“Yes,” said Dick, “I want you to come back. I’ve never wanted anything else.”
“Do you mean that?” questioned Taylor’s eyes.
“I do,” answered Dick’s.
Kirk arose. “That’s settled, then, and I’m very glad. I don’t think you’ll regret it, Taylor. And I’ll look for you to-morrow afternoon, shall I?”
“Yes, sir.” He accompanied them down to the door courteously, and bade them good-night smilingly from the stoop. When the two reached the street Kirk heaved a sigh of relief.
“That’s over with,” he muttered.
“Yes,” echoed Dick, “it’s over.”
But Taylor didn’t report for crew work on the following afternoon. Instead, a message came saying that he had fallen while coming out of chapel, and had sprained his right knee. And Dick, wistfully watching the distant boat from his window, wondered whether Fate had changed its mind.