Page:The New Negro.pdf/149

Rh moon, gave shade and sun glows to rose-red arms and bosoms. Vases of roses, flowers. . . scented black and green leaves crowned the night. Earth-sod fragrances; old, prematurely old, and crushed, withered flowers. Stale French perfumes. Gems. Gems on the tips and hilts of mediæval daggers. Priceless stones strewn on boudoirs. Hair pins of gold; diamond headed hat pins. Shoe heels ablaze with white, frosty diamonds. ...

Upon the porch sat the cream of Miss Buckner's cultivation. Sprawling, legs. . . soft, round, dimpled. . . on the arms of bamboo chairs smoking. . . drinking. . . expostulating.

On the bare floor, dismal gore-spots on various parts of their crash and crocus bageyes watering at themwere men, white men. In the dead of night, chased by the crimson glow of dawn, intense white faces, steaming red in the burning tropics, flew madly, fiercely across the icy-flows of the Zone to the luxurious solitude of The Palm Porch.

To-night, the girls, immune to the vultures of despair, lie, sprawled on bamboo lounges, sat at three-legged tables, eyes sparkling, twittering.

Rustle of silks. European taffeta silk. Wrestling-tight. On an open, buxom body, cherished under the breezes of a virgin civilization, it was a trifle unadoring. It pressed and irked one.

“There now, boys, please be quiet .. the captain is coming..."

Anywhere else she'd have slipt up, but here it rippled like an ocean breeze free of timidity or restraint. In the presence of Islanders it might have resulted otherwise, but to strangersand it was so easy to fool the whitesthe color of one's voice went unobserved.

“Skipper, eh? Who is he? Wha' ta hell tub is 'e on?” Expectorations. Noisy-tongued lime juicers. ...