They gazed after him a moment and were about to turn back toward their own part of the beach, when Leslie suddenly seized Phyllis’s arm in a vice-like grip.
“Phyllis, Phyllis, don’t think me crazy! Something has just come to me. The way that man threw the board just now and dusted off his hands and then walked away—was just—exactly like—the man with the limp that morning at dawn! The action was identical. I’m positive I’m not mistaken. And he looks just like him, the same height and build and all, as he walked away.”
“But, my dear child, he doesn’t limp!” cried Phyllis, conclusively. “So you certainly are mistaken!”
“I know he doesn’t, but I—don’t care. He’s the same one. I am absolutely sure of it. Maybe he’s all over the limp now.”
But though Leslie was so certain, Phyllis remained unconvinced!
CHAPTER XV
OUT OF THE HURRICANE
With the fickleness of October weather (which is often as freakish as that of April), the golden afternoon had turned cloudy and raw before the girls returned home. By nightfall it was raining, and a rising, gusty wind had ruffled the ocean into lumpy, foam-crested waves. At seven o’clock the wind had increased to a heavy gale and was steadily growing stronger. The threatened storm, as usual, filled Miss Marcia with nervous forebodings, and even Leslie experienced some uncomfortable apprehensions during their supper hour.