CRYSTAL BAY
“Here we are!”
“Where’s the bungalow?”
“Me for that motor boat of Cora’s!” cried Jack.
“No, you don’t!” exclaimed his sister. “Not till I try her first.”
They had alighted at the station, and there was the confusion that always follows engaging a carriage and seeing that the baggage has safely arrived. Cora found time to slip off for a minute and whisper words of cheer to Freda. Then she rejoined her chums, and made ready for the trip to the bungalow.
The boys, with a fine disregard of housekeeping responsibilities, were already making plans to go fishing that afternoon, having spied a man who took out parties in his launch.
But finally order came out of chaos. The girls found themselves at their bungalow, surrounded by their belongings. The boys, after seeing that their possessions were piled in the tent, slipped on their oldest garments and began overhauling their fishing tackle.
“Aren’t you going to do anything toward getting a meal?” asked Cora of Jack, as she went over to the tent to borrow a corkscrew with which to open some olives.
“We thought maybe you’d ask us over,” he answered, craftily, as he adjusted a reel on his rod.
“Oh, Jack!” she cried. “We can’t! We’ve got so much to unpack. Besides, we’re only going to have a light lunch now.”
“A light lunch! Excuse me. I know—crackers, pickles and olives. Never! We’ll go to the town delicatessen, sister mine!”
“Thank goodness there is one,” murmured Cora.
She hastened back to the bungalow. And then began a series of strenuous happenings.
Somehow trunks and suitcases were unpacked; somehow rooms were picked out, rejected, taken again, and finally settled on. Then, between the nibblings at the crackers and pickles Jack had despised, the girls settled down, and at last had time to admire the place they had selected for their Summer stay.
A woman had been engaged to open the bungalow for them, and she had provided most of the necessaries of life, aside from those the girls brought with them. Cora and her chums had been satisfied to have her attend to everything from buying food to providing an oil stove on which to cook it.
There were a number of conveniences at Crystal Bay. Stores were not out of reach, and supplies could be procured with little trouble. A trip across the bay brought one to the shores of a real village, with school house, post-office and other accessories of civilization. A trip down the bay opened into eel pots in August, bluefishing in September and deep sea fishing later on, when the Summer colonists had departed.
Very early in the morning after the arrival of the motor girls at Crystal Bay, house, tent and bungalow were deserted—it was all a matter of motor boat. Moored to the brand new dock, at Tangle Turn, a brand new motor craft heaved with the incoming waves and tugged at its ropes whenever a sufficiently strong motion of the water gave it excuse to attempt an escape.
This was the Chelton, the “up-to-datest” little-big motor boat possible to own or acquire, according to the verdict of the young men from Chelton who had just now passed judgment, and the wise decision of Cora and her girl friends who had actually bought the boat, after having taken a post-graduate course in catalogs and hardware periodicals, to say nothing of the countless interviews they had found it necessary to hold with salesmen and yacht agents.
They were all there, even Freda, who declared she ought to be busy with other matters, but that the call of the colony was too strong for her that one morning, at least.
“Of course we know how to run her,” insisted Cora to Ed, the latter having expressed doubt as to the girls’ ability to manage so important a craft. “Didn’t we run the Pet?”
“Oh, yes, but this—this is a deep-sea boat,” Ed explained, “and you might run yourselves away to other shores.”
“And land on a desert island? What sport!” exclaimed Lottie, to whom motor boating was an entirely new experience. “I hope we make it Holland. I have always longed to see a real, live Holland boy. The kind who are all clothes and wooden shoes.”
“We might make one up for you,” suggested Belle. “I think Wallie would look too cute for anything in skirty trousers and polonaise shirts. Just let his locks grow a little—Look out there, Bess! That’s water around the boat. It only looks like an oil painting. It’s real—wet!”
Bess was climbing over the dock edge, and of course the boys could not allow her that much exercise without pretending that she was in danger of going overboard. After Belle unhooked the hem of her sister’s skirt from an iron bolt, thereby giving Bess a sudden drop to the deck of the Chelton, however, Bess declared she knew water when she saw it, and also the difference between a water color and an oil painting.
“What did you call her Chelton for?” asked Walter. “I thought you decided to take the name from the first remark the first stranger should make about her.”
“Yes, and what do you think that was?” laughed Belle.
“‘Push’!” promptly answered Freda. “An old fisherman came along as Jack was arranging the painter, and he just said ‘push’!”
“That would be a handy little name,” commented Walter.
“Next some boys, out clamming, saw her,” said Jack, “and they said ‘peach.’”
“Either of which would have done nicely,” declared Ed. “Peach would have been the very name—after the girls——”
“Chelton is dignified and appropriate,” interposed Cora; “besides, if we should stray off to Holland they would know along the Dikes that we belonged in Chelton.”
“Now don’t forget that the wheel is a sea wheel and turns opposite to the direction you want to go,” cautioned Jack.
“How is that?” inquired Lottie, who had joined the other in examining the boat.
She was shown with patience. The boys were plainly glad that one of the girls, at least, did not know all about running a motor boat.
“And oh, what is that?” gasped Marita. “That cunning little playhouse!”
“Playhouse!” repeated Cora. “That’s our living room—our cabin. Those fixtures are to cook with, eat with, live with and do all our housekeeping with.”
“Also die with,” added Walter. “I think that electric toaster might be all right for fudge, but for real bread—Now say, Cora, can you really cook pork and beans on that?”
“These are the very latest, most improved and most expensive electric attachments on the market,” answered Cora, with a show of dignity, “and when you boys take a meal here, if we ever invite you to, I think we can easily prove the advantage of electrical attachments over campfire iron pots.”
The cooking apparatus was examined with interest. A motor boat cabin fitted up with such a “kitchenette” was indeed a novelty.
“You see,” explained Cora, “we have two ways of getting power. We can take it from the storage battery, or from the little dynamo attached to the motor.”
“Lovely!” exclaimed Lottie, to whom a “current” meant little, but who wanted to seem interested.
“That is to provide for the various kinds of cooking,” Jack said, jokingly. “Now eggs are weak, they cook by storage; but a Welsh rabbit is done by the dynamo.”
“It means something else,” Captain Cora remarked, “namely, if we have company for supper, and the storage current gives out, we will not have to make it a progressive meal, extending into the next day. The course can be continued from the extra current.”
“For the love of Malachi!” exclaimed Walter. “What’s this?”
“Our boiler,” said Bess, who knew something about the boat’s fitting up. “We have that for dishwater.”
“Dishwater!” repeated Ed. “You’ve got this down to domestic science all right. That rubber hose runs off the hot water from the cylinder jacket, and——”
“Oh, never!” cried Jack. “They will be making tea with it.”
“Isn’t it salty?” innocently asked Marita.
“Likely,” said Belle, for the girls had all taken an interest in the housework-made-easy-plan, and had arranged to use the boiling water as it came from the motor after cooling the cylinder. “But it won’t hurt dishes.”
“Now I call that neat,” commented Ed, “and to think that mere girls should have thought of it.”
Freda gave Cora a meaning glance. “Girls ought to think of the housework,” she laughed with a wink at Belle. “Just look at the linen chest.”
She opened a small box and exhibited a goodly supply of suitable linen. No table cloths; just small pieces, doilies and plenty of neat, pretty towels.
“Let’s board here,” suggested Walter. “Our food was really rude this morning.”
“Do we go out for a sail?” asked Ed, attempting to turn on the gasoline.
“Oh, no indeed!” Cora answered quickly. “Not a box is unpacked in our place yet, and perhaps, if you boys are all to rights, you wouldn’t mind giving us a hand.”
“Oh, of course we’re all to rights,” replied Jack. “I had a bolt of mosquito netting for my blanket last night and Wallie’s bathrobe for my pillow.”
“And I made friends with a pretty, little, soft ground mole, Jack,” put in Ed, “and if the rest of our boxes do not arrive and unpack themselves in time for your slumber this eve, that mole has agreed to cuddle up under your left ear. I believe you sleep on your left.”
“Thanks,” Jack said, “but I see no reason why mere household truck should keep us from a cruise. I am aching to try the Chelton, Cora.”
Cora and Freda were talking in whispers in the other end of the boat. It was no “mere household truck” surely that brought the serious expression to their faces.
“It isn’t far,” Freda was heard to say, “and he promised to wait for us this morning.”
“And I do want to be with you,” Cora answered. “But I won’t let them take the boat out the first time without me. It cost too much to run the risk of damaging it by sky-larking.”
“Now what are you two up to?” demanded Jack. “Just because Drayton Ward has not arrived, we are held up for his coming. I tell you, Sis, that chap may not put in an appearance at all, here. He knows—sweller places.”
“Oh, don’t you mind him, Cora,” Ed interrupted. “Dray is sure to come. He had his canoe shipped two days ago, besides sending to the cove for his motor boat. I expect some tall times when he gets here. Our own innocent little Lassie won’t know how to skip over the waves at all—she’ll be that flustered when the swell, gold-railed, mahogany-bound, carpet-floored Dixie gets here.”
“It would take more than a mere Dixie to knock out our Lassie,” declared Walter, “but I should like to know why she is not on the scene yet. Didn’t we plainly say Tuesday?”
“We did, plainly and emphatically. But a boat builder, letter or seller has a right to make his own day in delivering the goods. We’ll be lucky if we get the barge at all without taking the sheriff up to that shipyard.”
“Meanwhile we have the Chelton,” said Ed, tugging at Cora’s sleeve.
“And we must get back to the bungalow,” she observed. “Freda and I have an important appointment for eleven, and if you all promise not to follow us or attempt to go out in the Chelton, perhaps we will have some interesting news for you this evening.”
The boys strolled away, talking about the motor boat they had hired. Money, for some reason, was not plentiful that Summer with Jack and his chums, and they had to be content with a second-hand craft, that had been patched and re-patched until there was little of the original left. They were not even sure the Lassie would run, but they were anxious to try her.