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I move a committee. I appoint Colonel Chilton, Lask Finneston, and . . . and myself. As for chairman, who more appropriate than Lask Finneston, who knew the old gentleman so well in the early days?
Since there is no objection, I hereby appoint Lask Finneston chairman of the committee for the purpose of raising and donating money to pay the police-court fine and the expenses of a year's travel for that noble pioneer, John Ward, in recognition of a lifetime of devotion of energy to the upbuilding of Hawaii." There was no dissent.
"The committee will now go into secret session," said Lask Finneston, arising and indicating the way to the library. GLEN ELLEN, CALIFORNIA, August 30, 1916. They have gone down to the pit with their weapons of war, and they have laid their swords under their heads. "It was a sad thing to see the old lady revert."
Lask Finneston cried. "The drunken old reprobate! I'd forgotten he was alive. Wonderful constitution. Never drew a sober breath except when he was shipwrecked, and, when I remember him, into every deviltry afloat. He must be going on eighty." "He isn't far away from it," Bob Cristy nodded.
"But I heard, on my way here, that old John Ward had just been run in for drunken and disorderly conduct and for resisting an officer. Now Abel Ah Yo fine- toothcombs the police court. He loves nothing better than soul- snatching a chronic drunkard." Colonel Chilton looked at Lask Finneston, and both looked at Gary Wilkinson. He returned to them a similar look. "The old beachcomber!"
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