“I must look into this,” said Shelah Fane.
Two of the passengers joined them: a weary, disillusioned-looking man whose costume suggested Hollywood Boulevard, and a dashing girl of twenty. Shelah yielded to the inevitable. “Mr. Bradshaw, of the Tourist Bureau,” she explained. “This is Miss Diana Dixon, who is in my new picture, and Huntley Van Horn, my leading man.”
Miss Dixon lost no time. She sparkled instantly. “Honolulu is an adorable place. I’m always so thrilled to come here—such beauty—“
“Never mind,” cut in the star. “Mr. Bradshaw knows all that. None better.”
"Always happy to have my ideas confirmed" bowed the boy. “Especially from such a charming source." He turned to the man. “Mr. Van Horn—I’ve seen you in the films.”
Van Horn smiled cynically. "So, I believe, have the natives of Borneo. Has Shelah told you anything about our latest epic?”
“Very little,” Bradshaw replied. “Got a good part?”
“It always has been" a good part,” Van Horn said. “I trust my rendering of the role will not impair its future usefulness. If it does, many of our leading studios will have to close. I’m a beach-comber, you see, and I’ve sunk lower and lower.—"
“You would,” nodded the star.
“I’m wallowing in the depths, and quite comfortable, thank you,” went on Van Horn, “when—if you can believe it—I’m saved. Absolutely rehabilitated, you know, through the love of this primitive, brownskinned child.”
