three days; found the waitress all ready to start with me; inquired about
a guide and discovered the man Grue in his hut off Pelican Light; made my
bargain with him; and set sail for Sting-ray Key, the most excited and
the most nervous young man who ever had dared disaster in the sacred
cause of science.

Everything was now at stake, my honour, reputation, career, fortune. For,
as chief of the Anthropological Field Survey Department of the great
Bronx Park Zoölogical Society, I was perfectly aware that no scientific
reputation can survive ridicule.

Nevertheless, the die had been cast, the Rubicon crossed in a sail-boat
containing one beachcombing cracker, one hotel waitress, a pile of
camping kit and special utensils, and myself!

How was I going to tell Kemper? How was I going to confess to him that I
was staking my reputation as an anthropologist upon a letter or two and
a personal interview with a young girl--a waitress at the Hotel Gardenia
in Heliatrope City?

* * * * *

I lowered my sea-glasses and glanced sideways at the waitress. She was
still chewing the end of her pencil, reflectively.

She was a pretty girl, one Evelyn Grey, and had been a country
school-teacher in Massachusetts until her health broke.

Florida was what she required; but that healing climate was possible to
her only if she could find there a self-supporting position.