“So many longshore-men and waterfront derelicts are like that,” Enid told her. “You can’t trust some of them out of your sight. It’s a wonder he didn’t run off with your suitcase.”
The girls maintained a faithful watch but no ships passed near the yacht. They were about to despair when Madge noticed a black and red amphibian taxiing toward shore.
“Oh, I hope the pilot sees our signal!” she exclaimed. “He’s not looking this way.”
Frantically, they waved their hands to attract his attention. They feared they had failed, for the plane maintained its course. Then suddenly it swerved and the pilot returned their greeting.
“Why, it’s Rex Stewart!” Enid cried, observing the amphibian’s wing markings. “And he’s coming this way.”
Madge did not inquire as to the identity of the young man mentioned, but from the poppy color which swiftly mounted Enid’s cheeks, she surmised that he was a very special friend.
Rex Stewart had known and admired Enid for many years. He was the son of a prominent, ultra-conservative Cheltham Bay lawyer but had inherited none of his father’s staid viewpoints. It was the private opinion of the Stewart family that he was too reckless, and far too interested in aviation for his own good. Rex liked fast horses and speedy motorboats; he owned his own amphibian and was an excellent pilot. He made friends easily and kept them. And, rather to the surprise of everyone, he stood high in the sophomore class of Ardmore College.
The plane continued toward the yacht, slackening its speed as it approached. While still far enough away to be in no danger of crashing the propeller or wings against the side of the ship, Rex idled the engine, allowing the plane to drift.
“Anything wrong?” he called out.
Trying to make themselves heard above the roar of the engine, Madge and Enid finally succeeded in conveying the idea that they wished to be taken ashore.