this the orthodox future of the wicked would have no terrors. At a
moment when the body-guard appeared to be most ostentatious in his
freedom from clothing the American said to his Majesty: "King, do you
know what 1/60th of your standing army is?" The reply was a low and
frigid: "No."

"It's a vulgar fraction."

.....................

There were seven of us walking on the crater of the volcano: great banks
of sulphur on the right, dark glaciers of lava on the left, high walls of
scoria and volcanic crust enveloping us all about. We were four thousand
feet above the level of the sea. We were standing at the door of the
House of Pele, the Goddess of Fire. We knocked, but she would not open.
The flames were gone from her hearthstone, her smoke was gorging the
throat of the suffering earth.

"Say, she was awful sick while she was about it," said the American as he
stumbled over the belched masses of lava.

That was one day. But two days after we stood at Pele threshold again.
Now red scoria and pumice and sulphur boiled and rolled where the hard
lava had frayed our boots. Within thirty-six hours Kilauea has sprung
from its flameless sleep into sulphurous life and red roaring grandeur.
Though Pele came but slowly, she came; and a lake of fire beat at the
lofty sides of the volcanic cup. The ruby spray flashed up to the sky,
and geysers of flame hurled long lances at the moon.

"King," said the American, "why don't you turn it into an axe-factory?"