“You see, it's a business meetin',” urged Burns. “Sam's got to be there by ha'f past seven or he'll—he won't win on the deal, will you, Sam? Say yes, Issy; that's a good feller. He'll give you—I don't know's he won't give you five dollars.”
“Ten,” cried Bartlett. “And I'll never forget it, either. Will you, Is?”
A mighty “No!” was trembling on Issy's tongue. But before it was uttered Burns spoke again.
“McKay's got the best boat in these parts,” he urged. “She's got a tiptop engine in her, and—”
The word “engine” dropped into the whirlpool of Issy's thoughts with a familiar sound. In the chapter of “Vivian” that he had just finished, the beautiful shopgirl was imprisoned on board the yacht of the millionaire kidnaper, while the hero, in his own yacht, was miles astern. But the hero's faithful friend, disguised as a stoker, was tampering with the villain's engine. A vague idea began to form in Issy's brain. Once get the would-be eloper aboard the Lady May, and, even though the warning note should remain undelivered, he—
Issy smiled, and the ghastliness of that smile was unnoticed by his companions.
“I—I'll do it,” he cried. “By mighty! I WILL do it. You be at the wharf here at four o'clock. I wouldn't do it for everybody, Sam Bartlett, but for you I'd do consider'ble, just now. And I don't want your ten dollars nuther.”
Doctoring an engine may be easy enough—in stories. But to doctor a gasoline engine so that it will run for a certain length of time and THEN break down is not so easy. Three o'clock came and the problem was still unsolved. Issy, the perspiration running down his face, stood up in the Lady May's cockpit and looked out across the bay, smooth and glassy in the afternoon sun.
The sky overhead was clear and blue, but along the eastern and southern horizon was a gray bank of cloud, heaped in tumbled masses.
A sunburned lobsterman in rubber boots and a sou'wester was smoking on the wharf.