he demanded.

"And never come back?" Joe Garland faltered. "It is the only land I
know. Other lands are cold. I do not know other lands. I have
many friends here. In other lands there would not be one voice to
say, 'Aloha, Joe, my boy.'"

"I said never to come back," Percival Ford reiterated. "The Alameda
sails tomorrow for San Francisco."

Joe Garland was bewildered.

"But why?" he asked. "You know now that we are brothers."

"That is why," was the retort. "As you said yourself, everybody
knows. I will make it worth your while."

All awkwardness and embarrassment disappeared from Joe Garland.
Birth and station were bridged and reversed.

"You want me to go?" he demanded.

"I want you to go and never come back," Percival Ford answered.

And in that moment, flashing and fleeting, it was given him to see
his brother tower above him like a mountain, and to feel himself
dwindle and dwarf to microscopic insignificance. But it is not well
for one to see himself truly, nor can one so see himself for long
and live; and only for that flashing moment did Percival Ford see
himself and his brother in true perspective. The next moment he was