Franklin caught the eye of the precocious Jones and jerked his thumb towards the yacht. The first officer grinned to see him nip aboard. A dollar had its uses but it was well worth ten to see Jones squashed.
Away went the launch, the happy pair in the stern, the white silk shirt and red tie of the girl standing out against the water, the midday sun beating down from a cloudless sky on the trim and glossy boat. Franklin turned his head over his shoulder, and waved his left hand at the Captain. The pit-pit of the motor awoke echoes.
"Owe you a bloomin' dollar," said Jones, with a touch of temper.
The first officer let his laugh go.
The Captain left the bridge, went along to his quarters, took off his coat, lit a cigar and sat down to write to his wife. It was not his day for writing, but on his brain there was a very charming picture of a girl in a white silk shirt and a red tie.
Beatrix crossed her legs and drew in a long breath. "The prisoner goes for an airing," she said.
The chameleon had changed color again. Franklin caught her sunny mood with eagerness. "Glad to get off?"
"Oh, goodness, yes! I feel like the man who after living at the Plaza for a year sneaked into Child's for his meals. Anything for a change. Which island are you making for?"
Franklin pointed. "That one. It has a natural landing-place, enough shade——"
"A good place to bathe from?"