AUNTY FLAGS A ROSY ONE
Lemme see, I was headed out of Boothbay Harbor, Maine, bound for
Roarin' Rocks, wa'n't I? Hold the picture,--me in a white jumper and
little round canvas hat with "Vixen" printed across the front, white
shoes too, and altogether as yachty as they come. Don't forget young
Mr. Payne Hollister at the wheel, either; although whether I'd
kidnapped him, or he'd kidnapped me, is open for debate.
Anyway, here I was, subbin' incog for the reg'lar crew, who was laid up
with a sprained ankle. All that because I'd got the happy hail from
Vee on a postcard. It wa'n't any time for unpleasant thoughts then;
but I couldn't help wonderin' how soon Aunty would loom on the horizon
and spoil it all.
"So there's a picnic on the slate, eh?" I suggests.
Young Mr. Hollister nods. "I'd promised some of the folks at the
house," says he. "Guests, you know."
"Oh, yes," says I, feelin' a little shiver flicker down my spine.
I knew. Vee was a guest there. So was Aunty. The picnic prospects
might have been more allurin'. But I'd butted in, and this was no time
to back out. Besides, I was more or less interested in sizin' up Payne
Hollister. Tall, slim, young gent; dark, serious eyes; nose a little
prominent; and his way of speakin' and actin' a bit pompous,--one of
them impatient, quick-motioned kind that wants to do everything in a
minute. He keeps gettin' up and starin' ahead, like he wa'n't quite
sure where he was goin', and then leanin' over to squint at the engine
restless.
"Just see if those forward oil cups are full, will you?" says he.
I climbs over and inspects. Everything seems to be O. K.; although
what I don't know about a six-cylinder marine engine is amazin'.
"We're slidin' through the water slick," says I.
"She can turn up much faster than this," says he; "only I don't dare
open her wide."
I was satisfied. I could use a minute or so about then to plot out a
few scenarios dealin' with how a certain party would act in case of
makin' a sudden discovery. But I hadn't got past picturin' the cold
storage stare before the Hollister place shows up ahead, Payne
throttles the Vixen down cautious, shoots her in between a couple of
rocky points, and fetches her up alongside a rope-padded private float.
There's some steps leadin' up to the top of the rocks.
"Do you mind running up and asking if they're ready?" says Payne.
"Why, no," says I; "but--but who do I ask?"
"That's so," says he. "And they'll not know who you are, either. I'll
go. Just hold her off."
Me with a boathook, posin' back to for the next ten minutes, not even
darin' to rubber over my shoulder. Then voices, "Have you the coffee
bottles?"--"Don't forget the steamer rugs."--"I put the olives on the
top of the sandwiches."--"Be careful when you land, Mabel dear."--"Oh,
we'll be all right." This last from Vee.
Another minute and they're down on the float, with Payne Hollister
explainin', "Oh, I forgot. This is someone who is helping me with the
boat while Tucker's disabled." I touches my hat respectful; but I'm
too busy to face around--much too busy!
"Now, Cousin Mabel," says young Hollister, "right in the middle of that
seat! Easy, now!"
A squeal from Mabel. No wonder! I gets a glimpse of her as she steps
down, and, believe me, if I had Mabel's shape and weight you couldn't
tease me out on the water in anything smaller'n the Mauretania! All
the graceful lines of a dumplin', Mabel had; about five feet up and
down, and 'most as much around. Vee is on one side, Payne on the
other, both lowerin' away careful; but as she makes the final plunge
before floppin' onto the seat she reaches out one paw and annexes my
right arm. Course that swings me around sudden, and I finds myself
gazin' at Vee over Payne Hollister's shoulders, not three feet away.
"Oh!" says she, startled, and you couldn't blame her. I just has to
lay one finger on my lips and shake my head mysterious.
"All right!" sings out Payne, straightenin' up. "Always more or less
exciting getting Cousin Mabel aboard; but it's been accomplished. Now,
Verona!"
As he gives her a hand she floats in as light as a bird landin' in a
treetop. I could feel her watchin' me curious and puzzled as I passes
the picnic junk down for Hollister to stow away. Course, it wa'n't any
leadin'-heavy, spotlight entrance I was makin' at Roarin' Rocks; but
it's a lot better, thinks I, than not bein' there at all.
"Oh, dear," sighs Mabel, "what a narrow, uncomfortable seat!"
"Is it, really?" asks Vee. "Can't it be fixed someway, Payne?"
"Lemme have a try?" says I. With that I stuffs extra cushions around
her, folds up a life preserver to rest her feet on, and drapes her with
a steamer rug.
"Thanks," says she, sighin' grateful and rewardin' me with a display of
dimples. "What is your name, young man?"
"Why," says I, with a glance at Vee, "you can just call me Bill."
"Nonsense!" says Mabel. "Your name is William."
"William goes, Miss," says I; and as she snuggles down I chances a wink
Vee's way. No response, though. Vee ain't sure yet whether she ought
to grin or give me the call-down.
"Cast off!" says Payne, and out between the rocks we shoot, with Aunty
and Mrs. Hollister wavin' from the veranda. Anyway, that was some
relief. This wa'n't Aunty's day for picnickin'.
She didn't know what she was missin', I expect; for, say, that's good
breathin' air up off Boothbay. There's some life and pep to it, and
rushin' through it that way you can't help pumpin' your lungs full.
Makes you glow and tingle inside and out. Makes you want to holler.
That, and the sunshine dancin' on the water, and the feel of the boat
slicin' through the waves, the engine purrin' away a sort of rag-time
tune, and the pennants whippin', and all that scenery shiftin' around
to new angles, not to mention the fact that Vee's along--well, I was
enjoyin' life about then. Kind of got into my blood. Everything was
lovely, and I didn't care what happened next.
Me bein' the crew, I expect I should have been fussin' around up front,
coilin' ropes, or groomin' the machinery. But I can't make my eyes
behave. I has to turn around every now and then and grin. Mabel don't
seem to mind.
"William," says she, signalin' me, "see if you can't find a box of
candy in that basket."
I hops over the steerin' seat back into the standin' room and digs it
out. Also I lingers around while Mabel feeds in a few pieces.
"Have some?" says she. "You're so good-natured looking."
"That's my long suit," says I.
Then I see Vee's mouth corners twitching and she takes her turn. "You
live around here, I suppose, William?" says she.
"No such luck," says I. "I come up special to get this job."
"But," puts in Mabel, holdin' a fat chocolate cream in the air, "Tucker
wasn't hurt until yesterday."
"That's when I landed," says I.
"Someone must have sent you word then," says Vee, impish.
"Uh-huh," says I. "Someone mighty special too. Sweet of her, wa'n't
it?"
"Oh! A girl?" asks Mabel, perkin' up.
"_The_ girl," says I.
"Tee-hee!" snickers Mabel, nudgin' Vee delighted. "Is--is she very
nice, William? Tell us about her, won't you?"
"Oh, do!" says Vee, sarcastic.
"Well," says I, lookin' at Vee, "she's about your height and build."
"How interesting!" says Mabel, with another nudge. "Go on. What kind
of hair?"
"Never was any like it," says I.
"But her complexion," insists Mabel, "dark or fair?"
"Pink roses in the mornin', with the dew on," says I.
"Bravo!" says Mabel, clappin' her hands. "And her eyes?"
"Why," says I, "maybe you've looked down into deep sea water on a
still, gray day? That's it."
"She must be a beauty," says Mabel.
"Nothing but," says I.
"I hope she has a nice disposition too," says she.
"Nope," says I, shakin' my head solemn.
"Humph! What's the matter with that?" says Vee.
"Jumpy," says I. "Red pepper and powdered sugar; sometimes all sugar,
sometimes all pepper, then again a mixture. You never can tell."
"Then I'd throw her over," says Vee.
"Honest, would you?" says I, lookin' her square in the eye.
"If I didn't like her disposition, I would," says she.
"But that's the best part of her to me," says I. "Adds variety, you
know, and--well, I expect it's about the only way I'm like her. Mine
is apt to be that way too."
"Why, of course," comes in Mabel. "If she was as pretty as all that,
and angelic too----"
"You got the idea," says I. "She'd be in a stained glass window
somewhere, eh?"
"You're a silly boy!" says Vee.
"That sounds natural," says I. "I often get that from her."
"And is she living up here?" asks Mabel. "Visiting," says I. "She's
with her----"
"William," breaks in Vee, "I think Mr. Hollister wants you."
I'd most forgot about Payne; for, while he's only a few feet off, he's
as much out of the group as if he was ashore. You know how it is in
one of them high-powered launches with the engine runnin'. You can't
hear a word unless you're right close to. And Payne's twistin' around
restless.
"Yes, Sir?" says I, goin' up and reportin'.
"Ask Miss Verona if she doesn't want to come up here," says he. "I--I
think it will trim the boat better."
"Sure," says I. But when I passes the word to Vee I translates. "Mr.
Hollister's lonesome," says I, "and there's room for another."
"I've been wondering if I couldn't," says Vee.
"You can," says I. "Lemme help you over."
Gives me a chance for a little hand squeeze and another close glimpse
into them gray eyes. I don't make out anything definite, though. But
as she passes forward she puckers her lips saucy and whispers,
"Pepper!" in my ear. I guess, after all, when you're doin'
confidential description you don't want to stick too close to facts.
Makin' it all stained glass window stuff is safer.
I goes back to Mabel and lets her demand more details. She's just full
of romance, Mabel is; not so full, though, that it interferes with her
absorbin' a few eats now and then. Between answerin' questions I'm
kept busy handin' out crackers, oranges, and doughnuts, openin' the
olive bottle, and gettin' her drinks of water. Reg'lar Consumers'
League, Mabel. I never run a sausage stuffin' machine; but I think I
could now.
"You're such a handy young man to have around," says Mabel, after I've
split a Boston cracker and lined it with strawb'ry jam for her; "so
much better than Tucker."
"That's my aim," says I, "to make you forget Tucker."
Yes, I was gettin' some popular with Mabel, even if I was in wrong with
Vee. They seems to be havin' quite a chatty time of it, Payne showin'
her how to steer, and lettin' her salute passin' launches, and
explainin' how the engine worked. As far as them two went, Mabel and
me was only so much excess baggage.
"Why, we're clear out beyond Squirrel!" exclaims Mabel at last. "Ask
Payne where we're going to stop for our picnic. I'm getting hungry."
"Oh, yes," says Payne, "we must be thinking about landing. I had
planned to run out to Damariscove; but that looks like a fog bank
hanging off there. Perhaps we'd better go back to Fisherman's Island,
after all. Tell her Fisherman's."
I couldn't see what the fog bank had to do with it--not then, anyway.
Why, it was a peach of a day,--all blue sky, not a sign of a cloud
anywhere, and looked like it would stay that way for a week. He keeps
the Vixen headed out to sea for awhile longer, and then all of a sudden
he circles short and starts back.
"Fog!" he shouts over his shoulder to Mabel.
"Oh, bother!" says Mabel. "I hate fog. And it is coming in too."
Yes, that bank did seem to be workin' its way toward us, like a big,
gray curtain that's bein' shoved from the back drop to the front of the
stage. You couldn't see it move, though; but as I watched blamed if it
don't creep up on an island, a mile or so out, and swallow it complete,
same as a picture fades off a movie screen when the lights go wrong.
Just like that. Then a few wisps of thin mist floats by, makin' things
a bit hazy ahead. Squirrel Island, off to the left, disappears like it
had gone to the bottom. The mainland shore grows vague and blurred,
and the first thing we know we ain't anywhere at all, the scenery's all
smudged out, and nothin' in sight but this pearl-gray mist. It ain't
very thick, you know, and only a little damp. Rummy article, this
State of Maine fog!
Young Hollister is standin' up now, tryin' to keep his bearin's and
doin' his best to look through the haze. He slows the engine down
until we're only just chuggin' along.
"Let's see," says he, "wasn't Squirrel off there a moment ago?"
"Why, no," says Vee. "I thought it was more to the left."
"By Jove!" says he. "And there are rocks somewhere around here too!"
Funny how quick you can get turned around that way. Inside of three
minutes I couldn't have told where we were at, any more'n if I'd been
blindfolded in a cellar. And I guess young Hollister got to that
condition soon after.
"We ought to be making the south end of Fisherman's soon," he observes.
But we didn't. He has me climb out on the bow to sing out if I see
anything. But, say, there was less to see than any spot I was ever in.
I watched and watched, and Payne kept on gettin' nervous. And still we
keeps chuggin' and chuggin', steerin' first one way and then the other.
It seemed hours we'd been gropin' around that way when----
"Rocks ahead!" I sings out as something dark looms up. Payne turns her
quick; but before she can swing clear bang goes the bow against
something solid and slides up with a gratin' sound. He tries backin'
off; but she don't budge.
"Hang it all!" says Payne, shuttin' off the engine. "I guess we're
stuck."
"Then why not have the picnic right here?" pipes up Mabel.
"Here!" snaps Payne. "But I don't know where we are."
"Oh, what's the difference?" says Mabel. "Besides, I'm hungry."
"I want to get out of this, though," says Payne. "I mean to keep going
until I know where I am."
"Oh, fudge!" says Mabel. "This is good enough. And if we stay here
and have a nice luncheon perhaps the fog will go away. What's the
sense in drifting around when you're hungry?"
That didn't seem such bad dope, either. Vee sides with Mabel, and
while Payne don't like the idea he gives in. We seem to have landed
somewhere. So we carts the baskets and things ashore, finds a flat
place up on the rocks, and then the three of us tackles the job of
hoistin' Mabel onto dry land. And it was some enterprise, believe me!
"Goodness!" pants Mabel, after we'd got her planted safe. "I don't
know how I'm ever going to get back."
We didn't, either; but after we'd spread out five kinds of sandwiches
within her reach, poured hot coffee out of the patent bottles, opened
the sardines and pickles, set out the cake and doughnuts, Mabel ceases
to worry.
Payne don't, though. He swallows one sandwich, and then goes back to
inspect the boat. He announces that the tide is comin' in and she
ought to float soon; also that when she does he wants to start back.
"Now, Payne!" protests Mabel. "Just when I'm comfortable!"
"And there isn't any hurry, is there?" asks Vee.
I wa'n't so stuck on buttin' around in the fog myself; so when he asks
me to go down and see if the launch is afloat yet, and I finds that she
can be pushed off easy, I don't hurry about tellin' him so. Instead I
climbs aboard and develops an idea. You see, when I was out with Eb
Westcott in his lobster boat the day before I'd noticed him stop the
engine just by jerkin' a little wire off the spark plug. Here was a
whole bunch of wires, though. Wouldn't do to unhitch 'em all. But
along the inside of the boat is a little box affair that they all lead
into, with one big wire leadin' out. Looked kind of businesslike, that
one did. I unhitches it gentle and drapes it over a nearby screwhead.
Then I strolls back and reports that she's afloat.
"Good!" says Payne. "I'll just start the engine and be tuning her up
while the girls finish luncheon."
Well, maybe you can guess. I could hear him windin' away at the
crankin' wheel, windin' and windin', and then stoppin' to cuss a little
under his breath.
"What's the matter?" sings out Mabel.
She was one of the kind that's strong on foolish questions.
"How the blazes should I know?" raps back young Hollister. "I can't
start the blasted thing."
"Never mind," says Mabel cheerful. "We haven't finished the sandwiches
yet."
Next time I takes a peek Payne has his tool kit spread out and is busy
takin' things apart. He's getting' himself all smeared up with grease
and oil too. Pity; for he'd started out lookin' so neat and nifty.
Meanwhile we'd fed Mabel to the limit, got her propped up with
cushions, and she's noddin' contented.
"Guess I'll do some exploring" says I.
"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.
[Illustration: 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 shore,
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 passin' 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 fieldglasses 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 fieldglasses!
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.
She never says a word until we'd landed and everyone but me had started
for the house. Then I got mine.
"Boy," says she icy, "take off that hat!"
I does it reluctant.
"Humph!" says she. "William! I thought so." That's all; but she says
it mighty expressive.
The programme for the followin' day included a ten o'clock start, and
I'd been down to the boat ever since breakfast, tidyin' things up and
sort of wonderin'. About nine-fifteen, though, young Hollister comes
wanderin' down by his lonesome.
"It's all off," says he. "Miss Verona and her aunt have gone."
"Eh?" says I, gawpin'. "Gone?"
"Early this morning," says he. "I don't quite understand why;
something about Verona's being out on the water so much, I believe.
Gone to the mountains. And--er--by the way, Tucker is around again.
Here he comes now."
"He gets the jumper, then," says I, peelin' it off. "I guess I'm due
back on Broadway."
"It's mighty good of you to help out," says Payne, "and I--I want to do
the right thing in the way of----"
"You have," says I. "You've helped me have the time of my life. Put
up the kale, Hollister. If you'll land me at the Harbor, I'll call it
square."
He don't want to let it stand that way; but I insists. As I climbs out
on the Yacht Club float, where he'd picked me up, he puts out his hand
friendly.
"And, say," says I, "how about Miss Vee?"
"Why," says he, "I'm very sorry she couldn't stay longer."
"Me too," says I. "Some girl, eh?"
Payne nods hearty, and we swaps a final grip.
Well, it was great! My one miscue was not wearin' a wig.