“What I was going to say was this: Bessie has got a lot of sand and pluck. You know that.”
“Yes.”
“Well, if anybody saves Bess it will be Bess herself who accomplishes it, and it wouldn’t surprise me a bit if she should find a way to do it. There is one thing dead sure, and that is that we can’t do anything—not a blessed thing—now. We’ve got to wait till we can get the right sort of a start. We can’t hope to overtake Bess, and be on hand to do her any sort of good, inside of two or three weeks, and it may be as many months. The Atlantic Ocean is a whopping big place, and there are several other oceans to take into account, too; and so, here is the face of the thing, as I wanted you to look at it a moment ago: If Bessie is not in immediate danger, she is just about as safe three months from now as she would be three days from now. If that pirate means any devil’s work, he’ll get about it before he is very much older; and if it happens that there is enough of the gentleman left in him to make him keep his hands off and respect her, why, then no actual harm will come to her. Don’t you see that?”
“Yes, and it makes me hope. Because I do think——”
“What?”
“I think that perhaps the count is still a gentleman, outwardly, at least; don’t you?”
“No, I don’t. But I do think he is in love with Bess. And if he is, that is the only one thing in the world that will save her.”
“Why, Max, that very fact—if it is a fact——”
“There, there, now! That very fact is what I’m talking about. If he is really in love with Bess, she’ll be as safe from harm when we find her as if she had been aboard the Goalong all the time.”
“But, Max! Have you thought——”