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He sat up suddenly. “Good lord, you mean I haven’t sold you on it? Me—the greatest descriptive writer in history—and I’ve failed to put over the big deal of my life. James J. Bradshaw strikes a snag—meets failure face to face—it seems incredible. Where have I slipped up, Julie? Haven’t I made you feel the beauty of this island——”

“Beauty’s all right,” the girl replied. “But how about its effect on character? It seems to me that when you’ve stopped moving, you’re going back.”

“Yeah,” he smiled. “I went to a Rotary Club luncheon once myself—over on the mainland. Boys, we gotta progress or perish. Last year we turned out ten million gaskets, this year let’s turn out fifteen. Make America gasket-conscious. Take it from me——”

“What were you saying about getting back to the office?”

He shook his head. “I thought I’d cast you for the rôle of Eve in this paradise, and what a serpent you turn out to be. Getting back to the office is something we never do over here. We don’t want to wake the poor fellows who didn’t go out.”

“That’s just what I’ve been saying, Jimmy.”

“But dear Mrs. Legree, you don’t need to be chained to an office desk in order to accomplish things. You can work just as well lying down. For instance, a minute ago I was well started on a new appeal to tourists. ‘Come—let the laughing lei girl twine her garlands of flowers about your shoulders. Try your skill at riding Waikiki’s surf, or just rest in lazy luxury——’”

“Ah, yes—that’s what you prefer to do——”