For I read the steamer’s name on the stern. I had sailed on her once myself.
CHAPTER III.
BY CHANCE.
Not one word could I get out of that tight-mouthed little cuss, Stevens. He didn’t even deign to look my way till we had rounded the couple of points, and he was approaching the float of a hotel dock that ran alongside the ferry slip at College Point.
But what he did say then was rather complimentary, and I liked the smack of it. We had come alongside the float; and both of us, at his nod, had quitted the launch; and he stood there steadying her with his left hand.
“Well,” said he heartily, as he stuck out his right for a shake, “you’re a good man at obeying orders.”
I felt something crumple in my fist as I withdrew it. A crisp twenty it proved to be, and I realized that I had served my purpose.
“That yellow boy was pretty easy earned; eh, lad?” said he, with a chuckle. “And with a little excitement thrown in, eh? But a closed mouth spills no mush. So I guess I’ll run her back myself.”
And blow me if the little, old rascal didn’t pop right into the craft, start her with the skill of an old hand at the game; and, steering with the side lever with which the boat was fitted, he sped away, directly retracing the course we had just covered.
I strolled shoreward along the wharf toward the hotel porch, where I sat myself at one of the tables and ordered a steak. And, while it was cooking, I tried to dope out a little of the mystery.
Fifteen minutes of hard concentration brought me but one point; and that point, as I have already said, had already flashed to me on an intuitional second. I mean about the girl. Beyond my sudden love for her, nothing showed up to me at all. I simply couldn’t make head or tail to a thing that had transpired since I had been sitting with my grouch back there on the town dock at Port Washington.