Io regarded her speculatively and with suspicion. “He asked the same about me, I suppose.” Such was her interpretation of the laugh.
“But he gave you credit for being only temporarily deranged.”
“Either he or I ought to be up for examination by a medical board,” stated the girl poutingly. “One of us must be crazy. The night that I stole his molasses pie—it was pretty awful pie, but I was starved—I stumbled over something in the darkness and fell into it with an awful clatter. What do you suppose it was?”
“I think I could guess,” smiled the other.
“Not unless you knew. Personally I couldn’t believe it. It felt like a boat, and it rocked like a boat, and there were the seats and the oars. I could feel them. A steel boat! Miss Van Arsdale, it isn’t reasonable.”
“Why isn’t it reasonable?’
“I looked on the map in his room and there isn’t so much as a mud-puddle within miles and miles and miles. Is there?”
“Not that I know of.”
“Then what does he want of a steel boat?”
“Ask him.”