He waited but a decent interval, then stepped from the room, afraid that, if he lingered in his former seat, he might be forced to be a witness to more such scenes. Though Halstead had no means of knowing it, that little room had been the scene of hundreds of proposals of marriage.
“Yet, now that I do know what I had no business to find out in that way,” murmured Skipper Tom to himself, “I’ve got Mr. Tremaine’s interests to think about a bit. If Oliver Dixon knows that he has been defeated, then he’ll be likely to get away in a hurry, and without leaving any address behind, for he has at least the money he stole from Tremaine. That is, if he did steal it. Of course he did.”
Hearing the music and the soft, rhythmic swish of feet over the waxed floor, young Halstead presently glanced in through one of the entrances to the ball-room. Dixon was there, dancing with Mrs. Tremaine. The young man had recovered much of his usual self-possession, even forcing a smile. Then Ida Silsbee, still looking pained, glided by, directed by the arm of Henry Tremaine.
“Does Dixon mean to fly?” Tom wondered. “After all, why should he? He’s having a good time, and he doesn’t fear being found out. Besides, he’s very likely a big enough egotist to imagine there’s still a chance of winning Miss Silsbee. No; I hardly think he’ll run away for a while yet.”
None the less the young motor boat captain determined to keep a close eye over the movements of Oliver Dixon.
CHAPTER XXI
DIXON STOCK DROPS
“JOE, you can keep yourself so easily out of sight, somehow, that I’m going to use you to play the spy to-day,” hinted Captain Tom to his chum, after the two had had an early breakfast together.
“I’m not afraid of anything you use me for,” Dawson retorted.
“You must have a better opinion of me than I have of myself sometimes,” retorted the motor boat captain, thinking of his unintentional eavesdropping of the night before.