The others remained sitting on the sand. For a while they watched Ralph.
Then they talked the whole thing over with as much interest as if they
had not yet discussed it. Ralph rejoined them and they went through it
again. It was as though by some miracle of mind-transference, they had
all dreamed the same dream; as though, by some miracle of
sight-transference they had all seen the same vision; as though, by some
miracle of space-transference, they had all stepped into the fourth
dimension. Their comment was ever of the wonder of their strange
adventure, the beauty, the thrill, the romance of it. It had brought out
in them every instinct of chivalry and kindness, it had developed in
them every tendency towards high-mindedness and idealism. Angel Island
would be an Atlantis, an Eden, an Arden, an Arcadia, a Utopia, a
Milleamours, a Paradise, the Garden of Hesperides. Into it the Golden
Age would come again. They drew glowing pictures of the wonderful
friendships that would grow up on Angel Island between them and their
beautiful visitors. These poetic considerations gave way finally to a
discussion of ways and means. They agreed that they must get to work at
once on some sort of shelter for their guests, in case the weather
should turn bad. They even discussed at length the best methods of
teaching the English language. They talked the whole morning, going over
the same things again and again, questioning each other eagerly without
listening for an answer, interrupting ruthlessly, and then adding
nothing.
The day passed without event. At the slightest sound they all jumped.
Their sleeplessness was beginning to tell on them and their nerves were
still obsessed by the unnaturalness of their experience. It was a long
time before they quieted down, but the night passed without
interruption. So did the next day. Another day went by and another, and
during this time they did little but sit about and talk.
"See here, boys," Ralph Addington said one morning. "I say we get
together and build some cabins. There's no calculating how long this
grand weather'll keep up. The first thing we know we'll be up against a
rainy season. Isn't that right, Professor?"
On most practical matters Ralph treated Frank Merrill's opinion with a
contempt that was offensively obvious to the others. In questions of
theory or of abstruse information, he was foolishly deferential. At
those times, he always gave Frank his title of Professor.
"I hardly think so," Frank Merrill answered. "I think we'll have an
equable, semi-tropical climate all the year round - about like
Honolulu."