It is on such mornings that Papua whispers to you of her immemorial
ancientness and of her power. And, as every white man must, I fought
against her spell. While I struggled I saw a tall figure striding down
the pier; a Kapa-Kapa boy followed swinging a new valise. There was
something familiar about the tall man. As he reached the gangplank he
looked up straight into my eyes, stared for a moment, then waved his
hand.
And now I knew him. It was Dr. David Throckmartin--"Throck" he was to
me always, one of my oldest friends and, as well, a mind of the first
water whose power and achievements were for me a constant inspiration
as they were, I know, for scores other.
Coincidentally with my recognition came a shock of surprise,
definitely--unpleasant. It was Throckmartin--but about him was
something disturbingly unlike the man I had known long so well and to
whom and to whose little party I had bidden farewell less than a month
before I myself had sailed for these seas. He had married only a few
weeks before, Edith, the daughter of Professor William Frazier,
younger by at least a decade than he but at one with him in his ideals
and as much in love, if it were possible, as Throckmartin.
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