“If they hadn’t come they couldn’t possibly have won it,” Babe reminded him gravely, whereupon Mr. Morton glared at her and then, remembering that the race was not the main feature of the day after all, laughed good naturedly and told such comical stories of his motoring experiences in Germany and Holland that the defeated Americans were quite the merriest party on board during “The Siren’s” homeward trip.
The dinner, which was a celebration in spite of the race, was served on a little balcony overlooking the river, gay with lights and noisy with belated merrymakers. Then Mr. Morton announced that he had a box at one of the theatres, where moving pictures of the afternoon’s race were to be the feature of the program.
“Well, it was a good race,” he admitted, after he had seen the pictures. “They got ahead several times and they rowed well even when they had to take the other crew’s water, and that last spurt was all right, only it came too late. I hope Benson understands that we aren’t at all ashamed of our crew, John. You might mention it when you see him.”
It is to be feared that Billy cared very little for Jasper J. Morton’s opinion of him. He had come out of his faint in a state of unwonted and pathetic melancholy, only to find himself, to his amazement and almost to his disgust, the hero of the occasion. For awhile he argued manfully against such an idiotic idea, but finally he submitted to the popular notion that his “crab” had made no difference in the final result and that it had actually proved an advantage because it had inspired that wonderful spurt that was the talk of all London and probably of all New York. And since Babbie Hildreth was responsible for this turn of events (and for some other reasons) Billy resolved to cast enforced economy and doctor’s orders to the winds and beg or borrow enough money to give her “the time of her life” during his last day in London.
As for Betty Wales, her eyes sparkled with happy excitement as she went to bed that night. A regular trip abroad would have been fun enough, but a trip with Madeline to hunt up the queer things, Babe to furnish a romance, and Mr. Morton to play the good angel and then pretend it was all her doing—so that Dick Blake and now Babe and John had insisted upon thanking her extravagantly—that was a trip to make you hold your breath and wonder how you happened to be such a lucky, lucky girl. Betty’s last few letters from home had been rather short and unsatisfactory.
“I’m afraid I ought to have kept house for mother this summer and let her rest,” she reflected. “And perhaps father couldn’t easily afford to let me come. But I haven’t spent nearly all the money he gave me, and I’ll make mother take the grandest rest she ever had as soon as I get home. And I can’t help being glad I’m here.”
CHAPTER XVIII
HOME AGAIN
Three busy days in London, and it was all over but the voyage home. Billy and the crew and John and Mr. Morton had left by different routes the evening after the race, so only Mr. Dwight was on hand to wave the girls off at their boat-train. They were all tired from trying to see too much and shop too hard just at the last, and Babe was of course forlorn with only a long steamer letter to console her for John’s absence. So nobody minded lying about on deck for the first day or two, and after that a real storm added a sad chapter to the girls’ seagoing experiences, keeping all but the dauntless Babbie close in their berths for the rest of the voyage.
On the last morning Babbie and Marie got all their charges upon deck, where they lay, rather pale and listless from their long confinement, enjoying the air and the sunshine.
“Mummie dear,” began Babbie gaily, “do you know what I think? I think that, if you want to keep your reputation as a chaperon, you’d better spruce up your young charges before you return them to their adoring families.”