The game had been stimulating enough to satisfy Koko's needs, and he joined Yum Yum in her leatherette nest, while Qwilleran set up his typewriter on the oak table. The thousand words he wrote for his "Qwill Pen" column were about the island with four names and four cultures: the natives, who had lived on Providence Island for generations; the mainlanders who knew Breakfast Island as a haunt for fishermen; the summer residents from Down Below, pursuing their affluent lifestyle on Grand Island; and now the tourists, bent on having a good time on Pear Island, as it was named on the map. He called the demographic situation "a heady mix on a few square miles of floating real estate."
When he finished his column, it was still raining, and he rode downtown in a horse cab to fax his copy. In the hotel lobby, bored tourists were milling aimlessly, or they were slumped in lobby chairs, reading comic books. From adjacent rooms came electronic sounds mingling in jarring dissonance: television, video games, and bar music.
Qwilleran spotted a conservation officer in a Boat Patrol uniform, and he asked him. "Shouldn't you be out on the lake, protecting the fish from the fishermen?"
The officer acknowledged the quip with a dour grimace. "In this weather, who's crazy enough to be out fishing? I'm showing educational videos in the TV room."
"Has the influx of boaters increased your work?"
"You can bet it has! We chug around the lake counting poles and writing up violations. The law allows two poles per licensed fisherman, you know. Coupla days ago we saw a sport-fishing craft with eight poles and only three men visible on deck. We stopped them and asked to see their fishing licenses. When they could show us only two, they explained that the third guy wasn't fishing; he just came along for the ride. That was a big laugh. Now they had eight poles and only two fishermen! But that wasn't the end of it. We did a safety check, and their fire extinguisher wasn't charged! We sent "em back to shore to get it recharged and face a hefty fine for illegal lines."
"How about the sport divers?" Qwilleran asked. "Are they giving you any trouble?"
"They're the sheriff's responsibility. He has divers and patrol boats that keep tabs on them. Divers aren't supposed to take artifacts from wrecks, but they're crazy about those brass portholes!"
Qwilleran asked, "Do you know what caused the explosion at the marina last weekend?"
"Sure. The usual. Carelessness and ignorance. Landlubbers know they have to take a road test and written exam to drive a car, but they buy a $25,000 boat and think it's just a toy." He looked at his watch. "Gotta grab something to eat, then do another video for this captive audience. When it rains, they're so bored, they'll watch anything!"
While Qwilleran was waiting for the dining room to open, he looked at the Tuesday edition of the Moose County Something. On the editorial page there were several letters from readers regarding Pear Island.
To the Editor:
My family and I just spent a wonderful weekend at Pear Island. We are so fortunate to have such an exciting playground, just a short ferry ride away. We rode bikes, swam in the hotel pool, and hunted for agates on the beach. It was super fun!
—Cassie Murdoch
Pickax
Qwilleran assumed that Cassie was Exbridge's secretary or sister or mother-in-law.
To the Editor:
Pear Island is okay for people who have money to spend, but what it needs is a campground for tents and cookouts. I'd like, to see a tent city where you could meet people. All they'd have to do is cut down some trees in the center of the island.
—Joe Ormaster
North Kennebeck
Qwilleran thought, No one's going to love you, Joe. Not XYZ. Not the environmentalists. Not the islanders.
To the Editor:
I took my elderly mother to Pear Island for the day, and she was shocked by some of the distasteful slogans on shirts and caps worn by some of the other visitors. Also, the restrooms are too far from the ferry dock, and the smell of fudge everywhere made her sick, but we had a good time. She enjoyed the ferry ride, although all the benches were taken, and no one offered her a seat. She is 84.
—Mrs. Alfred Melcher
Mooseville
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To the Editor:
My husband and I had a lovely time on Pear Island. But why do they allow those people to march back and forth in front of the hotel, carrying signs and yelling? It spoils the happy vacation mood for the rest of us who pay good money to sit in the rocking chairs and enjoy the view.
—Mrs. Graham MacWhattie
Toronto, Canada
When it was time for the dining room to open, Qwilleran reported to the reservation desk in the lobby. To his surprise, the new captain was seven feet tall, if one included the black pirate tricorne. "Derek! Glad to see you got the job!" Qwilleran greeted him.
"How d'ycm like my costume?" Derek asked. "I think I should have one gold earring." As a member of the Pickax Theater Club, Derek liked roles that required spectacular costumes.
"You're perfect. Don't change a thing."
