“I’m surprised at you, Dorothy Calvert,” she said. “You’re not a quitter. Nothing in the world will keep you from being at the theater to-morrow night, and you will play as you have never played before. Difficulties will but serve to spur you on to greater deeds.”
“You’re right, chum,” Dorothy replied. “That is a well-deserved rebuke and I thank you for it. Which reminds me that my fears were groundless, for the wind is going down and it does not seem to be raining as hard as it was.”
“Of course not, you goosey! These storms rarely last more than a few hours. The sun will be shining in the morning, and all you’ll see to remind you of to-night will be the rather worn looks of your companions. But what is one night’s loss of sleep, anyway? I just know when you were at school you lost many a good night’s sleep through some prank. Now, didn’t you?”
“That would be telling tales out of school,” smiled Dorothy.
“An evasion means an assent,” remarked her chum. “And the next evening you were feeling as well as ever—just as a nice, warm bath and a rub-down will make you forget your troubles of to-night.”
And Molly was a true prophet. The storm went down rapidly after midnight, until there was only a slight mist falling, and the wind came in fitful little gusts, which lacked the force to do damage even of a slight nature.
After one o’clock, with the cheering intelligence that the engines would soon be in working order, called to them through the stateroom door by Dr. Sterling, the girls fell asleep, to be awakened some hours later by the motion of the boat.
“Oh, look, Molly!” Dorothy cried, shaking her chum out of a sound sleep. “The yacht is under way.”
“Didn’t I tell you so?” was the rather discomforting reply, as Molly sat up, rubbing her eyes. “First thing we know we’ll be back at the hotel.”
“We’ll have to reach the dock first, though.”