f like this. You see I'm a Hawaiian princess--" She paused, gazing
aloft.

"Yes, yes, Miss Montague--an Hawaiian princess. Go on, go on!"

"Oh, excuse me; I was thinking how I'd dress her for the last spool in
the big fire scene. Well, anyway, I'm this Hawaiian princess, and my
father, old King Mauna Loa, dies and leaves me twenty-one thousand
volcanoes and a billiard cue--"

Mr. Henshaw blinked rapidly at this. For a moment he was dazed. "A
billiard cue, did you say?" he demanded blankly.

"Yes. And every morning I have to go out and ram it down the volcanoes
to see are they all right--and--"

"Tush, tush!" interrupted Mr. Henshaw scowling upon the playwright and
fell again to his envelope, pretending thereafter to ignore her.

The girl seemed to be unaware that she had lost his attention. "And you
see the villain is very wealthy; he owns the largest ukelele factory in
the islands, and he tries to get me in his power, but he's foiled by my
fiance, a young native by the name of Herman Schwarz, who has invented
a folding ukelele, so the villain gets his hired Hawaiian orchestra to
shove Herman down one of the volcanoes and me down another, but I have
the key around my neck, which Father put there when I was a babe and
made me swear always to wear it, even in the bath-tub, so I let myself
out and unlock the other one and let Herman out and the orchestra
discovers us and chases us over the cliff, and then along comes my old
nurse who is now running a cigar store in San Pedro and she--" Here she
affected to discover that Mr. Henshaw no longer listened.

"Why, Mr. Henshaw's gone!" she exclaimed dramatically. "Boy, boy, page
Mr. Henshaw." Mr. Henshaw remained oblivious.

"Oh, well, of course I might have expected you wouldn't have time to
listen to my poor little plot. Of course I know it's crude, but it did
seem to me that something might be made out of it." She resumed her
food. Mr. Henshaw's companion here winked at her and was seen to be
shaking with emotion. Merton Gill could not believe it to be laughter,
for he had seen nothing to laugh at. A busy man had been bothered by a
silly girl who thought she had the plot for a photodrama, and even he,
Merton Gill, could have told her that her plot was impossibly wild and
inconsequent. If she were going into that branch of the art she ought to
take lessons, the way Tessie Kearns did. She now looked so mournful that
he was almost moved to tell her this, but her eyes caug