Marian recognized the young man of the schooner, Mark Pence. She had talked with him once before. He had helped her home with her two dozen cans of label-less fruits and vegetables. Having liked him then, she decided to trust him now, so in a few well-chosen words she confided their fears for their companion’s safety.
“Shucks!” said the boy. “That’ll be all right. She’ll show up all right. Probably went farther than she intended. But—sure, I’ll take a turn with you through our little village of boats. Be glad to.”
They wandered in and out among the various crafts. Scarcely a word was spoken until they came to the great black bulk of the scow inhabited by the Chinamen.
“I’ll rout ’em out. Might know something,” said Mark.
He knocked several times but received no response. He was about to enter when Lucile whispered:
“Wait a minute. Were—were you in the war?”
“A trifle. Not to amount to much.”
“Know how to use a gas mask?”
“Well, rather. Six seconds is my record. Know that old joke about the ‘quick and the dead,’ don’t you? I was quick.”
Lucile smiled. She was holding out an oblong package fastened to a strap, also a small glass bottle.