“I will try and console her to your opinion,” responded Grace. She gave him a bright look. “Oh, Tom,” she cried, bursting girl-like into tears of mingled pride and joy, “you have acted just—splendid!”
She seized both his hands in her own and smiled in grateful friendship at him, as he helped her into the ’bus. Just then those on the dock broke out into ringing cheers.
“The steam tug!” said Tom, noticing the craft approach.
There was the excitement of a new landing, eager questioning, rapid explanations; and Bill, who had left the launch and mingled with the crowd, approached Tom, smiling with good nature, his hands in his pockets, a certain element of pride and exaltation in his stride.
“Not a person lost,” he reported in glad tones.
“The captain of the Olivia is looking for you, and——”
“That’s the lad,” sounded the voice of the tug captain, and the man with him who wore a cap with an official band of gold braid around it, seized Tom as if he feared he might run away from him.
“I want you,” he said, his hearty grip catching Tom’s arm. “Hey, where’s that hotel you’re going to stow us in?” he hailed to a villager.
“I’ll pilot you there,” was the prompt reply, and passengers and crew of the Olivia followed the speaker from the dock over to an old dilapidated building that had been in its palmy days the hotel of the place.
It was well lighted up, and warmed by two red hot iron stoves. It had an immense dining room, and into this the crowd was ushered, and gathered shiveringly about the great heater in the center of the room. Adjoining it was a small apartment which at one time had been an office. It had a light on a table and some chairs.