We started bright and early, or
as near bright and early as is possible when one eats in the second
section and the first section sits down to breakfast at eight o'clock.
Our driver was a shrewd, kindly, gray-haired old Yankee, cherishing
a true American contempt for all peoples from Asia or the south
of Europe. He was conversational when we first started, but his
evident desire to do the honors of Honolulu handsomely was chilled
by a suggestion from one of the saints that, when we should arrive
in the suburbs, he would let down the check-reins. The horses were
sturdy brutes, not at all cruelly checked; but the saint could not
rise superior to habit. Unfortunately she made the request with
that blandly patronizing tone which in time becomes second nature
to kindergartners. Its insinuating blandness ruffled our Jehu, who
opined that his horses were all right, and that he could look after
their comfort without any assistance. He did not say anything about old
maids, but the air was surcharged with his unexpressed convictions, so
that all of our cohort who were over thirty-five were reduced to a kind
of abject contrition for having been born, and for having continued to
live after it was assured that we were destined to remain incomplete.
We drove through the beautiful Nuuana Avenue with its velvet lawns,
and magnificent trees, and then wound up the steep valley between the
terraced gardens of the mountain-sides.
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