“Hilda Dugan! Hilda Dugan!”
Frank repeated the name in a dazed way, as he sought the captain. That worthy met him.
“Needn’t bother to change,” he said. “You may keep the togs till yours are dry, young man. Leave them with Jim Popps. I’ll get ’em. You’re a nervy chap.”
Frank thanked the captain, and soon he was going ashore with his grip and his wet clothing done into a neat bundle. He looked back for a glimpse of Hilda, but she was not to be seen, and, although he lingered till the boat swung off and bore away up the lake, he saw nothing more of her.
But he could remember just how her warm, firm, shapely hand felt as it lay in his own, and he seemed to see her handsome face upturned to his, while her dark eyes looked straight into his own.
Frank gave himself a shake.
“What’s the matter with you?” he growled to himself. “Are you going to get broken up over this girl? Not much! Have a little sense, you chump!”
He found accommodations, and then set out to learn what he could about the man he had pursued to that wild region. He went straight to “The Store,” in front of which several men were loafing in the sunshine. The men gazed at him with great curiosity.
“Can some of you gentlemen tell me how to get from here to Blank Island?” he asked.