When the hour’s trip was nearly over she gave him a quick nudge with her arm. “There’s Jim!” She looked down the stairway.
“Where? I thought you said he wasn’t coming.”
“So I did. He said he had work to do.”
“Work!” Billy’s tone held a fine scorn. “Did you think any one would stay away for that? I wouldn’t. I’ve worked in our garden till nearly ten o’clock some of the nights this week, so I might feel free for to-day. I didn’t know till yesterday it was changed to an evening affair.”
But Erminie was not heeding. “Billy, you must not let Jim see—”
“Jim be hanged! You’ve put me off for days with that plea. I’m not afraid of the Kid, I—”
“Oh, Billy! Won’t you listen—”
“Not to one word. I brought you to this picnic; I have the lunch, and you’re going to sit it out with me while we eat, and dance with me, and go home—”
While he spoke, Jim and Walter Buckman came up from the lower deck, in animated discussion of some matter that pleased them both. The dancers had stopped, and nearly all were standing in groups at the rail, watching the shore come nearer as the puffing craft approached the landing.
“Oh, you Fishie!” Jim sang out on seeing her. “You’re going to feed with Buck and me; we’ve got the grub and—”