The hours passed, the army people laughed and danced, the native orchestra played on, and Percival Ford wrestled with the abrupt and overwhelming problem that had been thrust upon him. He prayed quietly, his elbow on the table, his head bowed upon his hand, with all the appearance of any tired onlooker. Between the dances the army men and women and the civilians fluttered up to him and buzzed conventionally, and when they went back to the _lanai_ he took up his wrestling where he had left it off. He began to patch together his shattered ideal of Isaac Ford, and for cement he used a cunning and subtle logic. It was of the sort that is compounded in the brain laboratories of egotists, and it worked. It was incontrovertible that his father had been made of finer clay than those about him; but still, old Isaac had been only in the process of becoming, while he, Percival Ford, had become. As proof of it, he rehabilitated his father and at the same time exalted himself. His lean little ego waxed to colossal proportions. He was great enough to forgive. He glowed at the thought of it. Isaac Ford had been great, but he was greater, for he could forgive Isaac Ford and even restore him to the holy place in his memory, though the place was not quite so holy as it had been. Also, he applauded Isaac Ford for having ignored the outcome of his one step aside. Very well, he, too, would ignore it. The dance was breaking up. The orchestra had finished "Aloha Oe" and was preparing to go home. Percival Ford clapped his hands for the Japanese servant. "You tell that man I want to see him," he said, pointing out Joe Garland. "Tell him to come here, now." Joe Garland approached and halted respectfully several paces away, nervously fingering the guitar which he still carried. The other did not ask him to sit down. "You are my brother," he said. "Why, everybody knows that," was the reply, in tones of wonderment. "Yes, so I understand," Percival Ford said dryly. "But I did not know it till this evening." The half-brother waited uncomfortably in the silence that followed, during which Percival Ford coolly considered his next utterance. "You remember that first time I came to school and the boys ducked me?" he asked. "Why did you take my part?" The half-brother smiled bashfully. "Because you knew?" "Yes, that was why." "But I didn't know," Percival Ford said in the same dry fashion. "Yes," the other said. Another silence fell. Servants were beginning to put out the lights on the _lanai_. "You know . . . now," the half-brother said simply. Percival Ford frowned. Then he looked the other over with a considering eye. "How much will you take to leave the Islands and never come back?" 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.'"