“I—I don’t know,” was the weak response. “Sometimes I have a hazy notion that I had many such things, an auto, a boat, a pony, and a rich home, but it is all like a dream—a dream,” and Paul buried his face in his arms.
“Don’t worry,” spoke Mrs. Racer soothingly. “Now you boys must stop talking about this, and get on a more cheerful subject. I want you all to promise to come and see me play golf to-morrow. We have a medal match at the Harbor View links, and it will do you good to get in some society, other than that of whales, wrecked motor boats and sailors. You will be strong enough to come, won’t you, Paul?”
“I—I think so. I’m feeling better every day.”
Paul went to the golf match in a carriage, and sat on the shady porch of the clubhouse while the two Racer boys followed their energetic mother about the links.
The sixteenth hole was down near the sandy shore of the bay, and while Mrs. Racer was teeing up for a trial at the seventeenth, Frank and Andy strolled toward the beach.
“It’s a fine day for a sail,” observed the younger lad.
“What! Go off and not see mother win!” cried Frank.
“Oh, I was only joking.”
“Hum! Joking!” exclaimed Frank, and Andy laughed uneasily.
“There’s someone in a boat headed this way,” said Frank, after a pause. “He’s rowing fast, too.”