me to a jelly. He was a great, glorious man-god. We went through
the Revolution together. We were both romantic loyalists. He was
shot twice and sentenced to death. But he was too great a man for
the republicans to kill. He laughed at them. Later, they gave him
honour and made him Sheriff of Kona. He was a simple man, a boy
that never grew up. His was no intricate brain pattern. He had no
twists nor quirks in his mental processes. He went straight to the
point, and his points were always simple.

"And he was sanguine. Never have I known so confident a man, nor a
man so satisfied and happy. He did not ask anything from life.
There was nothing left to be desired. For him life had no arrears.
He had been paid in full, cash down, and in advance. What more
could he possibly desire than that magnificent body, that iron
constitution, that immunity from all ordinary ills, and that lowly
wholesomeness of soul? Physically he was perfect. He had never
been sick in his life. He did not know what a headache was. When I
was so afflicted he used to look at me in wonder, and make me laugh
with his clumsy attempts at sympathy. He did not understand such a
thing as a headache. He could not understand. Sanguine? No
wonder. How could he be otherwise with that tremendous vitality and
incredible health?

"Just to show you what faith he had in his glorious star, and, also,
what sanction he had for that faith. He was a youngster at the
time--I had just met him--when he went into a poker game at Wailuku.
There was a big German in it, Schultz his name was, and he played a
brutal, domineering game. He had had a run of luck as well, and he
was quite insufferable, when Lyte Gregory dropped in and took a
hand. The very first hand it was Schultz's blind. Lyte came in, as