It was 90 degrees on Thursday, more like August than May. The spring flowers were largely gone, while the dog-roses flourished in the heat. Green spears of day lilies have shot up from the lush foliage; they’ll soon be here.

The cowboy owned the fountain, so I walked toward the boathouse, not without trepidation. The caricaturist was setting up. And no sign of the chameleon. I might have set up in the shade of the maple, but I saw a place to the left of the staircase, under a bush for shade, and along the main path to the boat rental, water fountain and restrooms. I’ve played this stage many times over the years.

A young couple, both of them short and overweight, tossed in a pair of Susan B’s. They were from Maine. We had not chatted long before I had leis around their necks and we were hula-ing at the Hukilau. There was something sweet and childlike about them, I thought they might be newlyweds. After the dance, the young man put a folding dollar in the case too.

Three cyclists stopped near me in the shade. They were from Argentina. “Have you got time for a hula today?” Only one of them spoke English. Straddling her bike, she watched, a little bored, as her mother and sister danced to “The Hukilau Song.” When they returned their leis and rode away, she tossed a dollar in my case.

A young woman walked briskly by and floated a fiver my way. “Thanks a lot,” I said, happy to have shed the curse of the chameleon.

An old man shuffled past, accompanied by a young man, as I was singing “Honolulu Baby.” The young man held back to listen. “Do you know this song.”

“Never heard it before. But I love the way you sing it.”

“It’s from a Laurel and Hardy movie, ‘Sons of the Desert.’ Ever hear of Laurel and Hardy?”

He thought for a moment. His eyes darted down the path, to where the old man had slowly made his way. “I think I have,” he said, “Gotta go.”

Another young man sauntered by, took a dollar out of his wallet, and set up for a selfie of himself and me. “Snapchat,” he said.

The old man’s aid walked back to me and gave me a buck. “What was that movie? King of the Desert?”

“Sons of the Desert.”

I ended the set with a lovely hula by a Lebanese woman living in Cambridge, who kicked in another fiver to bring my take to a respectable $17.