“Au revoir, Danny dear,” said Maisie in a voice that rang with joy.
“Good-by, Maisie. Good afternoon, Mr. Casson. I hope you’ll enjoy your game.”
“Thank you, boy. Ta-ta!”
Dan bowed them out of his office and returned to his seat by the window.
“Thunder!” he murmured presently. “Thunder, lightning and a downpour of frogs and small fishes! Now, what imp put into my silly head that impulse to kiss Maisie! I’m mighty fond of Maisie, but I’m not at all certain that I’d care to marry her—she’s so practical and dominating and lovable. Such a good pal. I wonder if I’d be happy married to Maisie. . . . I’m a lunatic. When fellows of my mental type marry they give hostages to fortune, and I haven’t lived yet. My life has been dull and prosaic—nothing new under heaven—and then I had that impulse—yes, that was new! That kiss from Maisie was an adventure. It thrilled me. I wonder what put the idea into my fool head!”
If he had not been fully as stupid as Maisie gave him credit for being, he would have known that Maisie had put the idea into his head. Being what he was, however, he went down to Meiggs Wharf at four o’clock to meet Henderson, still obsessed with the belief that, all unknown to himself hitherto, he was a singularly daring, devilish and original character!
CHAPTER III
Following the departure of the Customs tug, Gaston of the Beard had sat below in earnest converse with Tamea. The Triton had wept a little at first, albeit his tears were not for himself but for Tamea; and after her initial gust of despair and grief, the girl had remembered that strength and not weakness was what her father expected of her. Accordingly she had rallied to the task of comforting him.
“And you knew I had contracted this disease, my daughter?” old Gaston queried amazedly.
“Oui, mon père. I saw the puffy places on your cheeks and knuckles before we sailed from Riva, but I was not certain until I saw you one day in swimming. There is a white patch on your right shoulder.”