The House of Pride

The House of Pride, by Jack
London

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Title: The House of Pride
Author: Jack London

Release Date: January 11, 2007 [eBook #2416]
Language: English
Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII)
***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE HOUSE
OF PRIDE***

Transcribed from the 1919 Mills & Boon edition by David Price, email
[email protected]

THE HOUSE OF PRIDE
Contents:
The House of Pride Koolau the Leper Good-bye, Jack Aloha Oe Chun
Ah Chun The Sheriff of Kona Jack London

THE HOUSE OF PRIDE
Percival Ford wondered why he had come. He did not dance. He did
not care much for army people. Yet he knew them all--gliding and
revolving there on the broad lanai of the Seaside, the officers in their
fresh- starched uniforms of white, the civilians in white and black, and
the women bare of shoulders and arms. After two years in Honolulu the
Twentieth was departing to its new station in Alaska, and Percival Ford,
as one of the big men of the Islands, could not help knowing the
officers and their women.
But between knowing and liking was a vast gulf. The army women
frightened him just a little. They were in ways quite different from the
women he liked best--the elderly women, the spinsters and the
bespectacled maidens, and the very serious women of all ages whom he
met on church and library and kindergarten committees, who came
meekly to him for contributions and advice. He ruled those women by
virtue of his superior mentality, his great wealth, and the high place he
occupied in the commercial baronage of Hawaii. And he was not afraid
of them in the least. Sex, with them, was not obtrusive. Yes, that was it.
There was in them something else, or more, than the assertive
grossness of life. He was fastidious; he acknowledged that to himself;
and these army women, with their bare shoulders and naked arms, their
straight-looking eyes, their vitality and challenging femaleness, jarred
upon his sensibilities.
Nor did he get on better with the army men, who took life lightly,
drinking and smoking and swearing their way through life and asserting
the essential grossness of flesh no less shamelessly than their women.

He was always uncomfortable in the company of the army men. They
seemed uncomfortable, too. And he felt, always, that they were
laughing at him up their sleeves, or pitying him, or tolerating him. Then,
too, they seemed, by mere contiguity, to emphasize a lack in him, to
call attention to that in them which he did not possess and which he
thanked God he did not possess. Faugh! They were like their women!
In fact, Percival Ford was no more a woman's man than he was a man's
man. A glance at him told the reason. He had a good constitution, never
was on intimate terms with sickness, nor even mild disorders; but he
lacked vitality. His was a negative organism. No blood with a ferment
in it could have nourished and shaped that long and narrow face, those
thin lips, lean cheeks, and the small, sharp eyes. The thatch of hair,
dust- coloured, straight and sparse, advertised the niggard soil, as did
the nose, thin, delicately modelled, and just hinting the suggestion of a
beak. His meagre blood had denied him much of life, and permitted
him to be an extremist in one thing only, which thing was righteousness.
Over right conduct he pondered and agonized, and that he should do
right was as necessary to his nature as loving and being loved were
necessary to commoner clay.
He was sitting under the algaroba trees between the lanai and the beach.
His eyes wandered over the dancers and he turned his head away and
gazed seaward across the mellow-sounding surf to the Southern Cross
burning low on the horizon. He was irritated by the bare shoulders and
arms of the women. If he had a daughter he would never permit it,
never. But his hypothesis was the sheerest abstraction. The thought
process had been accompanied by no inner vision of that daughter. He
did not see a daughter with arms and shoulders. Instead, he smiled at
the remote contingency of marriage. He was thirty-five, and, having
had no personal experience of love, he looked upon it, not as mythical,
but as bestial. Anybody could marry. The Japanese and Chinese coolies,
toiling on the sugar plantations and in the rice-fields, married. They
invariably married at the first