The hour was late. There were few boats on the lagoon.
“Queer, the things you can do with these things.” He steered his craft toward the shadows. In the shadows was another Dodge-Em. Without appearing to plan it, he allowed his boat to strike the other a glancing blow.
Came a scream from the other boat.
“Hey! Watch out! What are you doing?”
“Beg your pardon!”
Erik and Florence glided away. “No,” he chuckled, “you can’t hurt ’em, these Dodge-Ems. Don’t hurt the spooners to shake ’em up a bit.”
“Look out!” Florence gripped his arm. He was headed square for a Dodge-Em coming from the other way. Too late. Came a sudden jolt, a growl from a placid fat man who, up to that moment, had been dreaming along in his own slow way.
“Nope, you can’t hurt them. And they can’t hurt you!” Once again they were away.
They passed out no more sudden shocks that night, but gliding down the lagoon and back again, talked of many things, of customs in China, of temples and gardens, of America and her own ways and of the great Fair.
“It’s been a pleasure to be with you,” he said, as he bade her good-night at the gate. “Here’s hoping we meet again!”