“Oh, do you know him?” asked Tom, quickly.
“He called one evening,” explained Madge, while just the faintest suggestion of a blush suffused her pretty face. “He and Mr. Pierce.”
“They did!” exclaimed Phil, looking keenly at his sister.
“Hush!” she exclaimed. “Silly boy. Don’t make a scene!”
“Senor Boswell—is he not here?” went on the Mexican, and there was anxiety in his voice. “I was inform that he come off on a boat, and in this direction. I see your launch moored here, and I am of the belief, perhaps, that he may be here. Is it not?” and again he smiled.
“No, he isn’t here, and we haven’t seen him,” said Tom.
“Pardon, senors and senoritas,” said the Mexican, bowing as well as he could in his small boat. “I shall look farther. I have the honor to bid you good afternoon,” and he rowed away, up the lake.
“What do you suppose he wanted of Boswell in such a hurry?” asked Sid in a low voice of Tom, as they were getting in the launch.
“Give it up,” was the answer, but Tom was doing some hard thinking just about that time.