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 mean?' he went on, still more timidly.
'It's a joke, isn't it? John, here's my hand. If I were a leper would I offer you my hand? Am I a leper, John?'
"He held out his hand, and what in high heaven or hell did I care?
He was my friend. I took his hand, though it cut me to the heart to see the way his face brightened.
"'It was only a joke, Lyte,' I said. 'We fixed it up on you. But you're right. It's too serious. We won't do it again.'
"He did not laugh this time. He smiled, as a man awakened from a bad dream and still oppressed by the substance of the dream.
"'All right, then,' he said. 'Don't do it again, and I'll stand for the drinks. But I may as well confess that you fellows had me going south for a moment. Look at the way I've been sweating.'
"He sighed and wiped the sweat from his forehead as he started to step toward the bar.
"'It is no joke,' Kaluna said abruptly. I looked murder at him, and I felt murder, too. But I dared not speak or strike. That would have precipitated the catastrophe which I somehow had a mad hope of still averting.
"'It is no joke,' Kaluna repeated. 'You are a leper, Lyte Gregory, and you've no right putting your hands on honest men's flesh--on the clean flesh of honest men.'
"Then Gregory flared up.
"'The joke has gone far enough! Quit it! Quit it, I say, Kaluna, or I'll give you a beating!'
"'You undergo a bacteriological examination,' Kaluna answered, 'and then you can beat me--to death, if you want to. Why, man, look at yourself there in the glass. You can see it. Anybody can see it.
You're developing the lion face. See where the skin is darkened there over your eyes.
"Lyte peered and peered, and I saw his hands trembling.
"'I can see nothing,' he said finally, then turned on the hapa-haole. 'You have a black heart, Kaluna. And I am not ashamed to say that you have given me a scare that no man has a right to give another. I take you at your word. I am going to settle this thing now. I am going straight to Doc Strowbridge. And when I come back, watch out.'
"He never looked at us, but started for the door.
"'You wait here, John,' he said, waving me back from accompanying him.
"We stood around like a group of ghosts.
"'It is the truth,' Kaluna said. 'You could see it for yourselves.'
"They looked at me, and I nodded. Harry Burnley lifted his glass to his lips, but lowered it untasted. He spilled half of it over the bar. His lips were trembling like a child that is about to cry.
Ned Austin made a clatter in the ice-chest. He wasn't looking for anything. I don't think he knew what he was doing. Nobody spoke.
Harry Burnley's lips were trembling harder than ever. Suddenly, with a most horrible, malignant expression he drove his fist into Kaluna's face. He followed it up. We made no attempt to separate them. We didn't care if he killed the half-caste. It was a terrible beating. We weren't interested. I don't even remember when Burnley ceased and let the poor devil crawl away. We were all too dazed.
"Doc Strowbridge told me about it afterward. He was working late over a report when Lyte came into his office. Lyte had already recovered his optimism, and came swinging in, a trifle angry with Kaluna to be sure, but very certain of himself. 'What could I do?'
Doc asked me. 'I knew he had it. I had seen it coming on for months. I couldn't answer him. I couldn't say yes. I don't mind telling you I broke down and cried. He pleaded for the bacteriological test. "Snip out a piece, Doc," he said, over and over. "Snip out a piece of skin and make the test.""The way Doc Strowbridge cried must have convinced Lyte. The Claudine was leaving next morning for Honolulu. We caught him when he was going aboard. You see, he was headed for Honolulu to give himself up to the Board of Health. We could do nothing with him.
He had sent too many to Molokai to hang back himself. We argued for Japan. But he wouldn't hear of it. 'I've got to take my medicine, fellows,' was all he would say, and he said it over and over. He was obsessed with the idea.
"He wound up all his affairs from the Receiving Station at Honolulu, and went down to Molokai. He didn't get on well there. The resident physician wrote us that he was a shadow of his old self.
