“We—we’re rich,” sighed Lucile as they walked toward the O Moo, “but you know I have a private fortune.”
She drew a letter from her pocket and waved it in air. “One hundred dollars for my story. Hooray!”
“Hooray!” came from the rest.
“Of course,” sighed Lucile, “the editor said the check would spoil me for life, but since the story was worth it he was bound to buy it. Regular fatherly letter, but he’s a dear and the check is real money.”
“To eat has a more pleasant sound than to sleep,” said Florence when they were once more in the cabin of the O Moo. “What do you say to lamb chops, french fried potatoes, hot coffee and doughnuts?”
“At two in the morning?” grinned Mark.
“What’s a better time? All in favor, say ‘aye.’ The ayes have it.”
“There are a few things I don’t yet understand,” said Lucile as they sat enjoying their repast.
“And a lot that I don’t,” added Mark. “Miss Florence Huyler, the pleasure’s all yours.”
“Well,” said Florence, “it was about like this: The Negontisks were living in that old scow. Instead of three or four sleepy old Chinamen, there were twenty or thirty near-savages skulking about this dry dock. Being afraid of us, they tacked a note of warning to our yacht. When we didn’t leave they decided to frighten us or kill us, I don’t know which. They chased me into the old museum and tried to surround Lucile among the ice-piles. Lucile’s seeing the blue face in the old Mission was of course an accident; so too was my finding the blue candlestick. That man who chased me lost it. When other plans failed they decided to set us adrift, which they did.”