“Well, I think I’ll follow the tide’s example and ‘beat it’ for the sea--Manchester-by-the-Sea--rather earlier than usual to-day, now that I’ve seen the launching,” said Atlas, in whose ear the foreman had been whispering.
“Good! And don’t ye show up to-morrow,” softly enjoined the latter. “An’ you don’t drive your own car this evening, either. Marty Williams will be starting your way pretty soon; you’ve driven him home many an evening; now he can drive you!”
“But you’ll come down to see us at our camp just as soon as you feel able”--began Olive, and stopped, for Atlas’ bump, bared by breezes, flamed like a thunder-bolt in her direction--“I mean--I mean any day now,” she amended lamely. “If you row down the river from here, we’ll come across the sand-dunes from our side of them and meet you half-way, so that you need not go all the way down to the mouth of the river, over the bar and, so, around up to our white beach.”
“We might bring our supper with us, light a fire and picnic out on the middle of the dunes--that would be dandy--right near that great, huge pile of clam-shells where the Indians once held an historic clam-bake,” came breathlessly from Betty--fair-haired Betty Ayres--whose symbol was the Holly, green when all other shrubs were bare.
“Thanks! Awf’ly--awf’ly good you are!” murmured Atlas. “You may look for me on deck--meaning on the dunes by the shell-heap--some time soon. I’ll let you know first. Well, good-bye. So long!”
Yet he lingered a little, ostensibly absorbed in the river and its bride, the new hull, really inclining his swollen right ear for some added word of invitation from the girl with the amber-tipped eyelashes, whose life he had saved.
But those lashes, except for the grace of one flickering farewell nod, were persistently lowered.
“Pshaw! Pshaw! she’s the very original female clam herself--not a word out of her,” thought Atlas, and departed, in high dudgeon.
“Sara Davenport! You behaved like an idiot, not moving off when he told you, before--before that horrid old, jaundiced rib of a ship came near falling on you--and killing you. I suppose it really might have killed you but for him!” was the Flame’s scorching thought. “But he did feel so self-important--crouching there, under the great rib, feeling that he was upholding shipping--I know he did! Just because he’s such a rich boy, who never did anything like that before!... And Olive’s cousin! One of the set into which her father--her family--would think she ought to--ought to marry--when by and by it comes to that--never thinking of Iver, at all!... Iver who held out his burnt hand to a private! Iver who’s been over the top--wounded three times--burned with mustard gas! Oh-h-h!”
Mustard tears were in Sesooā’s eyes now. But, for all their stinging, she would not have parted with them for a kingdom--those diamond drops of the first water, tribute to her pride in the soldier-brother “over there,” to a quite extravagant jealousy on his behalf, too, lest he should fail of getting his heart’s desire when he came back--as she knew he would come!