probably with his usual mental reservations, for even the lone spectator observed,—"I wouldn't give much for your share, Monsieur Pete."
Then, stamping out the fire, the six trudged over the sand to the East, the girl dragging behind in the torment of fear and indecision, while the youth still informed the night, over and over again, that it was "a funny lil ol' islan'."
Shortly after, the Frenchman hurried to the hotel, packed his bag, and took the creaky bus to the station, much earlier than he had expected.
Meantime the six, after a suitable refreshment at Tom Grogan's, resumed their journey, past the wharves and schooners, the sail-lofts and chandleries, to a dock clear at the other end of the waterfront.
Through a rift in the clouds, the moon shone on the Aileen, riding at anchor in all her trim beauty, a little way out in the harbour.
Alongside the dock lay a little gasoline launch, with a figure in the cockpit, working over the engine. To MacAllister's question the man replied,—"All set, cap," and the five stepped in the launch, the girl shrinking back as though it were a maelstrom she was about to enter.
"None of your sulks, Carlotta," ordered MacAllister, "come, in with you."
Then it was that Carlotta tried what was always her last resort, a still prettier bit of temperament, that luxury of all stars, than any she had ever conceived in more familiar haunts.
"Phil," she shrieked, grabbing the youth's arm, "yuh know
