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didn’t want to miss anything. The lights went out through the rest of the bar and the Hawaiian orchestra played crashing chords of storm music.
    “Gawd! Thunder an’ lightnin’.” Mrs. Feeley jumped up, almost turning over the table. Captain Dowdy put his arm in front of her.
    “Take it easy! It’s all done with mirrors. Watch!” The thunder rolled and the lightning flickered. Steel guitars and ukeleles quivered gently, not to obscure the sound of the rain on the tin roof.
    “My heart is pounding its way right out of my breast,” Miss Tinkham murmured. “It’s the most moving spectacle…”
    “Just you wait.” The captain was holding Mrs. Rasmussen’s hand on top of the table. The ladies stared at the scene in wonder as the rain on the roof made the full cycle of tropical downpour and achieved a perfect trailing off into silence. Slowly and naturally the lights came up to create the effect of blazing sun on the blue water and lush greenery. The blue green turned yellow green under the sunlight. There was not a sound in the bar.
    “Sure swell,” Mrs. Rasmussen murmured.
    “You should see the real thing,” he said. “And hear Samoans sing! Lots of the palanggys —that’s foreigners—complain about how loud an’ how long they sing, but me, I love it. They come down to the dock when you leave an’ sing ‘Tofà, Palanggy!’ That means ‘Goodbye, Foreigner, I hate to see you go.’ They don’t do it for everybody.”
    “They did for you,” Mrs. Rasmussen said.
    “Ayah, they did.” The captain looked up as a middle-aged woman with closely cropped gray hair came up smoking a small Spanish cigar. “This here’s Velma. She owns the joint. Meet my friends.”
    “Treating you right, skipper?” she said.
    “Never better.” He shoved over in the booth to make room for her. “How’s things?”
    “Right straight out,” Velma said. “Known him long?” She addressed the ladies as one.
    “Long enough,” Mrs. Feeley said warily. Mrs. Rasmussen eyed Velma’s good gray flannel suit and handsome linen blouse with the concentration of a general estimating the number of troops over the ridge. She flicked a nonexistent bit of lint off her own dark blue shirtmaker.
    “An ingenious contrivance.” Miss Tinkham gestured towards the harbor scene.
    “Has one thing to recommend it.” Velma smiled. “It brings this lug in here once in a while.” The captain looked embarrassed.
    “‘Scuse me. The bilges need pumpin’.” He shoved back the table and left the four women to fight it out.
    “You married?” Mrs. Feeley believed that the best defense is a strong attack. Velma nodded.
    “He here?” Mrs. Rasmussen said.
    Velma shook her head. “Alcatraz.”
    “What for?” Mrs. Feeley was impressed.
    “Life,” Velma said. “Did a Brink’s.”
    “You’re doin’ okay,” Mrs. Rasmussen said.
    “Surely an attractive woman like you will marry again?” Miss Tinkham inquired.
    “A scalded cat runs from even cold water.” Velma put out her cigar. “I’d always be uncertain in my mind whether it was me or the Pango Pango Club he loved.”
    Mrs. Rasmussen breathed again.
    “You know his wife?” she said.
    “Do you?” Velma said. Mrs. Rasmussen shook her head. “You will,” Velma said. “You will. Chartreuse will be down on you like a brick smokehouse.”
    “What for?” Mrs. Feeley demanded.
    “Dog in the manger,” Velma said. “She don’t want him, but she won’t let anybody else have him.” Velma got up as she saw the captain coming through the crowd.
    “Our interest in the captain is a comradely one,” Miss Tinkham said coolly. Velma looked at Mrs. Rasmussen.
    “Ayah?” She leaned forward. “Maybe yes. Maybe no. Anyhow, I hate that woman’s guts.” She smiled pleasantly at the captain. “Glad you brought ’em in, Tooner.”
    “She’s settin’ ’em up,” Mrs. Rasmussen said.
    “She’s a gentleman, Velma is,” he said. Miss Tinkham studied Velma’s stocky back as it