This was very bold, Sarita thought, to the man who was very likely the chief smuggler. But then, Bill worked for Mr. Ives, she knew.
“You’d better be keerful, Miss Peggy. Fust thing ye know, ye’ll miss yer footing and git drawed under in Pirates’ Cove. Here, Tom, I guess she wouldn’t mind if you took a look, too,” and Bill handed the glass to Tom, who wiped his fishy hands first, then took it and looked through the lenses with deep interest.
“No wonder you are crazy about the birds, Miss Sarita,” said Tom. “I can see every feather on that gull.”
“I ought to have showed you when we were all on the Sea Crest so much,” replied Sarita.
“I was busy then,” said Tom.
Bill Ritter now asked Leslie if she had picked out the fish that she wanted. Leslie then pointed them out and Bill started to gather them up. Suddenly the boat tipped a little. Bill, stooping, seemed to lose his balance and fell against Tom, unexpectedly. For calamitas calamitatum,—Sarita’s cherished field glass flew from Tom’s hand, seeking a watery grave just inside of Pirates’ Cove.
Sarita gave a little exclamation. Bill’s boat righted. Bill himself caught hold of Tom, then of the seat, to place himself again, and the incident was ended so far as the final disposal of poor Sarita’s bird glass was concerned.
Tom gave an angry and startled look at Bill, then began to kick off his shoes and pull off his old sweater. “What’re you doing?” growled Bill.
“Going down after her glass. You knocked it out of my hand! What did you mean by falling over me that way!”
“I was trying to get their fish and put it over. Stay in the boat! You can’t dive here. You’ll never dive deep enough to git it!” Bill laid a detaining hand on Tom, who was distressed.