Where were my good resolutions—my stern reasons to remember who and what I was—to be sane, no matter at what cost to myself? I do not know where they were; then I did not care. I seized her hand. It trembled, but she did not draw it away.
“Mabel—” I cried. “Mabel—”
“BUMP!”
The Comfort shook as the bow of a dory scraped along her starboard quarter. A big red hand clasped the rail and its mate brandished a good-sized club before my eyes.
“Now,” said a determined voice, “I've got ye at last! This time I've caught ye dead to rights! Now, by godfreys, you'll pay me for them lobsters!”
CHAPTER XIX
If I had been giving undivided attention to my combined duties as steersman and pilot, instead of neglecting them for other and more engrossing matters, I should, doubtless, have seen the dory before. As it was I had not seen it at all, nor heard the oars. It had sneaked up on the Comfort out of the darkness and its occupant had laid us aboard as neatly as you please.
I was, to say the least, startled and surprised. I dodged the threatening club and turned a dazed face toward the person brandishing it. He appeared to be a middle-sized, elderly person, in oilskins and souwester, and when he spoke a gray whisker wagged above the chin strap of the souwester.
“Who in blazes are you?” I demanded, as soon as I could get the words together.