CHAPTER XXXIV
A MATTER OF CONSCIENCE
Gail stood at the rail of the Whitecap, gazing out over the dancing blue waves with troubled eyes.
“Penny,” said a cheerful voice at her side.
“For my thoughts,” she replied, turning to the impossibly handsome Dick Rodley who had strolled up, in his blue jacket and white trousers and other nautical embellishments. “Give me your penny.”
He reached in his pockets, but of course, there was no money there. He did, however, find a fountain pen and a card, and he wrote her a note for the amount.
“Now deliver the merchandise,” he demanded.
“Well, to begin with, I’m glad that the fog has been driven away, and that the sun is shining, and that so many of my friends are on board the Whitecap.”
“You’re not a conscientious merchant,” objected Dick. “You’re not giving me all I paid for. No one stands still so long, no matter how charming of figure or becomingly gowned, without a serious thought. I want that thought.”
Gail looked up into his big black eyes reflectively. She was tremendously glad that she had such a friend as Dick. He was so agreeable to look at, and he was no problem to her. The most of her friends were.
“The news in the paper,” she told him. “It’s so big.”