A Friend in the Deep
“Well, Sim,” said Arden, stretching luxuriously, “I feel merry as a grig
this morning.”
“You don’t say,” Sim replied with sarcasm. “I guess you haven’t looked
outside then. I think we’re in for a storm. What is a grig, anyway?”
“I don’t know exactly,” Arden continued, “but that’s how I feel. It’s
very merry. How do you feel?”
“I feel like a chocolate nut sundae,” Sim answered, making a wry face.
“You’re a little cross, too. What’s the trouble?” Arden asked.
“Oh, nothing. But I’m thinking, if we do get a northeaster, there won’t
be any bathing for days. I think I’ll go in today just to get a swim
before it comes,” Sim answered. “Look at that,” she continued, pointing
to the little weather vane on the garage roof.
It was quivering in the wind and pointing due northeast. A brave morning
sun was trying to pierce the leaden clouds, but not making much headway.
A week before, Arden had seen the second mysterious caller drive away in
his car after tying up their boat. Since then they had neither seen nor
heard from Dimitri, and in an orgy of swimming and sunbathing had almost
forgotten about him, so perfect had the weather been and so completely
had the girls enjoyed it.
Now Sim and Arden were in their room making plans for the day, and Terry,
in gay bathrobe and slippers, strolled in to talk things over before
breakfast.
“Don’t go in today, Sim, there’s bound to be a bad undertow; and besides,
I have to go to town,” Terry remarked as she had heard Sim’s decision.
“But the tide will be coming in, and I’ll only take a short dip. I’ll be
ready when you want to go. Let’s eat now, and by the time we have our
rooms in order I can go in for a swim. Then we’ll drive to the village.
How’s that?” Sim asked, smiling.
“You seem to have it all planned. I suppose it’s all right. It’s nearly
ten now, so let’s go down for breakfast,” Terry suggested. “I’m hungry.”
Sim and Arden, donning bathrobes and slipping their feet into soft mules,
pattered downstairs after Terry.
They ate and put on their bathing suits when they went upstairs again, a
habit they had fallen into since the lovely weather had begun.
When they went out a little later, Sim wished she hadn’t been so
insistent about swimming. The breakers were piling in, slapping down on
the beach and churning up a white sudsy foam.
“I’m not going in _that_ sea,” Arden decided, “and I don’t think you
should either, Sim.”
“Nonsense, Arden,” Sim said scornfully. “It looks a lot worse than it
is.”
“We’ll have rain before night,” Terry stated positively, “and the ocean
is getting rougher all the time. Go on in, Sim, if you’re going to, but
be careful.”
In a moment of bravado, Sim flung off her sweater and ran down to the
water. She hesitated for a second as the cold water whirled around her
feet, then, running swiftly, she plunged in head first. She was lost to
sight immediately, but presently came up again and waved a hand to Arden
and Terry, who were watching. Then she turned and began to swim out into
the sea.
“I wish she wouldn’t go out,” Arden worried.
“Oh, she’ll be all right. Sim’s a good swimmer,” Terry reassured her.
As they watched they could see Sim’s scarlet bathing cap bobbing in the
rough sea. She swam easily for a while and then floated on her back. Did
they imagine it, or was she having trouble? Arden and Terry strained
their eyes to see. Sim was swimming hard toward the shore but seemed to
be making no headway.
“She’s having a hard time getting back. Do you think she’s all right?”
Arden asked anxiously.
“Wait—” Terry cautioned—“I’m not sure——”
Sim was still swimming but seemed to be tiring. She turned over on her
back for a brief rest and began again. But it seemed no use. Apparently
she was caught in a sea-puss and was still making no headway.
Terrified, Terry and Arden looked at each other, unable to utter a word.
In that instant a figure flashed by them and disappeared with a splash in
the waves. Still speechless, they both knew——
It was Melissa!
She was going to help Sim to safety. The girls watching on the beach felt
the relief so suddenly and so completely that each grasped the other.
“Melissa!” breathed Terry.
“She’ll get her,” answered Arden.
What little they had done to make friends with the girl came now in a
rush of grateful memory.
Yes, Melissa would help them. She was their friend.
In almost no time at all Melissa and Sim walked out of the wild sea, a
little further down the beach. Arden and Terry ran down to greet them.
“Sim, you idiot! I told you not to go in. Are you all right?” Arden asked
breathlessly.
“Of course I’m all right,” Sim panted.
“She was caught in a sea-puss. There’s a trick in getting out. It’s
because the storm is coming and the inlet to the bay is so near,” Melissa
answered modestly.
“It was very brave of you to go out, just the same,” Terry insisted. “It
was just fine!”
Sim looked a little sheepish and pulled her sweater on over her dripping
suit.
“Don’t tell your mother, Terry; you know how she would worry,” Sim said.
“Melissa, you were swell!” she exclaimed.
Melissa smiled happily. It was seldom, indeed, that her actions pleased
anyone. Her whole day would be happy now, and at night she could lie in
her hard little bed and remember how the girls had praised her. It took
so little to brighten the dull life of Melissa.
The girls thanked her again and cautioned her about telling Mrs. Landry.
Then, waving good-bye to Melissa, they left her, digging her toes in the
sand in embarrassment, with her confused thoughts.
The three girls, a guilty little group, went back to “Buckingham Palace”
and dressed quickly, never mentioning the almost tragic adventure to
Terry’s mother.
Sim’s feet and hands were still cold when she climbed into the car beside
Arden and Terry, a while later, as they started for the village.
The storm was coming in rapidly now. The sun was obscured, and sudden
strong gusts of wind swerved the car as they drove along. It had not yet
begun to rain. But Chief of Police Reilly cocked his weather eye and
“reckoned” it would not be long in coming. He was filling the gas tank of
the little car and chatting with the girls as he worked.
“How do you like your new neighbor, Miz Landry?” he asked, showing a
shining gold tooth.
“We like him all right, but we don’t see much of him,” Terry answered,
smiling.
“Funny feller,” he chuckled as he wiped off the windshield. “Wrote to me
’long ’bout last April and rented my ole boat. Never even saw it.” He
gave the windshield a grand swipe.
“Do you know Melissa Clayton?” Sim asked, abruptly changing the subject.
Her adventure in the ocean was still fresh in her mind.
“Sure; everyone knows Melissa,” the chief answered.
“How about her father? What kind of a man is he?” pursued Sim.
“George Clayton? He’s all right. None too smart, but he gets along,”
Reilly answered indifferently. “Can’t make a silk purse out of a sow’s
ear, you know.”
But Sim was not satisfied. She wanted to find out if Melissa’s father was
as cruel as they imagined him to be. The chief, however, in his
good-natured way, didn’t see what Sim was driving at and gave her no
satisfaction. Finally she questioned him no further. They agreed on the
weather and said they’d see him soon again, just how soon, none of them
knew.
Then they drove back home and unloaded the last of the groceries from the
car just as the first drops of rain showed on the windshield. Like all
bad news, it was better to have it started. The sooner begun the sooner
it would be over.