“What, for example?” asked Barbara, innocently.
“Why in trying to make myself so agreeable heretofore that you'd finally consent to say 'yes' for a change.”
“Now you are going to make it all the worse by being stupid,” cried the girl petulantly. “Why can't you be nice, as you used to be before you got this silly notion into your head?”
“I don't think it's a silly notion to be head over heels in love with the sweetest girl on earth,” cried Billy.
“Hush! Someone will hear you.”
“I don't care if they do. I'd like to advertise it to the whole world. I'm proud of the fact that I love you; and you don't care enough about it to realize how really hard I'm hit—why I'd die for you, Barbara, and welcome the chance; why—My God! What's that?”
“O Billy! What are those men doing?” cried the girl. “They're shooting. They're shooting at papa! Quick, Billy! Do something. For heaven's sake do something.”
On the deck below them the “rescued” crew of the “Clarinda” had surrounded Mr. Harding, Captain Norris, and most of the crew of the Lotus, flashing quick-drawn revolvers from beneath shirts and coats, and firing at two of the yacht's men who showed fight.
“Keep quiet,” commanded Skipper Simms, “an' there won't none of you get hurted.”
“What do you want of us?” cried Mr. Harding. “If it's money, take what you can find aboard us, and go on your way. No one will hinder you.”