“Oh, all right,” assented Jack. “Of course, if you all insist. Perhaps I can live!” and he sighed dramatically.
Two hours later the motor girls and the boys, all refreshed in correct summer garb, without any evidence of their morning’s experience, waited on the pier, while the big excursion boat Columbia sailed in, her colors flying gaily, and the hands and hats of seemingly every youth in Chelton, waving over the deck rails, as the annual summer outing of Lincoln County put in to port at Lookout Beach.
Hazel and Paul were with the Kimballs and Robinsons, so that all our friends from Chelton united in welcoming the excursionists.
“There’s Fred!” called Jack, the first to discover a familiar face in the big crowd.
“And there’s Ben,” added Ed. “As if Fred Bennet could travel without Ben Fredericks.”
“Clear the way there, please,” ordered the boatman. “We must have room for the gangplank—that’s a big crowd.”
The girls left the inside aisle, and slipped under the rail to the outer walk of the pier, but the boys held to their place. They insisted upon seeing the people land, and it was no little fun to be real sojourners at the popular watering place, when so many other boys and girls have to be content to visit the beach for a single day.
“Oh, there’s little Nannette,” called Cora. “Jack! Jack!” she shouted, “bring Nannette over here. See! she is walking with that old man!”
Jack ducked in and out of the crowd until he reached the girl called Nannette. She was a very small creature, a cripple, and when seen by Cora, the latter immediately essayed to look after the delicate child, so that she might not suffer unnecessarily in the rush and crush of the crowd.
And Nannette was indeed glad to see Jack Kimball. The young man almost carried her to Cora, for Nannette was a general favorite in the village—one of those human buds that never blossom, but always stay in the childhood of promise—unconscious of time and unmindful of method.