"Gee," said Honey, after they had all disappeared, "that took the last
drop of resolution in me. By Jove, you don't suppose they'll get sore
and stay away for good?"
Frank shook his head.
Day by day the men worked on the Clubhouse; they worked their hardest
from the moment of sunrise to the instant of sunset. It was a square
building, big compared with the little cabins. They made a wide, heavy
door at one end and long windows with shutters on both sides. These were
kept closed.
"Only one more day's work," Frank said at the end of a fortnight, "and
then - ."
They finished the Clubhouse, as he prophesied, the next day.
"Now to furnish it," Frank said.
They put up rough shelves and dressing-tables. They put in chairs and
hammocks. Then, working secretly at night when the moon was full, or in
the morning just after sunrise - at any time during the day when the
girls were not in sight - they transferred the contents of a half a
dozen women's trunks to the Clubhouse. They hung the clothes
conspicuously in sight; they piled many small toilet articles on tables
and shelves; they placed dozens of mirrors about.
"It looks like a sale at the Waldorf," Honey said as they stood
surveying the effect. "Tomorrow, we begin our psychological siege. Is
that right, Frank?"
"Psychological siege is right," answered Frank with an unaccustomed
gayety and an unaccustomed touch of slang.
In the meantime the girls had shown their pique at this treatment in a
variety of small ways. Peachy and Clara made long detours around the
island in the effort not to pass near the camp. Chiquita and Lulu flew
overhead, but only in order to throw pebbles and sand down on the men
while they were working.
Julia alone took no part in this feud. If she was visible at all, it was
only as a glittering speck in the far-off reaches of the blue sky.
The next time the four girls approached the island, the men arose
immediately from their work. With an ostentatious carelessness, they
went into the Clubhouse. With an ostentatious carefulness, they closed
the door. They stayed there for three hours.
Outside, the girls watched this maneuver in visible astonishment. They
drew together and talked it over, flew down close to the Clubhouse, flew
about it in circles, examined it on every side, made even one perilous
trip across the roof, the tips of their feet tapping it in vicious
little dabs. But flutter as they would, jabber as they would, the
Clubhouse preserved a tomb-like silence. After a while they banged on
the shutters and knocked against the door; but not a sound or movement
manifested itself inside.