for a long visit. You'll see her there."
John Quincy shook his head. "No, I shan't. But thanks for reminding me. I must go to the cable office at once."
When he emerged from the office and again entered the car, he was smiling happily.
"In San Francisco," he explained, "Roger accused me of being a Puritan survival. He ran over a little list of adventures he said had never happened to me. Well, most of them have happened now, and I cabled to tell him so. I also said I'd take that job with him."
Miss Minerva frowned. "Think it over carefully," she warned. "San Francisco isn't Boston. The cultural standard is, I fancy, much lower. You'll be lonely there—"
"Oh, no, I shan't. Some one will be there with me. At least, I hope she will."
"Agatha?"
"No, not Agatha. The cultural standard was too low for her. She's broken our engagement."
"Barbara, then?"
"Not Barbara, either."
"But I have sometimes thought—"
"You thought Barbara sent Jennison packing because of me. Jennison thought so too—it's all clear now. That was why he tried to frighten me into leaving Honolulu, and set his opium running friends on me when I wouldn't go. But Barbara is not in love with me. We understand now why she broke her engagement."
"Neither Agatha nor Barbara," repeated Miss Minerva. "Then who—"
"You haven't met her yet, but that happy privilege will be yours before you sleep. The sweetest girl in the Islands—or in the world. The daughter of Jim Egan, whom you have been heard to refer to as a glorified beach-comber."
Again Miss Minerva frowned. "It's a great risk, John Quincy. She hasn't our background—"
"No, and that's a pleasant change. She's the niece of your old friend—you knew that?"
"I did," answered Miss Minerva softly.
"Your dear friend of the 'eighties. What was it you said to me? If your chance ever comes—"
"I hope you will be very happy," his aunt said. "When you write it to your mother, be sure and mention Captain Cope of the British Admiralty. Poor Grace! That will be all she'll have to cling to—after the wreck."
"What wreck?"
"The wreck of all her hopes for you."
"Nonsense. Mother will understand. She knows I'm a roaming Winterslip, and when we roam, we roam."
They found Madame Maynard seated in her living-room with a few of her more elderly guests. From the beach came the sound of youthful revelry.
"Well, my boy," the old woman cried, "it appears you couldn't stay away from your policemen friends one single evening, after all. I give you up."
John Quincy laughed. "I'm pau now. By the way, Carlota Egan—is she—"
"They're all out there somewhere," the hostess said. "They came in for a bit of supper—by the way, there are sandwiches in the dining-room and—"
"Not just now," said John Quincy. "Thank you so much. I'll see you again, of course—"
He dashed out on the sand. A group of young people under the hau tree informed him that Carlota Egan was on the farthest float. Alone? Well, no—that naval lieutenant—
He was, he reflected as he hurried on toward the water, a bit fed up with the navy. That was hardly the attitude he should have taken, considering all the navy had done for him. But it was human. And John Quincy was human at last.
For an instant he stood at the water's edge. His bathing suit was in the dressing-room, but he never gave it a thought. He kicked off his shoes, tossed aside his coat, and plunged into the breakers. The blood of the wandering Winterslips was racing through his veins; hot blood that tropical waters had ever been powerless to cool.
Sure enough, Carlota Egan and Lieutenant Booth were together on the float. John Quincy climbed up beside them.
"Well, I'm back," he announced.
"I'll tell the world you're back," said the lieutenant. "And all wet, too."
They sat there. Across a thousand miles of warm water the trade winds came to fan their cheeks. Just above the horizon hung the Southern Cross; the Island lights trembled along the shore; the yellow eye on Diamond Head was winking. A gorgeous setting. Only one thing was wrong with it. It seemed rather crowded.
John Quincy had an inspiration. "Just as I hit the water," he remarked, "I thought I heard you say something about my dive. Didn't you like it?"
"It was rotten," replied the lieutenant amiably.
"You offered to show me what was wrong with it, I believe?"
"Sure. If you want me to."
"By all means," said John Quincy. "Learn one thing every day. That's my motto."
Lieutenant Booth went to the end of the springboard. "In the first place, always keep your ankles close together—like this."
"I've got you," answered John Quincy.
"And hold your arms tight against your ears."
"The tighter the better, as far as I'm concerned."
"Then double up like a jackknife," continued the instructor. He doubled up like a jackknife and rose into the air.
At the same instant John Quincy seized the girl's hands. "Listen to me. I can't wait another second. I want to tell you that I love you—"
"You're mad," she cried.
"Mad about you. Ever since that day on the ferry—"
"But your people?"
"What about my people? It's just you and I—we'll live in San Francisco—that is, if you love me—"
"Well, I—"
"In heaven's name, be quick. That human submarine is floating around here under us. You love me, don't you? You'll marry me?"
"Yes."
He took her in his arms and kissed her. Only the wandering Winterslips could kiss like that. The stay-at-homes had always secretly begrudged them the accomplishment.
The girl broke away at last, breathless. "Johnnie!" she cried.
A sputter beside them, and Lieutenant Booth climbed on to the float, moist and panting. "Wha's that?" he gurgled.
"She was speaking to me," cried John Quincy triumphantly.
THE END
The Chinese Parrot
