“Wal, now! das one foolish woman, das sho’ is! Why don’ she git under kiver when she’s ‘vited t’ do so?”
Just then a new actor appeared on the scene. A big umbrella came into view and its bearer crossed the road, splashing through the accumulated water without regard to the wetting of his own feet and legs.
He gave the half-submerged woman a hand and drew her out to the side of the road, and upon a comparatively dry spot. He had some difficulty with the umbrella just then and raised it high enough for the two girls in the carriage to see his face.
“Oh, Ruthie, look there!” whispered Helen, as the horse started forward. “See who it is!”
“It’s Curly—it’s surely Curly Smith,” muttered Ruth.
“That’s what I tell you,” whispered Helen, fiercely. “And now we can’t speak to him.”
“Not with that Miss Miggs in the way. She is mean enough to tell the police who he is.”
“Never mind,” cried Helen, exultantly, “he got ashore from the fishing boat.”
“But I wonder if he has any money left—and what he will do now. The police may still be looking for him.”
“Oh, a boy as smart as he is would never get caught by the police,” declared Helen, in delight. “I only wish I could speak to him and tell him how glad I am he escaped arrest.”