"Not any longer than usual," said Ralph Addington with an expressive
wink. "Leave that to me. I'm going now to see what I can see." He walked
rapidly down the beach, scaled the southern reef, and stood there
studying the horizon.

The others remained sitting on the sand. For a while they watched Ralph.
Then they talked the whole thing over with as much interest as if they
had not yet discussed it. Ralph rejoined them and they went through it
again. It was as though by some miracle of mind-transference, they had
all dreamed the same dream; as though, by some miracle of
sight-transference they had all seen the same vision; as though, by some
miracle of space-transference, they had all stepped into the fourth
dimension. Their comment was ever of the wonder of their strange
adventure, the beauty, the thrill, the romance of it. It had brought out
in them every instinct of chivalry and kindness, it had developed in
them every tendency towards high-mindedness and idealism. Angel Island
would be an Atlantis, an Eden, an Arden, an Arcadia, a Utopia, a
Milleamours, a Paradise, the Garden of Hesperides. Into it the Golden
Age would come again. They drew glowing pictures of the wonderful
friendships that would grow up on Angel Island between them and their
beautiful visitors. These poetic considerations gave way finally to a
discussion of ways and means. They agreed that they must get to work at
once on some sort of shelter for their guests, in case the weather
should turn bad. They even discussed at length the best methods of
teaching the English language. They talked the whole morning, going over
the same things again and again, questioning each other eagerly without
listening for an answer, interrupting ruthlessly, and then adding
nothing.

The day passed without event. At the slightest sound they all jumped.