It was only when fully dressed and engaged in smoothing down his hair as best he could that he became aware of a strange thing. There was no sound of rippling water under the Wisp’s bow.
And then he realized that the gentle motion of the sloop could not be caused by the rise and fall of the Atlantic swell—a swell majestic even at its calmest. The Wisp was not under way, but was at anchor in quiet waters!
He ran up the ladder, shouting: “Betty! Betty! What’s up?”
For his pains, he bumped his head on the half-closed hatch-cover, and for answer to his call heard—nothing. With another cry of “Betty!” he leaped upon deck.
There was no Betty. In a quiet inlet the Wisp was lying alongside a float connected by a plank to a pebbly beach. A tongue of land separated the harbor from the outer ocean. At a little distance on this sandy tract appeared a straggling group of houses, and anchored near the Wisp was a steam yacht, a pretty craft all white and gold.
All this he took in at a glance. A second disclosed a note pinned to the hatch-cover. He had it open in short order.
Boatswain Bob:
I couldn’t bear to wake you. A man who helped me make fast the Wisp says this is Currituck Sound, and the city (?) is Kitty Hawk. I’ve gone to get some things. Be sure your clothes are dry.
Nancy Lee, A.B.
Kitty Hawk was on the chart—of so much he was certain—and he guessed that it contained a shop to supply its needs. He determined to purchase some sadly needed apparel for himself. In the shop, too, he would be certain to find Betty.