iling
from the Java coast to Heligoland. Came Paradies, the little German
trader, in his finest blacks, and chose a seat off in one corner
of the room. Then "Foxy Grandpa" and the "Arizona Babe" arrived,
and the old maid from Zamboanga, who, when expression failed her,
would usurp the conversation with a "blab, blab, blab!" And as the
serpent made for old Laocooen, so she now made for "Fresno Bill."

Half an hour more and the party was in full swing. Native musicians,
stationed on the landing, furnished the music, and Vivan, the
Filipino Chesterfield, with sweeping bows to every one, was serving
the refreshments. Padre Pastor, in his black gown, with his face all
wreathed in smiles, was trying to explain to the schoolteacher's
wife that "stars were the forget-me-nots of heaven." The young
commissary sergeant had secured an alcove for the "Arizona babe,"
and "Foxy grandpa," taking a nip of something when his good wife's
back was turned, was telling his best anecdote of the southwest,
"Ichabod Crane," the big-boned Kansan--who had got the better of
us all that afternoon in argument--swinging his arms, and with his
head thrown back, was trying to herd the people into an old-fashioned
reel. Grabbing the little daughter of the regiment together with the
French constabulary officer--they loved each other like two cats--he
shouted, "Salamander, there! Why don't you salamander?" Entering
into the fun more than the rest, the genial army doctor "kept the
ball a-rolling."

For the doctor was a southerner, as many of the army people are. In his
dual function of physician-soldier, he could boast that he had killed
more men, had more deaths to his credit, than his fellow officers. He
was undoubtedly the best leech in the world. When off duty he assumed
a Japanese kimono, which became him like the robes of Nero. Placing his
sandaled feet upon the window-sill, he used to read the _Army and Navy
Journal_ by the hour. Although he had a taste for other literature,
his studies were considerably hampered by a tendency to fall asleep
after the first few paragraphs. He spent about four weeks on "Majorie
Daw." When he was happy--and he generally was happy--he would sing
that favorite song of his, "O, Ca'line." It went:

"O, Ca'line! O, Ca'line!
Can't you dance da pea-vine?
O, my Jemima, O-hi-o."

But he could never explain satisfactorily what the "pea-vine"
was. His "Ring around and sha