n he
heard the latter say, "It's a regular Harold Parmalee part, good light
comedy, plenty of heart interest, and that corking fight on the cliff."

He wanted to tell Henshaw that he himself was already engaged to do
a Harold Parmalee part, and had been told, not two hours ago, that he
would by most people be taken for Parmalee's twin brother. He restrained
this impulse, however, as Henshaw went on to talk of the piece in hand.

It proved to be Robinson Crusoe, which he had already discussed. Or,
rather, not Robinson Crusoe any longer. Not even Robinson Crusoe,
Junior. It was to have been called Island Passion, he learned, but this
title had been amended to Island Love.

"They're getting fed up on that word 'passion,'" Henshaw was saying,
"and anyhow, 'love' seems to go better with 'island,' don't you think,
Governor? 'Desert Passion' was all right--there's something strong and
intense about a desert. But 'island' is different."

And it appeared that Island Love, though having begun as Robinson
Crusoe, would contain few of the outstanding features of that tale.
Instead of Crusoe's wrecked sailing-ship, there was a wrecked steam
yacht, a very expensive yacht stocked with all modern luxuries, nor
would there be a native Friday and his supposed sister with the tattooed
shoulder, but a wealthy young New Yorker and his valet who would be good
for comedy on a desert island, and a beautiful girl, and a scoundrel who
would in the last reel be thrown over the cliffs.

Henshaw was vivacious about the effects he would get. "I've been
wondering, Governor," he continued, "if we're going to kill off the
heavy, whether we shouldn't plant it early that besides wanting this
girl who's on the island, he's the same scoundrel that wronged the young
sister of the lead that owns the yacht. See what I mean?-it would give
more conflict."

"But here--" The Governor frowned and spoke after a moment's pause.
"Your young New Yorker is rich, isn't he? Fine old family, and all that,
how could he have a sister that would get wronged? You couldn't do it.
If he's got a wronged sister, he'd have to be a workingman or a sailor
or something. And she couldn't be a New York society girl; she'd have
to be working some place, in a store or office--don't you see? How could
you have a swell young New Yorker with a wronged sister? Real society
girls never get wronged unless their father loses his money, and then
it's never anything serious enough to kill a