Not a very brilliant approach, but it was, at the moment, the best I could do. For the first
time since I had left the cabin my voice didn’t sound like the croak of a frog.
She bent to pick up the brush.
“I’ve missed my way, and I think I’m lost,” I went on. “I’m trying to find the casino.”
“Oh.” The explanation seemed to reassure her. “It’s easy to do that. I suppose you came
through the mangroves.”
“That’s right.” I moved to one side so I could see her painting. The sea, sand and palms and
the blue of the sky made a vivid and attractive picture. “That’s good,” I said. “It’s absolutely
lifelike.”
That seemed to amuse her, for she laughed.
“It’s supposed to be.”
“Maybe, but a lot of people couldn’t do it.”
I fumbled in my hip pocket for a packet of cigarettes, flicked out two and offered them.
“No, thank you. I don’t smoke.”
I lit up.
“Just how far away am I from the casino?”
“About three miles. You’re walking away from it.”
She began to clean the brush that had dropped into the sand.
“You mean I’m off the casino’s beach?”
“Yes; you’re on my beach.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to trespass.”
“I didn’t mean it that way,” she said, smiling. “It’s all right. Are you staying at the casino?”
It flashed into my mind that I didn’t want her to know me as Johnny Ricca, gambler and
gangster. It didn’t matter to me that the blonde, Georgia Harris Brown, should think so, but
this girl was different.
140
“I’m only staying a few days. Some place, isn’t it?” Then I asked her, “Do you live around
here?”
“I have a beach cabin close by. I’m collecting background material for display work.”
“What was that again?”
I dropped on the sand, away from her, watching to see if she disapproved, but her
expression didn’t change.
“I work for Keston’s in Miami. It’s a big store. You may have heard of it,” she explained.
“I provide sketches and colour schemes for window dressing and special displays.”
“Sounds interesting.”
“Oh, it is.” Her face lit up. “Last year I went to the West Indies and did a series of
paintings. We turned one of the departments into a West Indian village. It was a terrific
success.”
“Must be a nice job,” I said. “I hope you don’t mind me holding up your work. I’ll get
along if you do.”
She shook her head.
“It’s all right. I’ve just finished.” She began putting away her brushes. “I’ve been working
since ten. I guess I’ve earned some lunch.”
“A little late for lunch, isn’t it?”
“Not when you live alone.”
She studied the painting, and I watched her. I decided she was the prettiest and nicest girl
I’d ever met.
“I think that’ll do,” she said, and stood up. “The easiest way back to the casino is for you to
walk along the beach.”
“I’m Johnny Farrar,” I said, not moving. “I suppose I couldn’t carry your stuff back for
