Penrhyn. "That's so! They might be rather
disturbed. I--I never thought about them."

"Didn't, eh?" says Mr. Robert. "No, you wouldn't. You were thinking
about Penrhyn Deems, as usual. And I must say, Penny, you're the limit.
I've a good notion to leave you here."

"No, no, Bob! Don't do that," pleads Penrhyn. "Disgusting place. And I
dislike that cook person, very much. Besides, I must get back. Really."

"Want to relieve your poor old mother and Betty, eh?" asks Mr. Robert.

"Yes, of course," says Penrhyn. "Besides, I want to try this swing with
my driver. Bob, I'm sure I can put in that wrist snap at last. And if I
can I--I'll be playing in the 90's. Sure!"

He's a wonder, Penrhyn. He has this hoof and mouth disease, otherwise
known as golf, worse than anybody I ever met before. Took Mr. Robert
another ten minutes to get him calmed down enough so he could tell how
he come to be marooned on this island in that rig.

"Why, it was that new press agent of Shuman's, of course," says Penrhyn.
"That Weeks person. He did it."

"You don't mean to say, Penny," says Mr. Robert, "that you were
kidnapped and brought here a prisoner?"

"Not at all," says Penny. "We drove down here at night and came in a
boat just at daylight. Silly performance. Especially wearing this
costume. But he insisted that it would make the disappearance more
plausible, more dramatic. Wouldn't tell me where we were going, either.
Said it was a club house, so I thought of course there would be golf.
But look at this hole! And I've had four days of it. Mosquitoes?
Something frightful. That's why I've kept on the cap and bells. At first
I put in the time working over one of the songs in the new piece. Wrote
some ripping verses, too. They'll go strong. Best thing I've done. But
after I had finished that job I wanted to play golf; practice, anyway.
And I was nearly crazy until I found this old boat-hook and began
knocking oyster shells into the water. That's how it came to me--the
drive. If I can only hold it!"

I suggests how Mr. Weeks is probably plannin' for him to stay lost until
over Sunday anyway, so he can work some big space in the newspapers.

"Oh, bother Mr. Weeks!" says Penrhyn. "I've had enough of this. The new
piece is going to go big, anyway. Come along, Bob. Let's start. I'll
'phone to mother and Betty, and maybe I can get in eighteen holes this
afternoon. Brought some clothes for me, didn't you? I must change from
this rig first."