LITMIR.BIZ

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shook her head. "Oh, I dread the whole idea Dad's heart is set on it, and I shall go to please him. But I shan't enjoy it. I'm not up to England."

      "Nonsense."

      "No, I'm not. I'm unsophisticated—crude, really—just a girl of the Islands."

      "But you wouldn't care to stay here all your life?"

      "No, indeed. It's a beautiful spot—to loll about in. But I've too much northern blood to be satisfied with that. One of these days I want dad to sell and we'll go to the mainland. I could get some sort of work—"

      "Any particular place on the mainland?"

      "Well, I haven't been about much, of course. But all the time I was at school I kept thinking I'd rather live in San Francisco than anywhere else in the world—"

      "Good," John Quincy cried. "That's my choice too. You remember that morning on the ferry, how you held out your hand to me and said: 'Welcome to your city—'"

      "But you corrected me at once. You said you belonged in Boston."

      "I see my error now."

      She shook her head. "A moment's madness, but you'll recover. You're an easterner, and you could never be happy anywhere else."

      "Oh, yes, I could," he assured her. "I'm a Winterslip, a wandering Winterslip. Any old place we hang our hats—" This time he did lean rather close. "I could be happy anywhere—" he began. He wanted to add "with you." But Agatha's slim patrician hand was on his shoulder. "Anywhere," he repeated, with a different inflection. A gong sounded from the Reef and Palm.

      Carlota rose. "That's lunch." John Quincy stood too. "It's beside the point—where you go," she went on. "I asked you to do something for me."

      "I know. If you'd asked anything else in the world, I'd be up to my neck in it now. But what you suggest would take a bit of doing. To leave Hawaii—and say good-by to you—"

      "I meant to be very firm about it," she broke in.

      "But I must have a little time to consider. Will you wait?"

      She smiled up at him. "You're so much wiser than I am," she said. "Yes—I'll wait."

      He went slowly along the beach. Unsophisticated, yes—and charming. "You're so much wiser than I am." Where on the mainland could one encounter a girl nowadays who'd say that? He had quite forgotten that she smiled when she said it.

      In the afternoon, John Quincy visited the police station. Hallet was in his room in rather a grouchy mood. Chan was out somewhere hunting the watch. No, they hadn't found it yet.

      John Quincy was mildly reproving. "Well, you saw it, didn't you?" growled Hallet. "Why in Sam Hill didn't you grab it?"

      "Because they tied my hands," John Quincy reminded him. "I've narrowed the search, down for you to the taxi drivers of Honolulu."

      "Hundreds of them, my boy."

      "More than that, I've given you the first two numbers on the license plate of the car. If you're any good at all, you ought to be able to land that watch now."

      "Oh, we'll land it," Hallet said. "Give us time."

      Time was just what John Quincy had to give them. Monday came and went. Miss Minerva was bitterly sarcastic.

      "Patience are a very lovely virtue," John Quincy told her. "I got that from Charlie."

      "At any rate," she snapped, "it are a virtue very much needed with Captain Hallet in charge."

      In another direction, too, John Quincy was called upon to exercise patience. Agatha Parker was unaccountably silent regarding that short peremptory cable he had sent on his big night in town. Was she offended? The Parkers were notoriously not a family who accepted dictation. But in such a vital matter as this, a girl should be willing to listen to reason.

      Late Tuesday afternoon Chan telephoned from the station-house—unquestionably Chan this time. Would John Quincy do him the great honor to join him for an early dinner at the Alexander Young café?

      "Something doing, Charlie?" cried the boy eagerly.

      "Maybe it might be," answered Chan, "and maybe also not. At six o'clock in hotel lobby, if you will so far condescend."

      "I'll be there," John Quincy promised, and he was.

      He greeted Chan with anxious, inquiring eyes, but the Chinaman was suave and entirely non-committal. He led John Quincy to the dining-room and carefully selected a table by a front window.

      "Do me the great favor to recline," he suggested.

      John Quincy reclined. "Charlie, don't keep me in suspense," he pleaded.

      Chan smiled. "Let us not shade the feast with gloomy murder talk," he replied. "This are social meeting. Is it that you are in the mood to dry up plate of soup?"

      "Why, yes, of course," John Quincy answered. Politeness, he saw, dictated that he hide his curiosity.

      "Two of the soup," ordered Chan of a white-jacketed waiter. A car drew up to the door of the Alexander Young. Chan half rose, staring at it keenly. He dropped back to his seat. "It is my high delight to entertain you thus humbly before you are restored to Boston. Converse at some length of Boston. I feel interested."

      "Really?" smiled the boy.

      "Undubitably. Gentleman I meet once say Boston are like China. The future of both, he say, lies in graveyards where repose useless bodies of honored guests on high. I am fogged as to meaning."

      "He meant both places live in the past," John Quincy explained. "And he was right, in a way. Boston, like China, boasts a glorious history. But that's not saying the Boston of to-day isn't progressive. Why, do you know—"

      He talked eloquently of his native city. Chan listened, rapt.

      "Always," he sighed, when John Quincy finished, "I have unlimited yearning for travel." He paused to watch another car draw up before the hotel. "But it are unavailable. I am policeman on small remuneration. In my youth, rambling on evening hillside or by moonly ocean, I dream of more lofty position. Not so now. But that other American citizen, my eldest son, he are dreaming too. Maybe for him dreams eventuate. Perhaps he become second Baby Ruth, home run emperor, applause of thousands making him deaf. Who knows it?"

      The dinner passed, unshaded by gloomy talk, and they went outside. Chan proffered a cigar of which he spoke in the most belittling fashion. He suggested that they stand for a time before the hotel door.

      "Waiting for somebody?" inquired John Quincy, unable longer to dissemble.

      "Precisely the fact. Barely dare to mention it, however. Great disappointment may drive up here any minute now."

      An open car stopped before the hotel entrance. John Quincy's eyes sought the license plate, and he got an immediate thrill. The first two figures were 33.

      A party of tourists, a man and two women, alighted. The doorman ran forward and busied himself with luggage. Chan casually strolled across the walk, and as the Japanese driver shifted his gears preparatory to driving away, put a restraining hand on the car door.

      "One moment, please." The Jap turned, fright in his eyes. "You are Okuda, from auto stand across way?"

      "Yes-s," hissed the driver.

      "You are now returned from exploring island with party of tourists? You leave this spot early Sunday morning?"

      "Yes-s."

      "Is it possible that you wear wrist watch, please?"

      "Yes-s."

      "Deign to reveal face of same."

      The Jap hesitated. Chan leaned far over into the car and thrust aside the man's coat sleeve. He came back, a pleased light in his eyes, and held open the rear door. "Kindly embark into tonneau, Mr. Winterslip." Obediently John Quincy got in. Chan took his place by the driver's side. "The police station, if you will be so kind." The car leaped forward.

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