On With Torchy Part 36

"But I've been wanting to do that this half-hour," says Vee.

"Well, let's then," says I.

"Go on," says Mabel, "and tell me about it afterward."

Oh, yes, we explores. Say, I'm a bear for that too! You have to go hand in hand over the rocks, to keep from slippin'. And the fog makes it all the nicer. We didn't go far before we came to the edge. Then we cross in another direction, and comes to more edge.

"Why, we're on a little island!" says Vee.

"Big enough for us," says I. "Here's a good place to sit down too."

We settles ourselves in a snug little corner that gives us a fine view of the fog.

"How silly of you to come away up here," says Vee, "just because--well, just because."

"It's the only wise move I was ever guilty of," says I. "I feel like I had Solomon in the grammar grade."

"But how did you happen to get here--with Payne?" says she.

"Hypnotized him," says I. "That part was a cinch."

"And until to-day you didn't know where we were, or anything," says she.

"I scouted around a bit yesterday afternoon," says I. "Saw you too."

"Yesterday!" says she. "Why, no one came near all the afternoon; that is, only a couple of lobstermen in a horrid, smelly old boat."

"Uh-huh," says I. "One was me, in disguise."

"Torchy!" says she, gaspin'. And somehow she snuggles up a little closer after that. "I didn't think when I wrote," she goes on, "that you would be so absurd."

"Maybe I was," says I. "But I took it straight, that part about it bein' stupid up here. I was figurin' on liftin' the gloom. I hadn't counted on Payne."

"Well, what then?" says she, tossin' her chin up.

"Nothin'," says I. "Guess you were right, too."

"He only came the other day," says Vee; "but he's nice."

"Aunty thinks so too, don't she?" says I.

"Why, yes," admits Vee.

"Another chosen one, is he?" says I.

Vee flushes. "I don't care!" says she. "He is rather nice."

"Correct," says I. "I found him that way too; but ain't he--well, just a little stiff in the neck?"

That brings out a giggle. "Poor Payne!" says Vee. "He is something of a stick, you know."

"We'll forgive him for that," says I. "We'll forgive Mabel. We'll forgive the fog. Eh?" Then my arm must have slipped.

"Why, Torchy!" says she.

"Oh!" says I. "Thought you were too near the edge." And the side clinch wa'n't disturbed.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Then my arm must have slipped--and the side clinch wa'n't disturbed.]

Some chat too! I don't know when we've had a chance for any such a good long talk as that, and we both seemed to have a lot of conversation stored up. Then we chucked pebbles into the water, and Vee pulls some seaweed and decorates my round hat. You know? It's easy killin' time when you're paired off right. And the first thing we knows the fog begins to lighten and the sun almost breaks through. We hurries back to where Mabel's just rousin' from a doze.

"Well?" says she.

"It's a tiny little island we're on," says Vee.

"Nice little island, though," says I.

"Hey!" sings out Payne, pokin' his head up over the rocks. "I've been calling and calling."

"We've been explorin'," says I. "Got her fixed yet?"

"Hang it, no!" growls Payne, scrubbin' cotton waste over his forehead.

"And the fog's beginning to lift. Why, there's the sh.o.r.e, and--and--well, what do you think of that? We're on Grampus Ledges, not a mile from home!"

Sure enough, there was Roarin' Rocks just showin' up.

"Now if I could only start this confounded engine!" says he, starin'

down at it puzzled.

By this time Vee and Mabel appears, and of course Mabel wants to know what's the matter.

"I'm sure I can't tell," says Payne, sighin' hopeless.

"Wirin' all right, is it?" says I, climbin' in and lookin' scientific.

And--would you believe it?--I only paws around a minute or so before I finds a loose magneto connection, hooks it up proper, and remarks casual, "Now let's try her."

Pur-r-r-r-r! Off she goes. "There!" exclaims Mabel. "I shall never go out again unless William is along. He's so handy!"

Say, she stuck to it. Four days I was chief engineer of the Vixen--and, take it from me, they was perfectly good days. No more fog. No rain. Just shoolin' around in fair weather, makin' excursions here and there, with Vee trippin' down to the dock every day in a fresher and newer yachtin' costume, and lookin' pinker and sweeter every trip.

Course, as regards a certain other party, it was a case of artistic dodgin' for me between times. You got to admit, though, that it wa'n't a fair test for Aunty. I had her off her guard. Might have been diff'rent too, if she'd cared for motorboatin'. So maybe I got careless. I remember once pa.s.sin' Aunty right in the path, as I'm luggin' some things up to the house, and all I does is to hoist the basket up on my shoulder between me and her and push right along.

Then here the last morning just as we got under way for a run to Damariscotta, she and Mrs. Hollister was up on the cliff seein' us off.

All the rest was wavin'; so just for sport I takes off my hat and waves too, grinnin' humorous at Vee as I makes the play. But, say, next time I looks back she's up on the veranda with the fieldgla.s.ses trained on us. I keeps my hat on after that. My kind of red hair is prominent enough to the naked eye at almost any distance--but with fieldgla.s.ses!

Good night!

It was a day for forgettin' things, though. Ever sailed up the Scotty River on a perfect August day, with the sun on the green hills, a sea breeze tryin' to follow the tide in, and the white gulls swingin' lazy overhead? It's worth doin'. Then back again, roundin' Ocean Point about sunset, with the White Islands all tinted up pink off there, and the old Atlantic as smooth as a skatin' rink as far out as you can see, and streaked with more colors than a crazy cubist can sling,--some peaceful picture.

But what a jar to find Aunty, grim and forbidding waitin' on the dock.