Rusty favored him with a gorgeous smile.
When, a little later, Johnny made a try for that same young lady’s smile, the cloud once again passed over her face, but no smile. He was not, however, entirely discouraged. It was, he thought, more as if she could not forgive him than that she did not want to.
“We saw the shadow pass,” Lawrence confided to the girl, as at last they stood before a canning machine.
“Oh!” the girl breathed. “Did you? And what—”
“It vanished into the fog.”
“I have a small motor-boat,” the girl said, in evident excitement. “It’s the Krazy Kat. I—I’m going out to look for the shadow in the fog.”
“You—you’d better not do that,” Johnny spoke before he thought. “You’d be—” He did not finish.
“I was practically born and raised here.” She spoke to him, as an old-time Alaskan might to a newcomer.
Johnny did not resent it. He had spoken out of turn. And yet he was disturbed. He did not care to think of this fine young creature out there in the fog alone. Supposing she did find the Orientals setting nets. Suppose they found her, alone out there in the fog?
“None of my business,” he told himself fiercely. “Just none at all.”