Page:The Black Camel (IA blackcamel0000earl).djvu/165

first thing I knew I was on the beach. After a long time, my people sent me money to come home. I managed to get aboard a boat, but unfortunately it stopped for a day at this port. And—have you tried any of the okolehau they call a drink in this paradise?”

Fyfe smiled. “I understand. You forgot to go back to your ship.”

“My dear sir,” Smith shrugged, “I forgot the world. When I woke up, my boat was two days out. Oddly enough, my father seemed annoyed. A rather impatient man.”

They reached the river and, crossing a narrow stone bridge, entered Aala Park where, because of its convenient location, the dregs of the town congregate. Fyfe indicated a bench. They sat down together, and Smith handed over his canvas.

The actor glanced at it, and a look of surprise crossed his face. “By jove,” he cried, “that’s damned good.”

“Glad to hear you say so,” beamed Smith. “A bit unexpected, too, eh? I’m not what you'd call a born salesman, but I can’t help pointing out that the thing might be valuable some day. There’s just a chance. Think of the pride you could take in saying to your friends: ‘Ah, yes—but I recognized his talent long ago. I was his first patron.’”

“Is this your real name—down here in the corner?”

The beach-comber hung his head. “My real name—yes,” he replied.

Fyfe laid the canvas on his knee. “Just—what is the price?” he inquired.

“What am I offered?” Smith countered.

“If you're really sincere about wanting to go