"You'd better——"
But his sentence to Rod was cut off, for that imperturbable youth drove the dugout well clear of the power boat with a thrust of his paddle, and Mary Thorn's blade dipped in unison. They pointed straight for shore.
The launch swung in a short circle, gathered way, passed up the channel. Rod steered the canoe over to Little Dent, caught a drooping bough and held it against the streaming tide.
Mary looked after the white cruiser, turning now into Mermaid Bay.
"What a pretty girl that was by the mast. Who is she?"
"Oh, Isabel Wall. Sister to a girl Phil's got half a crush on," Rod answered carelessly. "I don't think she's so pretty. Too dolly-dolly. Shall we run 'em once more?"
"She looked pretty to me. She was so beautifully dressed," Mary said thoughtfully.
"Oh, clothes," Rod answered disdainfully. "That's all the bunch around our place does these days; doll up and look pretty. Come on, let's shoot the shoots again."
"No. It's running too fast now. The boils are beginning to break in the straight current," Mary said. "I want to go home."
"All right."