He scrambled frantically out of the boat and rushed to his bath-house. The prospect of being stranded, on even a fairy island, with a dangerously beguiling maiden of the middle class was even more appalling than being divorced from his luggage. He struggled frantically into his clothes, losing three precious minutes over a broken shoe-lace. When he came out he found Bobby, very cool and collected, sipping an iced drink at the pavilion. Not waiting for her to finish, he rushed her into the waiting motor and implored the chauffeur to get them to the dock with all possible speed.
He was aghast at his own folly. It was incredible that he should have allowed himself to drift into such an awkward situation. They might not be missed until after the steamer sailed, in which case it was quite possible that the erratic captain would refuse to put back. The man might even make capital of the incident and claim that his daughter was compromised. What if he should demand satisfaction? What satisfaction would be due in the circumstances? Percival felt the hot blood rush to his head.
"Can't you speed her up a bit?" he urged, his elbows on the front seat and his eyes on the small watch encased in the leather strap about his wrist.
"Yes, do!" cried Bobby, excitedly. "I love to go fast!"
"Do you realize," asked Percival, assuming his sternest manner in order to impress her with the gravity of the situation, "that we stand a very good chance of being left?"
"I can't imagine a nicer place to be left in," said Bobby, adding between bounces, "besides, you needn't—look so cross—at me. It is all your—own fault."
The chauffeur at this point felt it incumbent upon him to avert a quarrel, so he offered the cheering assurance that it was only four forty-five, and he could get most anywhere in fifteen minutes. But even as he spoke there was an ominous report, followed by the unmistakable sound of escaping air.
"Oh, I say!" cried Percival in tones of horror, "not a puncture?"
"That's whut!" said the chauffeur, who had jammed on the brakes, and was now ruefully inspecting a back wheel.
"Can't stop for that!" cried Percival, impatiently. "Every second counts, my man. Doesn't matter how much we bounce so long as we get there."