“If you want to get out to the yacht, you likely can find some boatman at the dock who will row you over,” the clerk advised.
Madge thanked him and turned away. She scarcely knew what to do. It would prove embarrassing to go alone to the Burnett yacht, and yet, surely they were expecting her. After traveling so many miles it would be foolish to return home without making an attempt to see her friend. It was barely possible that an accident had delayed Enid.
“I may as well try to locate the yacht,” she decided.
She carried her suitcase outside and a taxi driver immediately came to her assistance. Directing him to take her to the wharf, she sank wearily against the cushions, scarcely troubling herself to gaze at the tall office buildings which whizzed by on either side as the cab rattled over the rough pavement. A short drive carried her within sight of the bay and only then did she lean forward in her seat to obtain a better view.
The taxi halted near the wharf and the driver swung open the car door. Madge alighted and paid her fare.
“Can you tell me which yacht is The Flora?” she inquired.
“She lies yonder.” The driver indicated a vessel anchored out some distance in the bay.
At sight of the trim little yacht with its gay flags fluttering in the off shore breeze, Madge’s spirits arose. It was good to be near the water again. And a two weeks’ sailing trip would be such glorious fun!
She looked about for someone to row her out to the yacht. The wharf appeared deserted, for the hour approached noon. After walking a short distance along the water front, her attention was attracted to a man who sat hunched over in a boat that was tied to the dock. His lunch was spread out on the seat before him, but his real interest seemed to center upon something out in the bay. Following his gaze, Madge saw that he was intently watching The Flora.
“He must have a boat to rent,” she reasoned. “I’ll see if I can bargain with him.”