"Deuced bother," says he, "not having any man. I had a picnic planned for today too."
"That so?" says I. "Well, I'm no marine engineer, but I'm just killin' time around here, and if I could help any way——"
"Oh, I say, but that's jolly of you," says he, "I wonder if you would, for a day or so? My name's Hollister, Payne Hollister."
He wasn't Payne to me. He was Joy. Easy? Why, he fairly pushes me into it! Digs a white jumper out of a locker for me, and a little round canvas hat with "Vixen" on the front, and trots back uptown to buy me a swell pair of rubber-soled deck shoes. Business of quick change for yours truly. Then look! Say, here I am, just about the yachtiest thing in sight, leanin' back on the steerin' seat cushions of a classy speed boat that's headed towards Vee at a twenty-mile clip.
CHAPTER XIII
AUNTY FLAGS A ROSY ONE
Lemme see, I was headed out of Boothbay Harbor, Maine, bound for Roarin' Rocks, wa'n't I? Hold the picture,—me in a white jumper and little round canvas hat with "Vixen" printed across the front, white shoes too, and altogether as yachty as they come. Don't forget young Mr. Payne Hollister at the wheel, either; although whether I'd kidnapped him, or he'd kidnapped me, is open for debate.
Anyway, here I was, subbin' incog for the reg'lar crew, who was laid up with a sprained ankle. All that because I'd got the happy hail from Vee on a postcard. It wa'n't any time for unpleasant thoughts then; but I couldn't help wonderin' how soon Aunty would loom on the horizon and spoil it all.
"So there's a picnic on the slate, eh?" I suggests.