"Oh! that's all very well for you, Veezy Vee!" cried poor Viola. "But if you had on a silk waist, you would feel differently, I know you would. And my hat simply was the sweetest thing you ever saw; wasn't it, Tom? Sugar was salt beside it; wasn't it, Tom?"
Tom, who had been holding a consultation with Phil over the broken rudder, answered by a brief, though not unfriendly growl, and paid no further attention to her. The painter of his boat was made fast to the Petrel's stern, and the latter was soon winging her way toward the Camp, towing the disabled boat behind her.
"Aren't you Vincent of 1903?" asked Phil, leaning over the stern, his hand on the tiller and one eye on the clouds. "Thought so! Used to see you about the yard. My name is Merryweather; 1902."
"Glad to know you!" said Tom Vincent. "I thought it must be you; I used to see you rowing, of course. Your brother—"
He was interrupted by excited squeaks from his sister, who was gazing at Phil with sparkling eyes.
"No!" she cried. "It can't be! It would be too delicious! not Merryweather! Don't ask me to believe it, Peggy, for it simply is beyond my powers. Not the Snowy's brother!"
"Yes, indeed!" said Peggy, laughing as she, too, leaned back over the stern. "Let me introduce you; Mr. Philip Merryweather, Miss Viola Vincent."
"Awfully glad!" said Phil, making a motion toward where his hat should have been. "I've often heard my sister speak of you, Miss Vincent."
"Oh! Mr. Merryweather, I adore the Snowy!" cried Viola. "She is simply the dearest creature on the face of the earth. I would give the wide world—I would give my very best frill to see her. Don't tell me she is near here, for I should expire with joy; simply expire!"
"I certainly will not," said Phil, smiling, "if the consequences would really be so terrible, Miss Vincent. Otherwise, I might venture to predict that you would see her in about ten minutes. If you feel any untoward symptoms developing, please consider it unsaid!"