He nodded, totally unprepared for the outburst that followed.
“Oh, how could you? How could you?” she cried. “I can’t take it!” She stamped her foot. With every energetic protestation the three royal plumes in her head-dress quivered in sympathetic response. “I won’t take it!” Her anger grew. “Why did you keep this from me? Why didn’t you tell me before who you were?” In bitter speeches she upbraided him for his calm, smiling, superior secrecy.
He tried to explain that the secrecy was largely her own doing, but she would not have it that way. He had been playing with her, having his premeditated joke and then in the end had offered—alms! Very well! Very well! Tears were raining down her cheek, her speech was almost hysteric. Very well! She would leave as she had planned; but not until she got good and ready. “Red Jacket” was her home until she left it for good. “Oh! Richard Richard!” she exclaimed bitterly as she brushed past him, “this was a low trick to play on me!”
The door was slammed in his face or he might have followed her; and as it locked of itself in some mysterious manner he was compelled to tread his way back among the silent Indians and through a series of adjacent rooms to the main hall.
Once more an Indian council fire had broken up in a declaration of war!
CHAPTER XXIII
THE RACE
By the day of the first boat race Professor Jawn Galloway had become a perfect tender of “stays,” and an enthusiastic champion of Sago-ye-wat-ha against the world. Richard was mustered in as the other “stay tender,” and the Wheelen boy volunteered for jib and spinnaker. There was no questioning, of course, of Walter’s position; the captain is always the helmsman and in complete charge of the yacht.
During the morning the crew tried out their various “tricks” and at noon dropped anchor before Alley’s Inn, which since the days of the old Keuka Yacht Club had been the starting point of the Lake races. The distance was approximately twelve miles, three times around a triangular course, beginning at Alley’s Inn, thence across the Lake to Willow Grove and up to the North Buoy and back.
At noon the wind dropped to a light breeze which faded into nothingness by one o’clock. At two, however, the Lake was white with racing “caps.” A characteristic sudden southwester had sprung out of the hills and was sweeping up the Lake. In the cove before Alley’s Inn the boats were securely sheltered, but once beyond the little headlands the fragile yachts felt the full sweep of the gale and bent over perilously and tugged at their side stays.
Automobiles were parking on the lawn, the trolley line was running extra cars, and motor-boats were chugging over from every part of the Lake. There was great curiosity to see the trial of the new yacht, but greater to see the erratic Walter Wells in the rôle of skipper. Alley’s Inn was doing a big business. Luncheon tables overflowed to the wide porches and even on to the lawn.