Directly after breakfast the next morning, Mr. Dalken and his guests, having first agreed to meet on the yacht that evening at seven for dinner, made ready to start on a tour of inspection.

The girls in light summer dresses, had donned their wide-brimmed hats, and taken sun-shades for protection from the sun; and the men had dressed in white flannels and Panama hats, in order to keep as cool as possible.

“One last word,” advised Mr. Dalken, as Jack stood ready to lead his party to the wharf. “Don’t let those rascally hackmen get your money. Better walk about, while the air is cool and fresh. Later we shall have to remain on the verandah of the Spring Hotel to sip lemonade and fan ourselves.”

The friends laughed gayly and started off. The younger contingent of the touring party went first, the elders following in a leisurely manner while conversing with their host. Jack and Ray led the way across the dock to the entrance which, to their chagrin, was blocked completely by the hacks which they had been so recently warned against.

Jack looked in every direction for an opening. There were none. “Well, girls, it’s a case of taking the bull by the horns. I’ll grab one of these old nags by the head and lead him out; then you can follow through the gap and land on the other side of this mob which is after our money – that’s what it is!”

No sooner said than done; hence Ray, not caring to be considered a laggard in such a good work, followed suit and caught hold of the head of a horse next the one taken by Jack. But the men who owned these animals felt that they had a right in the matter. At the very moment that Jack caught hold of the bit of the horse, the black driver lashed the flank of his beast unmercifully, causing the horse to start and tear across the open square in front of the quay. Naturally this unexpected move dragged Jack from his feet, and in constant danger of being trampled or kicked, he found it unwise to let go his hold.

The girls stood and screamed, but Ray let go his hold on the other horse and dashed madly after his friend. He thought the horse was running away, with Jack hanging to his head. By the time Polly collected her wits enough to act, Jack was out of sight around the corner, and Ray was sprinting after the equipage which had been lost in a cloud of yellow dust.

“Here! Jump in and let’s go after them!” ordered Eleanor, as she spied a hack with a good looking horse in its shafts.

Polly sprang in and Eleanor followed, but before Ruth or Nancy could get in, the driver slammed the door and off he went, in a whirl of dust. Ruth and Nancy stood dumb and watched them go.

By this time Mr. Dalken and his friends came up. He looked around in surprise. “Why! Where is Jack and the others?”

“Oh, Dalky!” cried Ruth, “Jack’s been run away with and the two girls have been kidnapped!”

“Impossible! In broad daylight?” exclaimed many voices.

Nancy tried to explain all that had happened in so short a time, then Mr. Dalken laughed. “Exactly what I advised you against. If we had landed last night every one would have been whipped into a separate vehicle and carried off to a different hotel. These drivers are paid to drag visitors to the various houses willy-nilly, and once the tourists arrive, they are so frightened at their experience, they usually remain where they have been left. But where did the man take Polly and Eleanor?”

While he spoke, such a clamor and wrangling of drivers at the elbows of each one in the group, drove Mr. Dalken distracted. Finally he turned and held up a hand for silence. Little cared these black men for New York authority or prestige. They all wanted a fare, and that was all.

“There’s but one thing to do – each one of us get in a separate hack and tell the man to drive you to the Spring Hotel. When you arrive there tell him to wait for me – that I carry the purse. That will cool their blood and have them ready for me when I arrive.”

Mr. Fabian laughed, but it was the only solution to rid themselves of being pulled to tatters by the myriad of besieging men. Quickly then Mr. and Mrs. Fabian got in one cab, Mr. and Mrs. Ashby in another, Nancy and Ruth with Mr. Dalken got in a third, and all started off.

As far as weather went, the day was beautiful and calm. But the old rackety hacks went seesawing over the yellow road whence one could see the blue edge of the sea far out beyond the coral reefs. White bits of sail on distant little vessels made bright spots on the blue glassy horizon. Finally, after a drive of not more than ten blocks, but a trip which the wily drivers had stretched out into twenty blocks by going round about the town, the first load of shaken-up passengers reached the hotel verandah. The driver brought his horse to a sudden stop with a wild hurrah and a flourish of the limp whip. Then he sprang to the ground and demanded his money.

“You’ll have to wait for the last man to arrive. He has the money,” explained Mr. Fabian, as instructed.

Such a volley of expletives then poured from the man’s mouth that Mrs. Fabian covered her ears and ran for the hotel porch. But a diversion occurred in having the second hack arrive and crash into the first one. The Ashbys stepped out with shaking nerves and white faces.

“Oh, such a drive!” gasped Mrs. Ashby, but the driver interrupted her by demanding his money.

He received the same reply as that given to the first driver. The second man could curse even more fluently than the one who had sent Mrs. Fabian scurrying away. But Mr. Ashby quietly took one step forward and caught the whip from the darky’s hand. Instantly he cowered and bobbed as if in apology.

Then came Mr. Dalken’s equipage, with Ruth and Nancy in mortal dread of being killed before the man would stop his horse.

“Where is Jack and the other girls?” asked Mr. Dalken, looking around in wonderment. He had fully expected to find them all there.

Before any one could reply, the wrangling over the fares began again. Each driver claimed four times the usual fee, but Mr. Dalken understood them, and when at last he had settled for the regular price of a dollar a trip, they smiled politely and drove away.

“You see, in these isles, one must never pay the price demanded. The native holds the highest regard and esteem for those who know the ropes and stick to one price – generally it is four to five times less than that asked. Remember this when you go shopping, ladies,” said Mr. Dalken.

“But what will you do about Polly and Nolla – and the two lost boys?” asked Ruth, anxiously.

“We will go over on the verandah and order long cool drinks of orangeade and wait for them. They will come, all right, when the driver hears that they wish to stop at this hotel,” said Mr. Dalken.

“Aren’t you a little worried?” asked Mrs. Courtney.

“No, not in Kingston. It would have been different in Havana or Hayti. Here, every one is as honest as the drinks – and they are temperance and pure. No synthetic orangeade for your money.” The laughing tone and reassuring manner of their host made his friends feel confident that soon the lost members of their party would arrive with varied tales of adventures.

Meanwhile young Baxter had managed to cause such a drag on the horse, to which he clung like grim death, that the animal stopped on a side lane where the blinding dust measured at least ten inches in depth. Natty Jack, in his once immaculate white flannels and silk shirt, looked for all the world as if he had been purposely caked with Jamaica dust an inch thick. Even his hair and eyebrows stuck out in yellow thickness. As the horse stopped Jack let go and sat down upon the ground with a heavy sigh.

“Aigh, you-all pays me free dollahs!” demanded the driver.

The owner of the animal now stood over Jack and scowled fiercely. “Mebbe dat hoss goin’ to git heaves f’on all dis hawd wu’k. Mebbe you’se got’ta pay foh my hoss, too!”

This was too much for poor Jack! He sprang up and there, in the isolation of that Jamaica lane shadowed by over-hanging palms, he started a regular fight with the driver. The astonished man, never thinking of striking back, went flat upon his back in the same dust where his victim had been seated a moment before.

Jack jumped into the front seat of the hack, whipped up the nag with the same whip the driver had brandished over him just a minute previously, and before the amazed fellow could think, his vehicle had passed out of sight around a corner of the lane.

While this went on, Ray sprinted as swiftly as if he was running a Marathon, but he was no match for the whipped horse which carried his friend to only goodness knows where. But Ray could not keep up the pace overlong, so he quietly subsided in front of a fruit stall and paid for a reviving drink of green cocoanut milk, thereby earning himself a stool upon which to sit and rest from the frightful strain in a tropical temperature.

While he sat there slowly sipping the cooling beverage, the carriage with Polly and Eleanor seated within drove past the fruit vendor’s booth. Ray was too exhausted to jump up and follow, but he decided that the girls were on their way to the Spring Hotel. Hence he turned his attention again to the drink.

The driver of the surrey in which the two girls had climbed, had no intention of taking his fares to the well-known Spring Hotel, because he was paid extra for every guest he could deposit at a small and practically new boarding house of third-rate class. Naturally this landlady found great difficulty in securing guests, and she found it necessary to pay the hack drivers a commission for their collaboration.

Polly and Eleanor saw themselves whisked along mean streets lined on both sides with a bungalow type of houses; these dwellings apparently were filled to overflowing with people of varied shades of black and brown, down to a pale yellow. Every now and then the driver of the vehicle had to swerve out of the way for a tramcar track at street crossings. At such crossings the girls saw the business street, down which the cars had their tracks, busy with tourists and shop keepers who called from their emporiums to attract attention to their wares on sale.

“For all the world like the East Side in New York, isn’t it?” asked Eleanor, as both girls gazed with interest at all they saw.

After driving his “fares” in and out of many byways, the hack man brought his horse up before a shabby house of somewhat larger dimensions than any bungalow the girls had yet seen. Here he opened the broken-hinged door of his surrey and bowed to let them know they were to step out and pay their bill.

Several indolent guests, who plainly showed their plane of life, sat upon the rickety chairs on the narrow verandah which hung desperately to the front of the “Hotel.” The landlady, a great bulk of light yellow tint, came out to greet her new guests.

Polly glanced over the place in amazement, and Eleanor felt inclined to double up in laughter. She had to cover her mouth with her hand in order to choke back the wild shout of amusement that would demand a vent.

“Why, what do you call this place?” demanded Polly of the driver, frowning upon him in stern anger.

“Dis am de ho-tel you wants to come to,” replied he.

“I told you to drive us to the Spring Hotel, and this never is it!”

“No’m, you’se says foh me to drive you-all affer dat man what cotched hoi’ of dat hoss’s head. Well, dat hoss and man done runned away somewhere, so I jus’ brings you to the fust-class place I knows of,” explained the driver.

Eleanor now screamed with laughter at the funny experience, and was unable to help Polly in her cross-examination of the man.

“You get back in that seat and take us to the Spring Hotel, or I will hand you over to the police!” threatened Polly, but she could not help wondering if Kingston ever had a police force!

“Ef I has to take you-all another trip, it’s goin’ to cost more money,” bargained the fellow, not knowing the nature of the girl he thought he had at a disadvantage.

Polly leaned out from the door of the hack. “You get in that seat in double-quick time or you’ll find out where I came from! Did you ever hear of Colorado people who know how to shoot a fly from a swinging street lamp forty feet away? Well, that’s me!” Polly’s tone was that of a hangman’s, her expression similar to that of an Empress who is judging a criminal, her sudden wave of the hand that of a western hold-up man. The driver, never having had such a “fare” with which to deal, obeyed like a whipped puppy. He climbed back into his seat and drove away midst the jeers and hoots of the loafers on the hang-too verandah. Even the landlady of the house jeered at him.

By this time Eleanor found herself able to gasp forth a cheer for Polly. But Polly turned blazing eyes upon her friend and said: “A fine assistant you will make in time of need!”

“Oh, Polly, what could you expect of me in such a ridiculous predicament? You looked too surprised and shocked for anything!”

But Polly was really offended this time, and she would not reply to Eleanor’s attempts at making up. Not until the meek driver turned into the beautiful avenue that brought them up in front of the Spring Hotel, where all but Jack and Ray lounged in great comfortable wicker chairs and sipped orangeade, did she forgive Eleanor.

Polly gave one glance at her friends and stiffened up. “Well! Is that the way you-all trouble over the safety of Nolla and me? We might have been offered up on the altar of the voodoo worshippers for all you cared!”

“We knew you would be perfectly safe in this town – no such menace as voodooism here,” laughed Mr. Dalken, coming down the three steps to welcome his charges.

“Two sov’ren’s, please,” now demanded the driver.

“Two what?” shouted Mr. Ashby, who had joined his friend.

With not so much bravado the hackman said: “I druv dese ladies all over Kingston tryin’ to keep up wid dere young man. Now I got’ta be paid foh all dat trouble.”

“Dalky, he never did! He took us way off to a dump of a house where he tried to make us believe you would come to board. I actually had to threaten to shoot him, as we do out west, before he would condescend to bring us here,” explained Polly, her color rising ominously as she glared at the man.

“I’ll pay you exactly what all fares are from the wharf to this hotel – here’s a dollar a fare, and that makes two dollars. Now begone before this young sixshooter gets out a gun and wings your ear!” Mr. Dalken tossed the man two dollars and waved him away.

The driver caught the money with one hand, caught hold of the iron rail of the front seat with his other hand and swung himself up. In another moment he was whipping his horse and whizzing off out of range of that gun. He had never in his life delivered a fare who had such spirit as that western girl expressed, and he began to ponder whether the life of a hackman was the most delightful one now that women in the States had suffrage and could carry guns!

A coal-black waiter brought more cooling drinks to the parched guests, and when Polly had emptied a long thin glass filled with iced orangeade, she felt better. Then she explained.

The interested audience laughed, but when she demanded: “What did you do with Jack and Ray?” no one could reply.

“I’m here to answer for myself,” came a weak, quavering voice from the road. Every one jumped up and ran to the steps, and there stood poor Jack, still coated with heavy dust and painfully clambering out of the one-sided carriage.

Such a ludicrous picture did dandy Jack present to his friends that they could not restrain a shout of laughter. He looked hurt but shook his head hopelessly. “I knew what sort of friends I had!” he muttered as he limped up the steps and dropped into a chair. As he fell into its cushioned depths a choking cloud of dust rose from his form and floated over the group that now surrounded him.

Before Jack had concluded his narrative Ray came up to the steps of the hotel and joined his friends. With his appearance the others called for an explanation of his clean-looking summer garb, his cool-looking face, and the smile that told he had not had such disturbing experiences as the other three wanderers in an unknown town.

“I saw a driver whisking Polly and Eleanor past my resting place, but they went too fast for my speed.” Ray laughed as he remembered again the perplexed girls in that hack.

“Well, now that we are reunited, children, let us celebrate with another flagon of orangeade,” laughed Mr. Fabian, calling the waiter to take the order.

As they all sipped another gallon of cooling drink, they planned what to see after they had recovered from the strenuous trip from the quay to the Hotel.

“You know, we won’t be able to visit every point of interest in Jamaica, but at least we shall see those which are most worth while,” explained Mr. Dalken. Then turning to Jack, he said, “You’ve been here before, Jack – where do you advise us to take the party?”

“Well, every one ought to see the natives dive for coins – that’s one of the amusements offered here; but that can be done as we come from the yacht to-morrow morning,” said Jack. At this suggestion, Polly interpolated:

“I hope to goodness you don’t expect us to run the gauntlet of those buggy drivers again, do you?”

And Eleanor said: “Why not camp out at this hotel as long as we are here. I find it delightfully cool and restful here.”

“At least we might stay here to-night, Dalky,” added Ray.

“I’m willing. The Captain will understand if we do not return by ten o’clock to-night.”

It was therefore decided that the entire party would remain at the Spring Hotel that night and, should they find the evening entertainment alluring enough, they might remain another night.

“That means we ladies must get out and shop for requisites we will need overnight,” ventured Mrs. Fabian.

“I was wondering if it would not be wise to do some shopping this afternoon,” added Mrs. Ashby.

“We may as well do all the shopping we plan to do, as long as we are at it,” suggested Mrs. Courtney.

“Well, if you ladies are going to shop, what do you expect the male members of the party to do to kill time?” asked Ray.

“Why, go along and pay the bills, to be sure!” laughed Mr. Ashby.

“What else do you think a married man can do?” added Mr. Fabian.

About this time the gong boy came out on the verandah and made such a deafening din with the hammer and copper drum he carried that John Baxter beckoned him over.

“What’s the game now, Bo?” asked Jack.

“Lunsh’on, sah!” answered the young boy, pounding with might and main that all should hear the call to midday luncheon. But he looked at the dusty young man who questioned him, then showed his mighty disdain at the awful clothes covered with Jamaica real estate, by curling his nostrils and walking away from Jack.

Midst a merry peal of laughter at his expense, Jack got up and limped into the hotel in order to secure a room with bath where he might relieve his person of the undesirable weight of earth.

He had not been gone a minute ere a dusty, angry driver stumbled up the steps and gazed wildly at the group where his “fare” had been seated. Not seeing a man answering to the description, the man sought everywhere – inside and outside, for the man who had taken the license of using his horse and hack without permission, and left him, the owner, to walk all the way to the Spring Hotel to recover his business assets.

During the time the furious driver sought him, Jack reclined in a luxurious bath and managed to relieve himself and his hair of all the clinging dust he had accumulated in that mad race through knee-deep dust on the side-streets of Jamaica.

Mourning the loss of collecting the damages he had expected to claim from the New Yorker, the hack driver had to leave in his recovered surrey. But he made up his weak mind to find that young man when he should reappear on the quay some day to leave the town.

CHAPTER IX – THE SIGHTS OF JAMAICA

The climate of this the largest of the islands of the West Indies, was as perfect as climate can be. The heat was, of course, tropical; but that was tempered by sea-breezes forever blowing from one direction or another, and as the island is not too mountainous to obstruct these breezes, one can always find relief from the warmth of the sunshine.

The streets, where the best shops are located, are a busy sight, indeed, especially during tourists’ season, when crowds of visitors are eagerly selecting souvenirs for home-friends. These tradesmen consider a buyer, who does not bargain for his purchase, a brainless creature to be despised. In fact, one must offer the merchant just about one quarter of the price asked first if he wishes to win esteem and admiration from the native. Many times a buyer secures reverence if he turns and pretends to walk out of the booth, and then pauses to listen to the beseeching salesman to turn and take the desirable article at his own figure!

As the ladies in Mr. Dalken’s party sauntered from one shop to another, enjoying the unusual fun of driving hard bargains (as the proprietor of the hotel had warned them to do) the men attended stalls where they purchased native hats, curios, and walking sticks or umbrellas with odd handles and of splendid workmanship.

They finally wound up in the market place, but it was too late in the day to witness the thrill and thrall of marketing as is seen in the early mornings. Mr. Dalken learned that on Saturdays the country people foregathered in the great market to sell their produce and invest the returns in their own needs. The man added with a smile at the ladies:

“If you visit here on Sata’day, better wear a big bunch of strong scented flowers directly under your nose. The smells of the crowded stalls and the decaying fruit or vegetables, to say nothing of fowl and fish spread out on boards in the heat to attract the buyers but the flies as well, will not be the pleasantest scent to get.”

“I should say it will be as well to keep away from such a powerful combined odor, eh?” was Mr. Dalken’s smiling answer.

“But the sight is well worth the insult to the other sense,” retorted the man who had a sense of humor as well as wit.

“Thank you for the suggestions. If we are still in the town we will call again,” returned Mr. Dalken, lifting his hat and turning to leave the market place.

That afternoon the tourists returned to the hotel laden with purchases. Not only were the ladies almost bankrupt from spending money on hand-embroidered undergarments and basketwork ornaments, but they also had been lured into buying savage designs of jewelry and art objects. The men bought ebony paper cutters, desk outfits, wonderful whips made from lace-bark, and even fishing-rods made of bamboo, with marvelous handles mounted on a shark’s backbone. Some of the rods had handles of sandalwood, and were genuine curios in carvings.

At dinner that evening the hotel manager came over to Mr. Dalken’s table and introduced himself.

“I wish to invite you to a reception given this evening at Government House. My guests are always welcome at these entertainments; there you will meet our Jamaican society.”

Mr. Dalken thanked the host and said: “I am sure we appreciate your hospitable invitation. If the ladies wish to go we shall enjoy the reception.”

Naturally the ladies voted to go, and this necessitated a return trip to the yacht in order to dress for the evening. They had heard how particular were the aspirants to social favor, as regards the demands of proper dress at all functions. Therefore Mr. Dalken chartered a car and soon had his guests back at the quay and on board his yacht where they hurriedly arrayed themselves in evening clothes.

At the reception that evening the Americans found a mixed society. Military, civic officialdom, and those who could be classed with the Dalken group. Dress was a very important item in this gathering, and every lady present, be she pure white, milk-white (which really showed she was an octoroon) or yellow, flaunted the most gorgeous gowns. Many dresses could claim Parisian birth, and others came from the best Fifth Avenue shops in New York City. The females in the yacht party now saw the very latest ideas in style, and they were honestly amazed at such a revelation. Later they heard that style and display of their clothes constituted the main interest in life for the Kingston society ladies.

Dancing is the favorite amusement of the Jamaicans, and they take advantage of every opportunity to dance, morning, noon, or night. Hence a reception of such importance as one at Government House provides a great opportunity for dancing. The younger members in Mr. Dalken’s party found all the dancing they could stand at that time. Even the elder members were lured into dancing several seductive waltzes that evening, and Polly saw for the first time what a graceful and admirable pair Mrs. Courtney and Mr. Dalken made as dancing partners.

While they waited for the automobile which had been engaged for the evening, Polly whispered to Eleanor: “Haven’t you noticed how Dalky has bloomed since that blight of Elizabeth has been removed?”

“Yes, indeed! And I’m glad of it. Her reckless running away with those horrid persons that night really turned out to be the very best thing for our Dalky in the end. Now he can enjoy himself to his heart’s content without being spied upon,” said Eleanor.

The ladies were now crowded into the automobile, while the men went to the tram to ride as far as it carried them in the direction of the Spring Hotel. The air was cool and refreshing during the night, and the dancing had not caused any one to feel too tired or languid, as might have been expected in such a climate.

A good sleep at night and a refreshing bath with a fine breakfast in the morning, brought forth eager and energetic tourists in Mr. Dalken’s party that next morning.

“Well, what is on the bill for to-day?” demanded Jack, eagerly.

“You sound as if you knew of something,” countered Polly.

“I do. I heard of it last night from one of the officers in the Army. Do you want to hear it?”

Of course they wanted to hear it. But it was far different than anything they expected to hear.

“There is a trial in the Court House this morning at ten, of a young man who helped himself to a stick of sweets on sale by a street peddler, of which class Kingston is full and overflowing. The lieutenant is called upon as a witness of the theft, and the brown policeman who caught the fellow red-handed, is going to make the most of his claim to promotion on the force. I hear it will be as good as any vaudeville show in the city,” explained Jack.

“It seems a pity to waste a fine morning in an ill-smelling courtroom, when there are so many other interesting things to do,” argued Mr. Fabian, whose artistic instincts rebelled against a court scene as an amusement.

“Oh, I’d love to witness such a scene,” declared Eleanor, glancing at her girl-friends to see what they thought about it.

“Supposing you folks – all who wish to – go on a drive all about the country, while we youngsters attend court,” ventured Ray.

“If I thought we could trust the girls to you two scapegraces in such a place as a Kingston Court House, I’d accept the suggestion,” returned Mr. Dalken.

“I’ll go with the girls to the court, and you all can go for a sight-seeing trip,” offered Mrs. Courtney.

“Would you really care to sit out a court trial?” asked Mrs. Fabian, sympathetically for her friend.

“I think I’d prefer to be amused this morning instead of sight-seeing around the country,” answered Mrs. Courtney.

So it was hastily decided that the young people, chaperoned by Mrs. Courtney, were to attend court, while Mr. Dalken took his friends on a tram ride out into the open country of Jamaica.

Jack acted as official pilot of the contingent for the court house; as they came near the entrance door they found a crowd of all sorts of people waiting to see justice administered.

Inside, the good-looking young lieutenant was introduced to Jack’s party, and then he found seats in a desirable row where every incident could be seen, yet they would not be elbowed by the motley gathering.

The court room was nothing more than a large room with a raised platform at one end. Rude wooden benches were placed in rows for the accommodation of the audience and those who would have to report when their names were called from the roll in the clerk’s hands.

Upon the platform was the judge. He sat in an old swivel chair behind a table, and every now or then he leaned back in weary listlessness, but just as surely as he tilted back a bit too far, the treacherous pivot would squeak and the chair went back, being kept from over-turning by the clutch in the swivel. At these tilts the judge would throw out both arms and yank his body upright in order to regain his equilibrium. A deep-seated grunt announced the success of his attempts at balancing, and the trial would proceed as before the interruption. The spectators in the room dared not smile, nor even seem to be interested in the result of the tip of the magistrate’s chair, but each one maintained a serious expression as if life and limb depended upon their dignified attention to the witness on the stand. With the advent of Eleanor to the court room all this was to be reversed.

Jack whispered to the girls: “Is this bench all right for you to see the show?”

Instantly the judge ceased playing with his heavy-rimmed horn spectacles and sat upright. He glared over at the newcomers, but finding that they paid no attention to him he thumped the top of the table with a mallet: “Order in the Court!” shouted he.

The girls were seated now, and Ruth looked up with awe at the man who had just spoken. Nancy glanced around the room and wrinkled her dainty nose at the crowding of whites, yellows, and blacks in one small area. Polly watched the severe judge, but Eleanor was all eyes for the witness on the platform. Jack and Ray stood back of the bench upon which sat the girls, and watched for the fun they had been promised.