After this, nothing. The Pelican was gone in the winding channel, although snatches of song drifted back as Bo'sun Joe led the chanteys that fetched her about on new tacks. Over the water lay darkness and silence; from somewhere back in the town a tiny phonograph lifted a tinkling piece of band music into the night.
Florence walked out upon the dock, still trembling beneath the nervous strain of those moments. Five minutes passed—five intolerable dragging minutes. Then from the water she caught the drip and splash of muffled oars, and she called out softly.
"All right, ma'am!" came the hoarse response. A dim shadow loomed up, and the voice of the grizzled fisherman continued: "Thought better not to show no light at all, ma'am. Ain't so likely to get questions asked——"
"You got him?"
"Aye. Can you give him a hand, ma'am? The lad's mortal cold——"
Florence leaned down and gripped an icy hand.
"Golly, I sure thought my legs was froze!" came the chattering voice of Jerry. With all her surprising strength, the girl heaved; and he came up beside her. "Scared stiff, I was!"
"They've gone." Florence turned and took the horny hand of the fisherman. "Thank you," she said simply. "I think Mr. Dennis wanted me to give you this——"
"Sho', ma'am, I don't want no money for that!" protested the other. But Florence forced the money upon him, and, with a last handshake, urged Jerry away toward warmth and dry clothes.
By this time the boy's teeth were chattering so that talk was impossible. Upon reaching her own cottage, where Florence had already engaged a room for Jerry, she gave him a spare suit of old clothes which Dennis had left for him, and left him to change.