Mayo said nothing more. But after the yachtsmen had looked him over they
went out, making the affair a subject for ridicule.
"Hope I done right and showed to you that I was thankful for good
advice," suggested Mr. Speed, seeking commendation.
"Just a bit hasty, sir."
"Maybe, but there's nothing like handing folks a sample just to show up
the quality of the whole piece."
"I thank you--both of you," said the grateful operator.
"You'd better lock your door," advised Mayo. "Men are thoughtless when
they have nothing to do except play."
"I am so grateful! And I'm going to break an office rule," volunteered
the girl. "I shall send off your telegrams first."
"And I hope you can tuck that little one in second--it won't take
up much room!" pleaded Oakum Otie. "It's to help an awful pretty
girl--looks are a good deal like yours!"
"I'll attend to it," promised the young woman, blushing.
Outside in the village street Mr. Speed wiped his rough palm against the
leg of his trousers and offered his hand to the captain. "I'll have to
say good-by to you here, sir. I've got a little errunting to do--fig o'
terbacker and a box of stror'b'ries. I confess to a terrible tooth for
stror'b'ries. When the hanker ketches me and I can't get to stror'b'ries
my stror'b'ry mark shows up behind my ear. I hope I have done right in
sending off that tele-graft for her--but it's too bad that a landlubber
beau is going to get such a pretty girl." Then Oakum Otie sighed and
melted away into the foggy gloom.
When Captain Mayo was half-way down the harbor, on his way back to the
yacht, he was confronted by a spectacle which startled him. The fog
was suddenly painted with a ruddy flare which spread high and flamed
steadily. His first fears suggested that a vessel was on fire. The
Olenia lay in that direction. He commanded his men to pull hard.
When he burst out of the mists into the zone of the illumination his
misgivings were allayed, but his curiosity was roused.
A dozen yacht tenders flocked in a flotilla near the stern of a rusty
old schooner. All the tenders were burning Coston lights, and from
several boats yachtsmen were sending off rockets which striped the pall
of fog with bizarre colorings.
The stern of the schooner was well lighted up by the torches, and Mayo
saw her name, though he did not need that name to assure him of her
identity; she was the venerable Polly.