It was at this moment that Mrs Ranjo dropped a bombshell of surprise on us.
“Hi, Mr Violinist, have you heard the latest?”
“No,” we responded drowsily, hardly looking up, for the latest was generally some old joke from the prehistoric period.
“Waylao, Benbow’s pretty daughter, has got into trouble with some beachcomber, you know, got like that.” And then she added, with her eyebrows raised: “She’s bolted from home, kicked out by her mother.”
“No!” was our simultaneous ejaculation. We sat bolt upright and stared like two idiots. That exclamation expressed the chaos of our thoughts. It was like the erect ears and tail of canine astonishment; we were dumb-struck, alert with surprise.
Grimes went quite ghastly; he looked sallow beneath his bronzed skin. When we had heard all that Mrs Ranjo had to say, we went out into the open.
“Well!” was all I could utter as the fresh breeze revived my thinking power. Grimes for a moment was strangely silent, then suddenly started off at full speed from my side! Away he went, his big feet shuffling and stirring up clouds of sand as he raced.
I looked ahead to see the meaning of it all. There was no apparent reason for his racing off like that. I stared with astonishment as he reached the coco-palms down by the beach, turned right about, and once again, with his elbows raised in racing attitude, came flying back to where I stood.
“What’s the matter, pal?” I said. He did not reply at first, then he said hoarsely: “Blimey! fancy ’er a-going wrong—that hangel!”
For a moment he stared in front of him, then continued: “Cawn’t we foind ’er? I’m in love with ’er, that’s where it is!”