"We pursue," continued Chan, "one copy of paper marked June sixteen, present year. If you have no inclination for objecting."
Mayberry laughed. "Go to it, Charlie. You know where the files are."
Chan bowed and disappeared. "Your first appearance out here, Mr. Winterslip?" inquired the newspaper man.
John Quincy nodded. "I've only just got here," he said, "but I can see it's a rather intriguing place."
"You've said it," smiled Mayberry. "Forty-six years ago I came out from Portsmouth, New Hampshire, to visit relatives. I've been in the newspaper game here ever since—most of the time on the water-front. There's a life-work for you!"
"You must have seen some changes," remarked John Quincy inanely.
Mayberry nodded. "For the worse. I knew Honolulu in the glamourous days of its isolation, and I've watched it fade into an eighth carbon copy of Babbittville, U. S. A. The water-front's just a water-front now—but once, my boy! Once it oozed romance at every pore."
Chan returned, carrying a paper. "Much to be thankful for," he said to Mayberry. "Your kindness are quite overwhelming—"
"Anything doing?" asked Mayberry eagerly.
Chan shook his head. "Presently speaking, no. Our motions just now must be blackly clouded in secrecy."