I agreed. We went amicably along the shore of the bay toward the Violetta.
Norah was in the hammock, but Mrs. Mink had gone aboard again, and stood by the rail looking toward us. The yacht lay on a lee shore, and there the water was fairly calm; but the force of the wind, in spite of the protection of the trees, was such now as to put some strain on the rope which stretched taut to the bank.
“In half an hour, then,” said Professor Simpson, “you will be at liberty to interrupt me.”
He was over the bridge while I was figuring on the discrepancy,—the something not quite predestined,—in his having the first shot,—that is to say, the first opportunity,—of presenting his case to Mrs. Mink. I was going to propose we should flip a coin for it. He was a wonder, a wonder! I called out to Mrs. Mink, asking for an interview in half an hour. She looked surprised. I went back among the trees, and wished I were a Presbyterian, and watched, during that long half-hour, the minutes slowly passing on the cold unfeeling face of my watch. I allowed the full time and went back.
Professor Simpson was still arguing. I concluded, comfortably, that his argument had not, as yet, convinced Mrs. Mink. They stood by the rail, near the straining rope that fastened the yacht to the bank.
“Professor,” I called, “your time's up. I'm coming aboard.”
He raised his hands. He was excited. He cried:
“I have not concluded! Mrs. Mink! A few moments more! No, no! I refuse to be interrupted.”
Mrs. Mink said nothing. Her expression of face was the expression of an interested spectator. It seemed to say: “Which of you is going to do something?” I went toward the bridge. He wrung his hands. His excitement became intense.
“It is critical, sir, critical! Your conduct is inconsiderate, offensive! I insist!”