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Buchen, Walther (ed.) / The Wisconsin magazine
Vol. VII, No. 8 (May 1910)

Traver, Chalmer B.
Making history,   pp. 4-9

Page 4

Making History
  White, burning  white, sand stretched
away from Kennedy's feet in a long, low
lying, shimmering expanse until it met
the ocean and was cooled in the lazy blue
waves that lap-lapped in careless solace
and comfort to the parched shore line. The
blue ocean, in turn, met the blue sky still
farther out and the blue sky completed the
ark, touching the fanlike fronds of the gi-
gantic olulehua tree at whose base Ken-
nedy was sitting. After all it was a very
narrow universe, Kennedy thought. Even
the white gulls soaring far overhead could
not escape the blue boundaries of that low
hanging tropical sky and the little white
fruit steamer ten miles out and bound
Honoluluward was doomed to sail through-
out its patient existence between that same
blue sea and that same blue sky, no mat-
ter how much black smoke it belched from
its funnels or how the grimy stokers in its
bowels sweated in an effort to escape.
There was no escape, so why not be con-
tented on this happy, carefree bit of God's
universe, small and wild and desolate as it
was? For it was only a smaller confine-
ment in a large one, a circle within a circle
and not necessarily the more depressing
for its closer limitations.
  The idea pleased Kennedy, sentenced to
four months' imprisonment on the tiny
island of Ulapelakna in the interests of a
copra refining concern in San Francisco,
until their own expert should come to re-
lieve him and pass upon the value of the
Ulapelakuan cocoa groves upon which they
held options. It was a "snap" job and
one which Kennedy, worn with five years
uninterrupted magazine work, had jumped
at when the opportunity offered. But only
a month of his sentence had expired and it
had seemed endless. Kennedy was sur-
prised at this for he had often dreamed of
being cast, by a kind providence, into some
such neglected portion of the world's scrap
heap, a soft barked olulehlua tree behind
him, white sand before him, and blue
ocean farther on and-
  "Wake up, eater of the poppy seed, and
show the gods that you are a man instead
of part of the sand you are sitting on," the
words were spoken in the soft Ulapelakuan.
  Kennedy started at the sound of the
voice-a vibrant feminine voice-for it
was the rest of Kennedy's dream speaking.
Somehow the scene he had pictured to him-
self Years before had never seemed quite
complete with just the trees, the sea, and
the sky. There must be a girl there, a
beautiful dark haired, dark eyed, brown
girl, plump but not fat, a girl by his side-
with-perhaps his arm around her. And
this part of the dream had also come true
and the girl sat by his side, just as he
had imagined she would, and-he had his
arm around her-just as it should be in
compliance with the dream.    But live
brown beauties are more exacting than
dream beauties, and this one particularly
  "Take away your arm or else-let me
know it is there," the dream maiden spoke
again in a shriller inflection of Ulapela-
kuan than before.
  "Yes, dearest-I was thinking," he an-
swered self-reproachfully.
  "Thinking ?-Of    whom ?"    Burning
jealousy shone in the dark eyes and the'
girl gazed at him steadily and angrily,
chewing her betel nut nervously until
enough juice had accumulated in the fair
mouth to admit of a vindictive expectora-
tion at the innocent white sand.
  "I was thinking that all my dreams have
come true, and that I am happy," he said.
  "Then act happy," she returned, some-
what mollified. His only answer was to
draw the gradually numbing arm more
closely about the little, lithe waist, which
act completely won her. She happily set
about the manufacture of a cigarette,

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