kai, and knowing all the time you belonged there yourself.'

"I'd seen Lyte angry more than once, but never quite so angry as at that
moment. Leprosy with us, you know, is not a thing to jest about. He
made one leap across the floor, dragging Kaluna out of his chair with a
clutch on his neck. He shook him back and forth savagely, till you could
hear the half-caste's teeth rattling.

"'What do you mean?' Lyte was demanding. 'Spit it out, man, or I'll
choke it out of you!'

"You know, in the West there is a certain phrase that a man must smile
while uttering. So with us of the islands, only our phrase is related to
leprosy. No matter what Kaluna was, he was no coward. As soon as Lyte
eased the grip on his throat he answered:--

"'I'll tell you what I mean. You are a leper yourself.'

"Lyte suddenly flung the half-caste sideways into a chair, letting him
down easily enough. Then Lyte broke out into honest, hearty laughter.
But he laughed alone, and when he discovered it he looked around at our
faces. I had reached his side and was trying to get him to come away,
but he took no notice of me. He was gazing, fascinated, at Kaluna, who
was brushing at his own throat in a flurried, nervous way, as if to brush
off the contamination of the fingers that had clutched him. The action
was unreasoned, genuine.

"Lyte looked around at us, slowly passing from face to face.

"'My God, fellows! My God!' he said.

"He did not speak it. It was more a hoarse whisper of fright and horror.
It was fear that fluttered in his throat, and I don't think that ever in
his life before he had known fear.

"Then his colossal optimism asserted itself, and he laughed again.

"'A good joke--whoever put it up,' he said. 'The drinks are on me. I
had a scare for a moment. But, fellows, don't do it again, to anybody.
It's too serious. I tell you I died a thousand deaths in that moment. I
thought of my wife and the kids, and . . . '

"His voice broke, and the half-caste, still throat-brushing, drew his
eyes. He was puzzled and worried.

"'John,' he said, turning toward me.

"His jovial, rotund voice rang in my ears. But I could not answer. I
was swallowing hard at that moment, and besides, I knew my face didn't
look just right.

"'John,' he called again, taking a step nearer.

"He called timidly, and of all nightmares of horrors the most frightful
was to hear timidity in Lyte Gregory's voice.

"'John, John, what does it