Paddy’s Adventure.
Meanwhile in a very ruffled frame of mind, not only because Jack had
kept her waiting half an hour, but also because she knew he had gone
off quite contentedly up the mountain to look for Eileen, when he found
he was in disgrace with her, Paddy trimmed her sail and sped across the
Loch to Rostrevor. There was a fairly strong breeze, and the management
of the boat kept her busy, but when she landed at Rostrevor alone, she
had time to further anathematise Jack in her heart, and was in two
minds about going up to the Hendersons at all. They had arranged to
come over for tennis, but somehow Paddy did not think she wanted to
play. She felt as if she wanted to work off her ill-humour by doing
something daring, that would take her out of herself. So it happened
that she stood on the quay irresolute and looked out to sea. Her quick
eye was taking note of the wind and the tide, while her brain
considered the advisability of taking a little trip toward Greenore.
One half of her, the wise half, said, “Don’t go; the wind is too
choppy.” The other half said coolly, “All the more fun! At the worst it
would only mean a ducking, as you can keep near enough to the land to
swim ashore.” Then, however, came the thought that Jack would certainly
find out she had given up the tennis because of him, and feel ever so
pleased with himself. That, of course, would never do. Whatever she had
to put up with in the way of tennis was better than giving Jack such a
triumph after his behaviour.
“I guess I’ll do both,” she said, “and I’ll tell Jack it was the finest
tennis I ever had in my life.”
Consequently she made fast the painter, reached her racquet, and made
her way briskly to the Hendersons, meaning to play one set and then get
back to the boat and have her sail.
Directly she appeared, she was hailed with a chorus of delight, and was
instantly claimed for a partner by four or five different players, from
whom she calmly made her choice like a young queen.
“I’m not going to play with you, Harry Armstrong,” she said, “because
you poach too much. Nor with you, Dick, because you’re so slow—you
always reach the ball a second too late, and it’s bad for my nerves.
And Basil Whitehead won’t be serious enough. I guess I’ll play with
you, Bob,” and she nodded to a shock-headed schoolboy of about
fourteen, all arms and legs, and feet.
“How just jolly, thundering fine!” he exclaimed excitedly. “You are a
brick, Paddy; we’ll knock them into a cocked hat, won’t we!”
“You know the other girls here are such awful sillies,” he remarked to
her confidentially, as they walked toward a vacant court. “A fellow
can’t have half a good time with a set like this. They’re no better
than a pack of schoolgirls,” and he turned up his snub nose
contemptuously.
“Oh, well, of course! when a ‘man-about-town’ like you comes along,”
said Paddy, “we all feel horribly countrified and shy and awkward. It’s
only natural, living away out here among the mountains.”
“I suppose so,” said Bob, hesitatingly, not quite sure whether she was
laughing at him or not. “Still,” brightening up, “they might be more
like you if they tried. You know I think you’re just an awfully jolly
girl,” he finished with great condescension.
Paddy made him a mock bow. “I’m sure I feel highly honoured,” she said,
“but you mustn’t tell the other girls, or they’d be frightfully
jealous, and hate me like anything.”
“Well, you needn’t mind that,” he replied stoutly. “I’ll look after
you, and settle them pretty quick if they’re cheeky.”
“That’s all right, then. Let’s set to work and win this set, because I
have an important engagement directly after tea.”
Bob’s face fell a little at this, but he quickly decided to make the
best of the prevailing good, and not worry about what came next.
But Paddy did not get away quite so quickly as she had intended, as
Kitty Irvine came and pulled her on one side to tell her an important
piece of news in confidence.
“Have you seen him?” she exclaimed in an eager undertone. “Isn’t he
perfectly scrumptious?”
“Seen who!” asked Paddy in bewilderment—“Who’s perfectly scrumptious?”
“Why, Colonel Masterman’s nephew, of course. You must have heard about
him?”
“The Mastermans at Carlingford?” still unenlightened.
“Yes, Colonel Masterman has a nephew come to stay with them, from
London. Fancy you not knowing!”
“Well, I think I did hear Jack say something about it; but I had quite
forgotten. When did he come?”
“Only yesterday, but he was in Newry this morning, and bought a picture
post-card at the same time that I did.”
“Ump!” expressively. “I loathe picture post-cards. He must be a
nincompoop, if he actually buys them.”
“Not at all,” asserted Kitty. “He’s probably going to send them home.
He’s not exactly handsome, but he has got the loveliest smile, and such
a nice voice.”
“Rubbish!” exclaimed Paddy, whose ill-humour was still not very
far-off. “A man with a lovely smile and a sweet voice is always a silly
ass. I expect he curls his hair, and wears patent-leather boots, and
lavender kid gloves.”
“You’re very cross,” from Kitty in an aggrieved tone; “I thought you’d
be pleased to hear there was likely to be some one fresh at the tennis
parties, to talk to.”
“So I should be if they were jolly, but I’m sure this man isn’t. He
sounds just awful. I loathe him already.”
Kitty was silent for a moment, then she asked suddenly, “Where’s Jack?”
“I don’t know,” with a fine air of indifference. “He was so long
getting ready, that I just came across without him. I must go back now,
as I’m alone, and if the wind gets up, I mightn’t be able to manage the
boat. Say good-by to Mrs Henderson for me—she’s just in the middle of a
set,” and without waiting for more, she slipped away unobserved, and
hurried down to the water’s edge.
Loosening her boat quickly, she sprang in and pushed off, the light of
an adventure glowing in her eyes.
“Now to ‘breast the waves,’ as Eileen puts it in her poetry,” she said
gleefully, and headed for the open sea.
For about half an hour everything went well, in spite of the continued
freshening of the breeze. Paddy trimmed her sail in a masterly fashion,
and felt so elated that she quite forgot her grievance of the
afternoon, and sang little “coon” songs to herself from joyousness.
Two or three times she met some old skipper who knew her well by sight,
and shouted a word of warning, about the breeze being very stiff out
beyond the bay—but she only called back a friendly good-day, and held
on her way.
As she neared Greenore she met another boat, not much bigger than her
own, which a young man was sailing, like herself, single-handed, and as
they passed he watched her with no small wonder. He had himself started
off at mid-day in spite of various warnings concerning the choppiness
of the wind, but being a first-rate yachtsman he had no fear, and had
even gone out into the open sea beyond Greenore. When, however, he met
this other small skiff, handled only by a mere girl, he could hardly
believe his own eyes, and could not help staring hard to make sure he
was right.
“Upon my word!” he ejaculated mentally—“these Irish girls have some
pluck,”—but he instinctively loosened his sail, and let it flap idly,
while he turned with a half-anxious expression to watch her movements.
Paddy, already intoxicated with excitement, and what she had already
achieved, was becoming more and more rash; and when a sudden strong
gust caught her sail and nearly capsized her, the occupant of the other
boat gave a muttered exclamation, and prepared at once to turn round,
with a vague idea of hanging about in her vicinity.
He had scarcely got his bow toward her, when a second gust, a still
stronger one, caught her before she had quite recovered from the last,
and in less time than one can write, her boat was upside down, and she
herself struggling in the water.
“Hold on to the boat,” shouted a voice near at hand; “I’ll be with you
in a few seconds.”
Paddy’s first idea had been to swim for the shore, but at the sound of
the voice, she was glad enough to turn and cling to her capsized boat,
though with no small wonderment that anyone should be so near.
Then she recognised the little yacht bearing down on her, and saw that
the occupant must have turned some minutes before, and probably been
watching her. A moment later he was helping her up the side, and she
stood before him, like a half-drowned rat—with the water pouring off
her in all directions.
For one moment they looked at each other silently, not quite sure how
to proceed, and then the humour of the situation became too much for
Paddy, and she burst out laughing, he immediately following suit, quite
unable to help himself.
“What in the name of wonder do I look like?” she said, glancing down at
her dripping skirt, and the streams of water all round.
“A little damp!” he suggested, and they laughed again. “But you must be
awfully plucky and awfully rash,” he added, not without admiration.
“Oh, yes! I’m all that,” asserted Paddy; “but I’ve got a charmed life,
so it doesn’t matter. I must look perfectly awful, though,” and she
laughed again.
“Not at all,” gallantly; “but I’m afraid you’ll take cold. Do you live
near?”
“Only at Omeath, but we shall have to tack, so it will take rather a
long time.”
“I should think so,” impressively. “We’ll go into Carlingford, and I’ll
take you to my aunt’s to get some dry clothes.”
“Who is your aunt?” asked Paddy, inwardly admiring the skill with which
he managed his boat; and not a little also his broad shoulders and
frank, pleasant face.
“Mrs Masterman, at Dunluce.”
“Goodness!” she exclaimed in surprise, without stopping to think. “Are
you Colonel Masterman’s nephew who came yesterday?”
“Yes, why?” looking up curiously.
Paddy found herself in a fix, and she flushed crimson, feeling ready to
bite her tongue out for being so hasty.
“Why?” he asked again, in a way that made her feel she must answer.
“Only that I heard something about you this afternoon,” she stammered.
“And what did you hear?”
His grey eyes had an amused twinkle in them now, and there was
something so disarming about his smile; that with an answering twinkle
in her own, Paddy looked at him slyly and said:
“Oh! nothing much—only that you bought picture post-cards.”