Tillie fixed her keen blue eyes upon the trio. All were dressed in silk pajamas and were smoking cigarettes.
“Since when?” she demanded, as her hands moved toward an oar.
“Since then!” The older of the two boys seized a short pike pole from the deck and struck her across the back.
To Florence, who looked on, it seemed that Tillie’s red hair stood on end, as she seized her oar and, using it as a spear, gave the intruder a sharp thrust in the stomach that doubled him up and sent him reeling off the narrow deck into the water.
“Hey, you little devil!” The other youth turned purple with rage.
All to no purpose. Tillie’s oar mowed him down. He, too, went into the water.
“That for all your robbin’, gamblin’ lot!” Tillie screamed.
Then in quite another tone, “Up anchor and away. There’s a storm brewing.”
They were away before the first of their adversaries had reached the side of the sailboat.
The shore was not far away. Tillie headed straight for it.