A BLANKET OF FOG
THE genuine good times of summer, such as seem to sprout up daily and scatter enough seeds to insure an equal good time on the morrow, had given the scouts such a round of gayety, that a full week dashed by before they could again settle down to work on the mystery of Luna Land.
Girls coming down to the beach from the city, others leaving for the mountains, a round of cottage entertaining, besides events at the casino, swimming contests, hotel entertainments—all these and many other features, served to keep the girls delightfully busy at the gay little summer resort, Sea Crest.
But in spite of such attraction a rainy spell will set in, and set in it did, good and plenty, along about the middle of July. Then it was that the resources of cottage and hotel were taxed to keep the visitors contented.
Mary, at the Colonade, had been a veritable benefactress, for there something was always going on; but Miss Constance Hastings found she could not stand the damp chill of continued rain and heavy fog, so quite unexpectedly she "pulled up stakes," and as Mary would not think of letting her go on to Tuxedo alone, there was suddenly one True Tred less at Sea Crest.
"What would we do without the life saving station and Captain Dave?" Grace asked, trudging along through the dense fog, toward those quarters. "Come along Weasie, I wouldn't wonder but Helen and Julia will come in from the other way. Do you suppose the sun will ever shine again?"
"Bound to," replied Louise, "but this awful fog!"
"My conscience is mildewed and my temper is blue molded," declared Grace. "Just look at what used to be the ocean."
"Come on over to the pier," suggested Louise. "I love to watch the breakers tear up against the piles."
The boardwalk was all but deserted, not more than the heroic health seekers who walk in all kinds of weather, having courage enough to promenade.
Under the shelter of the pavilion the girls stopped to see if any one they knew might be about, when a figure under an umbrella, far over in a corner protected from the blanket of fog, caught their attention.
"The boy!" said Grace. "Let's go over and speak to him."
"He might get stage fright and again jump overboard," laughingly returned Louise.
"Any port in a storm," quoted Grace. "If I don't talk to some one I'll just have to ring myself up on the telephone. I'm dark blue."
"Nice compliment to your chum," remarked Louise, smiling good-naturedly.
"You know I didn't mean it that way, Weasie. But honestly, why is everything so horrid?"
"Guess because we are used to so much excitement we don't know how to slow down. At least that's what mother is always preaching."
"See, he looks! He sees!" gasped Grace, her voice not so blue or drab in tone as might have been expected.
The boy had lowered his umbrella, and touched his cap to the girls. He even smiled.
"Is it possible? At last!" Grace continued to elocute. "Now just watch me bring him to my feet."
She seized the arm of Louise and led her to the corner where the boy, as ever, was trying to devour his book. At their approach he quickly closed the covers, jammed papers in his pockets, and then waited to speak to the girls who had dragged him out of Round River a month before.
"Hello," he greeted them, and both were glad he was boyish enough to be frank, and not stiff.
"Wonderful day," Grace chirped in with banality.
"If you don't care what you say," he replied brightly.
"But we do, so we'll tell the truth. It's an awful day," declared Louise.
"Don't try to sit here," the boy said. He had risen, of course. "The benches are wet enough to float me as the river did. Come over to the other end. The wind doesn't drive the fog in there."
Louise and Grace followed him, glad of the prospect of a little chat to break the storm's monotony.
"I've been wanting to thank you," began the boy. "My name is Bentley Arnold."
"And this Louise Hart and I am Grace Philow," cut in Grace politely.
The boy did not bow or scrape foolishly, but accepted the introduction as any boy should.
In the West corner of the pavilion they found seats, and quickly exhausting the weather topic, drifted to more interesting subjects.
"Did I hear that you live on the island?" asked Grace directly.
"Not exactly," replied Bentley, "but I am staying there just at present."
Not another word! That lead was lost!
"You are awfully fond of reading, aren't you?" Louise asked next.
"Oh, yes, very. Aren't you?"
And the book question was thus threatened to go the way of Grace's query.
"Yes, indeed," Louise hurried. "What sort of books do you like best?"
"Boys' books, and I suppose you like girls' books best," he replied.
Grace and Louise exchanged glances. Each was, no doubt, thinking they might next ask what shade of paper he liked to write on best. The reply would likely be quite as non-committal.
"How can we get over to the island?" Grace dared then. "We are just dying to explore that little Luna Land. It seems so romantic."
"I wouldn't advise you to visit there just now," he replied. "Nothing to see but woods, and rocks."
"Yet every one who goes over there seems so—so selfish about the woods and rocks, they keep telling us to stay away." Louise said this pleasantly enough, but she did say it, nevertheless.
"Oh, it isn't that," he replied, his tone completely wiping out the possibility of any one being selfish about the island.
"What is it then?" asked Grace bravely.
"Well," he faltered, "you see some of the people over there just think they own the place, and they're queer about strangers."
"Does Kitty feel that way?" pressed Louise.
"Kitty?" he repeated. "Do you know her?"
"Yes, a little. But she never would tell us a thing about Luna Land, except to keep away from it." Grace contributed this effort.
"She's queer but not really dishonest," he said valiantly. "I'm getting to understand her better."
"So are we," and Louise could not suppress a real laugh at the memory of Kitty's various stages of friendship, or at least of her acquaintance.
Louise tried another tack. "Do you get books from the library?"
"Oh, no, I don't have time for library books," replied Bentley. "Wish I had."
"I suppose you know a lot of boys here—are you a scout? We are Girl Scouts you know," volunteered Grace.
"No, to all three questions," he answered. But as usual he did not amplify his brief statement.
"There are Julia and Helen," announced Louise gayly. But the advance of the two other girls seemed a signal for Bentley to leave, and this he did, sliding into the ice-cream parlor before Julia and Helen reached their chums.
"Oh, you missed it," called Louise.
"We have met him," followed Grace.
"Did he invite you over?" asked Julia.
"Can he really talk?" inquired Helen.
"Just the same he is a nice boy," Grace declared.
"We always knew that," Julia told her.
"But, no joking, what did he say?" Helen asked seriously.
"Let me see! What did he say?" Grace was now asking Louise.
"Oh, don't tease. You know what we want to know," pleaded Julia.
"We don't know what you want to know, neither do we know what we want to know, for we couldn't find out," replied Louise promptly.
"Do you mean to say he didn't tell you a thing?" and Helen showed disappointment.
"We wouldn't go so far as that, but he did not tell us anything interesting, if that is what you mean," said Grace. "But do come and sit down, we don't dare follow him inside the store."
"He's gone. I saw him steering his umbrella due north a moment ago," said Louise. "But, girls, really he is the nicest chap."
Then followed a complete review, almost word for word of the conversation held with Bentley Arnold. Yet even this brought the quartette no evident satisfaction.
"If this fog lets up I'm going over there, if I have to pay twenty-five dollars for a sail in the South Park Air Ship. I know it came down with a bad bump the other day, but I'd risk it for a sail to Luna Land," declared Grace.
"Let's go over to Captain Dave's now," said Helen. "He is the most entertaining gentleman I know for this sort of weather."
"We found Bentley all right," qualified Louise. "And think of the name: Bentley Arnold!"
"Did he say anything about his income tax?" asked Helen, but for an answer the jaunt up the fog-laden boardwalk was undertaken, and only those who have ever indulged in real mid-summer fogs, could really appreciate description, and such do not need it—they know!
Captain Dave was glad to see the girls. He lighted the big oil lamp and even offered to burn papers in the stove to "kill the chill," but the girls insisted they would be perfectly comfortable without the heat.
"And Captain Dave, do you know about Kitty?" Grace plunged quickly as politeness would permit.
"Know Kitty? Well, I should, seein' as how I unclasped her from her dead mother's arms," replied the seaman, almost reverently.
"Then, Captain," this very gently from Louise, "why don't you do something for the child? She runs wild as an Indian."
"Do something for her," and he dumped out a pipe full of good tobacco. "Why, what could I do?"
"Does any one take care of her? Has she any friends?" inquired Helen kindly.
"Too many. That's just the trouble," and he filled his pipe with new tobacco. "You know that nobody's business is everybody's business, and that's what's the matter with poor little Kitty."
The girls did not quite understand the description, but the captain seemed troubled, so they hesitated about pressing more pointed questions.
"She is not half as wild as she seems," said Julia after a time. "We had quite a jolly little chat with her one day."
"You did now? That's fine!" he answered heartily. "I wish you could see her once in a while. She needs the right sort of friends. What's a girl to do when every other girl in the village shuns her?"
"We would all be very glad to talk to her and make real friends with her," insisted Helen.
"I'm sure you would, for you're girls brought up to be kind and friendly," said Captain Dave. "I've heard how you befriended old Peter."
"Oh, that wasn't anything," Julia interrupted. "We only took him in from the storm."
"Queer thing none of our firemen happened to see him! And old Pete out there fishin'! Why, he was so stunned, Kitty told me next day he couldn't move," said Captain Dave.
"We thought we would have lots wilder experiences down here than just driving nice old men home, Captain," complained Grace.
"Aren't you ever going to let us try your breeches buoy?"
"Try it? What would you do with a breeches buoy?" he asked.
"Have a lovely ride in it, wouldn't we?" said Grace.
"I hope not," replied the captain seriously. "That's not a thing to play with."
"And Kitty is the little girl you told us about? She whom you took from the wreck of the Alameda?" asked Louise.
"Yes, she is Kitty Schulkill, but they've nicknamed her Kitty Scuttle, 'count of the way she scuttles about so. But I thought when she was taken over to the Point she might quiet down some, but Kitty is Kitty just the same," he concluded rather gloomily.
"Has she any relatives?" inquired Julia.
"Claims to be, one woman there, a high falootin dame, claims to be her guardeen," he said, using the quaint old way of pronouncing the last word. "But I'm not sure. Don't know as I just like her any too—well." And again the pipe suffered from suppressed emotion.
They were making some progress—all the girls felt keenly interested, and even a little bit excited.
"Does this woman live with her at the Point?" ventured Grace.
"Oh, to be sure—she runs the Point, from all I hear," he replied. "But as I told you first thing, that Point is al'lus a pesky place and a good place to veer from."
Confronted again with this thread-bare opposition to a visit at the Point, the girls looked discouraged.
"But you would like us to be friendly with Kitty. How can we become acquainted with her if we are not to—go—to her home?" Grace blurted out finally.
The Captain shook his head. "I'll tell you," he began. "This fancy dressed woman, from what I hear from Kitty, is a queer case, and for a short time it seems best to humor her. Let her try it, I says when Kitty told me—but I wouldn't say positive I like the scheme."
"Is that why you don't want us to go over to the island?" asked Louise. Her voice was gentle and she looked at the old sea captain with an apology in her eyes.
"Now, see here, little girls," he answered; "you have almost thrown old Dave off his course. I don't know enough about the Point to speak of it. I'm tied here, like the 'Boy on the Burnin' Deck,' and when I do leave quarters it is al'lus on government business. So don't take too seriously what I say, except this—keep off Luna Land, and don't pester little Kitty."
And with that admonition they felt obliged to feign content.