time in setting out. I knew that the great chief had, at last, become convinced of my sincerity.

"Gone was his lithe and supple stepthe keen eye and lion-heart which had made him famous as an athlete and a warrior. Instead came a greeting from a man whose strength had fled.

"Draw close to me,' said the chief. And when I sat at his feet, he also said: 'I am old! The icy hand of Death floats above me like a drifting leaf, awaiting to summon me into the Eternal Silence. You are not a great chief; but I cannot depart from my people without leaving them a leader. You are my choice. You will have the Lily; may you both be happy.''

"How impressive!" I exclaimed. "What became of him?"

Kanalie commanded silence with a gesture of his hand.

"A night of canoeing elapsed, and ere the morn with its perfumes and haze of pensive light, we had gained the crest of a pali (precipice). Well concealed from chance discovery by a prolific screen of