He sat in the stern, facing me and steering. As I looked at him, ready to give vent to my wrath, he said, with a friendly smile:
“Hold on, Gray. Don’t fly off the handle. Do you know what the book is?”
“No, I don’t, but I can tell you——”
“If you can’t tell me the name of the book, nothing you can tell me is of any consequence. Can’t you guess the title?”
His grave tone and serious face gave me a hint. I stared at him, unbelieving.
“You don’t mean——” I stammered.
“Of course I do. It is Detective Stories of All Nations, Volume VIII.” He held it up, and then my rage boiled over.
“You—you took that from my pocket!”
“Of course I did. And I shall keep an eye on you after this. Gray, try to recognize what you are doing. Try to recognize what I am doing. Or to put it plainer, remember that I am doing only my duty, and you—are obstructing my honest efforts.”
His straightforward glance and his friendly smile won the day, and I mumbled miserably, “What can I do, Kee? I love her so.”