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After some delay in getting our folding-dory stretched on its frame, due to Whinney's contention that the bow and stern sections belonged on the same end, we finally shoved off, leaving William Henry Thomas to answer the door in case of callers. In the brief interval of our passage, I could not help noticing the remarkable submarine flora over which we passed.
Whinney's shutter was now clicking industriously. He had decided to use an entire film, and submit the picture which came out best. Swank was gradually covering his canvas by squeezing the paint directly from the tubes, a method which has since been copied by many others the "Tubistes" so called.
Personally, Whinney's photograph seems to me to reproduce more completely my memories of "The Lagoon at Dawn." But I may be wrong. Modern artists will probably back up the popular judgment and on that memorable day in the Filberts I would certainly have been in the minority. More premonitions. Triplett's curious behavior. A call from Baahaabaa. We visit William Henry Thomas. His bride.
Of course, the result was foregone. I must admit that Whinney's was not hung to advantage. The two pictures were placed against tufts of haro at forty yards distance where, naturally, the detail of the photograph lost something of its effectiveness. Swank's picture on the contrary blazed like a pin-wheel. The further you got from it the better it looked.
I heard Swank gasp and Whinney's face was white and drawn, his favorite expression when deeply moved. She stood close to her husband, half-twined about him with the grace and strength of an eva-eva vine while her kindling eyes burned questioningly, her lithe body tense and protective. "He is to be christened," said Baahaabaa, with a magnificent gesture toward William Henry Thomas.
The purple shadow of the Mountain rested on our tiny craft but a shadow yet deeper shrouded our hearts. Each of us carried the consciousness of a terrible duty. We ought to leave the Filberts. Broken-heartedly we talked over the situation. "Getting worse," was Whinney's report. "Saw Baahaabaa scratching his leg this morning probably got it." Poor Baahaabaa, how my heart ached for him.
The later results are too well known to need recital, Swank's success, Whinney's position in the Academy of Sciences, my own recognition by the Royal Geographic Society. The tight little Kawa still rides the seas, Triplett in command. She is kept fully stocked, ready to sail at a moment's notice.
"A compass-plant," said Triplett, "is ," but for the third and last time, I anticipate. I must get over that habit. Swank's popularity on the island. Whinney's jealousy. An artistic duel. Whinney's deplorable condition. An assembly of the Archipelago. Water-sports on the reef. The Judgment.
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