But yet Blake persisted. He bowed, openly exultant.
“You see, Miss,” he said, “I know the correct thing quite as much as your swells. I knew all along you were Jenny Leslie. I ran a survey for your dear papa when he was manipulating the Q. T. Railroad, and he did me out of my pay.”
“Oh, but Mr. Blake, I am sure it must be a mistake; I am sure that if it is explained to papa–”
“Yes; we’ll cable papa to-night. Meantime, we’ve something else to do. Suppose you two get a hustle on yourselves, and scrape up something to eat. I’m going out to see what’s left of that blamed old tub.”
“Surely you’ll not venture to swim out so far!” protested Winthrope. “I saw the steamer sink as we cast off.”
“Looks like a mast sticking up out there. Maybe some of the rigging is loose.”
“But the sharks! These waters swarm with the vile creatures. You must not risk your life!”
“’Cause why? If I do, the babes in the woods will be left without even the robins to cover them, poor things! But cheer up!–maybe the mud-hens will do it with lovely water-lilies.”
“Please, Mr. Blake, do not be so cruel!” sobbed Miss Leslie, her tears starting afresh. “The sun makes my head ache dreadfully, and I have no hat or shade, and I’m becoming so thirsty!”
“And you think you’ve only to wait, and half a dozen stewards will come running with parasols and ice water. Neither you nor Winthrope seem to ’ve got your eyes open. Just suppose you get busy and do something. Winthrope, chase yourself over the mud, and get together a mess of fish that are not too dead. Must be dozens, after the blow. As for you, Miss Jenny, I guess you can pick up some reeds, and rig a headgear out of this handkerchief– Wait a moment. Put on my coat, if you don’t want to be broiled alive through the holes of that peek-a-boo.”