“Why, Victor!” she said, “it is—”
“What?” asked her companion. Then, looking at me, “Oh! it's you, is it?”
I did not answer. Luck was certainly against me. No matter where I went, on land or water, I was fated to meet these two.
Victor, apparently, was thinking the same thing. “By Jove!” he observed; “Mabel, we seem destined to . . . Humph! Well? Will you give us a hand?”
The most provoking part of it was that, if I had known who was in that rowboat, I could have avoided the encounter. Ben Small could have gone to their rescue just as well as I. However, here I was, and here they were. And I could not very well go away and leave them, under the circumstances.
Victor's patience was giving way.
“What are you waiting for?” he demanded. “Aren't you going to help us? We'll pay you for it.”
I pulled the skiff a little closer and, drawing in my oars, turned and picked up the slack of my anchor rope.
“Here,” I said, brusquely; “catch this line and I'll tow you.”
I tossed him the loop of rope and he caught it.