“The groups at the photograph galleries.”
“I’ll do the best I can with the picture,” said Allan.
“And I’ll take what I get and be thankful,” laughed the young man.
This seemed decidedly like a stroke of luck to Allan, not so much for the value of the pass as for the chance to get special privileges with his camera—with their cameras, for undoubtedly Mr. Twink would look with a friendly eye on any party that might come with his cousin’s name.
“Time for the boat!” cried Owen.
The day had slid away so quickly and they had given so little thought to time that there was not a moment to be lost if they were to catch the 4.30 boat.
The two started off for the pier on a run, until the little brown woman in the Turkish bazaar looked up from her beads to see whether any new and special excitement had befallen her street. A short cut across the sand proved to be heavy travelling, and the boat’s whistle sounded warningly in their ears. All three were much in need of breath when they reached the pier. They caught the boat. But it was a narrow escape.
