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“Heh!”
    Christina, who’d detected honesty in Martin’s voice, was
impressed .
     
     
     
     

Three
     
    The set construction crew, led by George Peters, along with the
materials to build the elaborate Egyptian-style set around
which Egyptian Idyll was to be filmed, arrived the next morning. So did the
camels.
    Martin was pleased to see George, whom he liked a lot, and the
materials for the set. He was less happy about the camels.
    He eyed the six mangy-looking beasts with disfavor. They eyed him back
and didn’t look any more pleased with him than he was with them. From
experiences as a child that he wouldn’t forget if he lived to be a hundred and
ten, Martin knew camels were all difficult to get along with, no matter what
kind they
were. Their predictable temperaments , however, did not make them all equal.
    “ These
are the wrong kind,” he stated flatly.
    The burly man who had driven the creatures from Clyde Beattie’s Wild
Animal Circus in the city of El Monte to Indio spat into the dust at their feet.
“These was
the ones they loaded into the wagon. I don’t know nothin’ about
camels.”
    One of the camels gave a disparaging hoot. Martin recognized the sound
as being the prelude to ruder behavior, and he stepped away from the six
animals. The
wagon driver, who evidently knew enough about camels, too, did likewise. Martin fingered a tuft of hair and
began tugging
at it. “I specifically asked Mr. Beattie to send blond
camels.”
    The driver squinted at Martin. “Blond camels? I don’t know nothing
about blond camels or brunette camels or redheaded camels. These is the ones
they loaded
into the wagon.”
    This wasn’t going well . His tour of duty on
this picture
had barely started, and already things were going wrong. Martin didn’t put any
stock in premonitions, but he’d had a funny feeling about this
picture from
before he’d even arrived in Indio. The camels made for a bad start, in his
considered opinion, especially since Clyde Beattie had never failed him
before.
    He and the driver exchanged a few more words. The driver was
stolid in his defense of the cargo he’d brought, claiming that if there was a
mistake, it wasn’t his, and he wasn’t responsible for making it right. Martin
thought the driver should reload the camels on the truck, cart them back to El
Monte, and
bring him some blond ones.
    The driver balked. Martin pressed. An even-tempered man, Martin seldom
allowed mistakes to jar h im . He chalked up his present unnerved
disposition to his overall uneasiness about Egyptian Idyll . When the driver continued to refuse cooperation
in exchanging the camels, Martin stood aside, baffled.
    It was then, when he was at a total loss as to what he should do, that
Christina Mayhew and her ogre of a grandmother showed up. Terrific. Just what
he needed: a
battle with a nasty little old lady. He forced himself to smile at the two
women.
    “ Good
morning, Martin,” Christina said pleasantly.
    Was it? He didn’t think so. Nevertheless, as he was a polite man, he
said, “Good morning to you, Christina. And to you, Mrs. Mayhew.”
    Grandmother Mayhew said, “Heh,” which
Mart in figured was par for the course. He was about to
resume arguing with the camel driver when Christina interrupted his train of
thought.
    “ It looks like they sent you the wrong kind of
camels, Martin.”
    Martin glanced at her, wondering if she was trying to be funny . “Yes,” he said, “it
does.”
    “ Well, now,” the driver said—and his face
had gone red when he’d taken in the full glory of Christina, who
really was pretty glorious if one weren’t in a bad mood already, “it ain’t
my fault, them camels. I just brung what they loaded.”
    “ Of course,” Christina said with a lovely,
serene smile. “I don’t believe Mr. Tafft is blaming you for the mix-up. But
Egyptian camels are a lighter color than these, you see, and this picture is
supposed to be set in Egypt.”
    The driver swallowed