“Hello, sweetheart. And what can I do for you?”
“Don’t be impertinent,” said Tish tartly. “I said ‘good evening, dearie’, as a signal.”
“And a darned fine signal I call it,” he said, rising. “Let’s have a look at you before the old lady comes along with my supper.”
“I have given you the signal. If you haven’t anything for me, say so.”
“Well, what is it you want?” he inquired, grinning at us in a horrible manner. “A kiss?”
As he immediately began to advance toward Tish, to this action on his part may be laid the misfortune which almost at once beset us. For there is no question that had it not discomposed her she would never have attempted to turn by backing onto the fish pier, which has been rotten for years. But in her indignation she did so, and to our horror we felt the thing giving way beneath us. There was one loud sharp crack followed by the slow splintering of wood, and the next moment we were resting gently on some piles above the water, with the shattered framework of the pier overhead and the watchman yelling that the company would sue us for damages.
“Damages!” said Tish, still holding to the steering wheel, while Aggie wailed in the rear. “You talk of damages to me! I’ll put you and your company in the penitentiary if I have to——”
Here she suddenly checked herself and turned to me.
“The penitentiary, of course!” she said. “How stupid of us! And I dare say they keep the ropes they hang people with in a closet. They have to keep them somewhere. Speaking of ropes,” she went on, raising her voice, “if that old fool up there will get a rope, I dare say we can scramble out.”
“Old fool yourself!” cried the watchman, dancing about. “Coming here and making love to me, and then destroying my pier! You can sit there till those piles rot, far’s I’m concerned. There’s something queer about this business anyhow; how do I know you ain’t escaped from the pen?”