“Goodness me!” gasped Ruth, suddenly seizing her chum by the arm.
“O-o-o! ouch!” responded Helen. “What a grip you’ve got, Ruth! What’s the matter with you?”
“See there!” whispered Ruth, pointing.
She had turned from the rail. Behind them, and only a few feet away, was the row of staterooms of which their own was one. Near by was a passage from the outer deck to the saloon, and from the doorway of this passage a person was peeping in a sly and doubtful way.
“Goodness!” whispered Helen. “Can—can it be?”
The figure in the doorway was lean and tall. Its gown hung about its frame as shapelessly as though the frock had been hung upon a clothespole! The face of the person was turned from the two girls; but Ruth whispered:
“It’s that boy they were looking for.”
“Oh, Ruth! Can it be possible?” Helen repeated.
“See the short hair?”
“Of course!”