After he had bathed and put on his whitest, thinnest clothes, he explored the desk that stood near his bed and found it well supplied with note paper. Languidly laying out a sheet, he began to write.
"Dear Agatha: Here I am in Honolulu and outside my window I can hear the lazy swish of waters lapping the famous beach of—"
Lazy, indeed. John Quincy had a feeling for words. He stopped and stared at an agile little cloud flitting swiftly through the sky—got up from his chair to watch it disappear over Diamond Head. On his way back to the desk he had to pass the bed. What inviting beds they had out here! He lifted the mosquito netting and dropped down for a moment—
Haku hammered on the door at one o'clock, and that was how John Quincy happened to be present at lunch. His aunt was already at the table when he staggered in.
"Cheer up," she smiled. "You'll become acclimated soon. Of course, even then you'll want your nap just after lunch every day."
"I will not," he answered, but there was no conviction in his tone.
"Barbara asked me to tell you how sorry she is not to be with you. She's a sweet girl, John Quincy."
"She's all of that. Give her my love, won't you?"
"Your love?" His aunt looked at him. "Do you mean that? Barbara's only a second cousin—"
He laughed. "Don't waste your time match-making, Aunt Minerva. Some one has already spoken for Barbara."