Apparently a box had been opened beside the flower shop door. The box was gone, but some broken fragments of wood remained. Picking up one of these, Angelo began to whittle absent-mindedly. His actions so fascinated the boy that he found it hard to talk coherently. However, he forced himself into the task of talking about the weather, the river, speed boats and rare flowers. In the meantime he watched the keen blade of Angelo’s knife chipping out short, sharp shavings of wood.
“He’s nervous. His fingers tremble,” he told himself.
A customer appeared. Angelo went inside. After a furtive glance, Johnny bent over, seized a handful of Angelo’s shavings, then hurried away.
A block down the street he paused to drop the shavings into a used envelope and thrust them into the side pocket of his coat. “Exhibit A,” he murmured as he marched on toward the office of the News where he was to study Exchanges. “Exhibit A. I wonder!”
CHAPTER XXII
ON THE “SLEEPING LION”
That morning, in the ghostly hour just before dawn, Red Rodgers and Berley Todd crept out into the frosty air of Isle Royale.
“To-day,” the girl whispered, “we are to play.”
And yet, as she stood upon the rocks watching the waves that, now roaring as they rose, now whispering as they fell, broke upon those rugged shores, she seemed to see beneath their surface grim black hands stretching out to grasp her.
It was strange, those black waters in the eerie hour before dawn. Even the staunch young athlete felt it and was silent.
Once stout oars were in their hands, however, all was changed. To feel the rise and fall of the boat, to skim the crests of waves, to catch the rhythmic rowing that, like a song in the night, seemed to lift them and bear them down—this was life.