Another beautiful day found me again at center stage. A couple from Mexico started me off with a fiver, and once again I was off to the races, chalking up a $17.75 day. These gorgeous August afternoons have bathed the tourists in the aloha spirit.

An Indian man gave me a dollar, after which he and his wife sat on a bench in the shade for a half dozen songs, applauding after each one. A girl from London did a credible hula, then walked away. A man from Texarkana stopped to chat; he was delighted that we New Yorkers seemed to understand his drawl, not the case, he informed me, with those other Northerners he recently met in Seattle. He was very taken with John Boyd’s sacred music ensemble.

“They sent a chill up my spine,” he told me. “They’re very professional.”

“Unlike what I do here,” I said, “which is very unprofessional, but lots of fun.”

After a lengthy chat, he let me get back to my gig, joining the Indian couple in the shade.

Two willowy women from Toronto approached. They both were 6 feet tall or more, one blond, one brunette, with a photographer in their wake. “Do you mind if we take a picture?” one asked.

“Of course,” putting leis around their necks, “and then we’ll do a hula.” They made quite an impression on the people walking by, many stopping to watch and take pictures. The Texan got off his bench to snap a few himself.

A short time later, I cajoled a group of six 20-somethings to dance. They set up 3 on my left, 3 on my right. The right-hand contingent coordinated their movements to “The Hukilau Song,” throwing their nets into the sea, but the left-hand couldn’t get started and watched flat-footed until the music stopped.

I’m generally reluctant to ask women in religious garb to dance, but if I detect any interest, by way of a slackening pace or a smile, I might go for it. I’m a little less hesitant with the Hasidim, but in all cases I’ve yet to receive a positive response. This day was no exception, although, for the first time a young, round Hasid gave his bewigged wife a dollar to drop in my case.

The Texan and his wife got up to leave. “I got some great pictures,” he told me, peeling a fiver from a wad of bills. “Have you got a card, I’ll send them to you.”