So, in the end, she lost the race. Having crossed the lagoon, the fleeing one abandoned his boat, climbed the breakwater and disappeared in the Florida orange grove that by some touch of magic had been made to grow on the shores of Chicago.
“Oh, well,” she sighed, settling back in her seat. “It’s a grand night for dreaming, and who could fail to dream at night in a slow old Dodge-Em. I—”
“Hello there! Out for a ride?”
It was Erik Nord who called from another Dodge-Em.
“Did—did you see him, too?”
She spoke before she thought.
“See him?”
“Yes—er—well, there was a curious sort of person out here on the water. Gone now.” She would not tell him, not just yet.
“Let’s double up,” he suggested. “Fine night for sport.”
So it happened that she found herself seated in his Dodge-Em, gliding across the blue waters.