Mrs. Arnold had gone below and the hatless invader reluctantly abandoned his prize. On the homeward voyage he gave way to exhaustion and fell into several naps of forty winks' duration, during the last of which a grotesque dream troubled his peace. He found himself chasing Serena Lamb around an enormous bass drum, as big as the Heidelberg tun, on the stretched skin of which the oaf, the manikin and the pantaloon were dancing a fandango. Still he chased Serena and still she escaped him, the toes of the dancers pounding a heavy tattoo. Faster and faster pursuer and pursued whirled around the side of the drum, till Aronson's head swam like a kitten's in hot pursuit of his own tail. At last in his despair he hurled the subpoena at Serena's head.
The three dancers disappeared with a bursting sound into the hollow of the drum, and he awoke to find the tugboat just bumping its side against the dock. The sea had smoothed down to a lack-luster glaze, but it was less dreary than the heart of the baffled pursuer.
"We may as well cancel that little debit item now," said Skipper Perkins, flinging a coil of rope ashore.
"At any cost," repeated Aronson sorely to himself. He had done his best, but Mrs. Arnold was out of sight of land—a fugitive from justice.
CHAPTER LVIII.
THE MIRACLE.
It was after two o'clock when, breathless, spiritless, and penniless, Saul Aronson arrived at the court-room again. The examination of Bertha was nearly ended.
"Will you take these spectacles, Miss Lund?" said Shagarach, handing Bertha a pair. They looked like the "horns" that used to straddle our grandfathers' noses, being uncommonly large, circular in shape and fitted with curved wires to pass over the ears.
"Do they bear any resemblance to Prof. Arnold's?"