“Then,” said Dave, still speaking slowly, “all I’ve got to say is that, in a time like this, little talk and much thinking should be the order of the day. Captain Frey says his boys didn’t set the fire. I believe him. I—”
“Then what—”
“One thing more,” Dave broke in, “we’ve just seen those boys put up a fight to save their camp and our boat that would have done credit to seasoned fire fighters.”
Dave stood six feet in his stockings. He had a sharp, penetrating eye. There was that about his tone at this moment that brought the argument to an end.
“All right,” said a sturdily-built old man, known to all at Rock Harbor as the Commodore. “Run your boat into Snug Harbor. Water’s deep there. You’ll tie up for the night?”
“Why, no.” It was Florence who started to speak, then stopped. They had meant to go on but she was weary from the day’s battle, and so, too, were her companions.
“A few hours’ rest,” she thought with a sigh. Then a question came to her, “What of the mysterious man who had insisted that they pass up the ‘Battle of Siskowit’?”
“There’s a boat coming in soon,” she heard the Commodore telling Dave. “A big pleasure yacht from Chicago. She’ll be tying up at the big dock here. That’s why—”
“Oh sure,” Dave broke in, “we’ll slide into Snug Harbor.” He had sensed Florence’s feelings. They would stay for a while at least. Florence heaved a sigh of relief.
“A large pleasure yacht!” she exclaimed. “That will be swell, just to look at.”