“I’m very glad to see you again,” said Betty, holding out her hand and trying not to smile at the absurd figure he cut. “I speak only a little bit of French, but fortunately I have my dictionary along,”—she pulled the little book out of a pocket in her linen coat—“and with that I can generally manage pretty well.”
“The point is,” Mr. Morton broke in impatiently, “do you speak French enough to ascertain what has happened to this confounded ferry? I came over here this morning from a place called Dinard. I came by ferry. I climbed those identical steps.” He waved his hand dramatically toward the landing. “I lunched and strolled around the town until it was nearly time for me to meet my chauffeur in Dinard. Then I came back here. The ferry is gone. The ocean is gone. Am I out of my senses, or what’s happened?” He mopped his brow and glowered darkly at Betty.
“The ferry hasn’t gone for good,” she assured him soothingly, “nor the ocean. In a few minutes they’ll both be back and we can go to Dinard together. I’m waiting for the ferry too.” And she explained about the tides, which necessitated the intermittent service.
“I HAVE MY DICTIONARY”
Jasper J. Morton stared out across the great stretch of bare sand. “Do you mean to tell me that in a few minutes all that will be under water enough to float a good-sized ferry-boat? Well, these tides must be French, like all the rest of it. In that case it’s lucky I didn’t try to walk out to the edge of the water to see if I couldn’t find a boat there.” He looked at his watch. “I’m two hours late now. I’m never late for my appointments. My chauffeur won’t know what to make of it. He can’t speak French either, so he won’t be able to ask any questions.”
Betty laughed. “You ought to get a dictionary like mine. It’s very useful. Can I do anything else for you, Mr. Morton?”
Mr. Morton looked at her sharply. “You can. You can come down the steps with me and tell the man who insists on holding my coat that I don’t want a guide, philosopher and friend, or whatever else he’s trying to be to me, but that I do want my coat. Pay him off with these.” He handed her some silver.
With some difficulty Betty made the man understand that “le monsieur Anglais” did not want a guide for the afternoon, nor a boatman, nor a porter.
“And now,” said Jasper J. Morton briskly, “comes the real business of the moment. I’ve got to send some telegrams to Dol, where I’m stopping and where I was to meet two friends on business at five o’clock. I shan’t be there at five. Is your French equal to finding a telegraph office?”