"Will I?" said Fancy. "I don't care. If I like Blan and he likes me, I
don't care who knows it."
"Are you going to marry him?" Elsie ventured.
"He hasn't said anything about it--yet--but I'm not thinking of that.
All I want is for somebody to love me. I'll be satisfied with that."
"You're all right, Fancy; only I hope you're not in for a broken heart,"
said Dougal.
"Just imagine Fancy with a broken heart!" Elsie laughed.
"Oh, you don't believe me, but you will sometime."
Fancy's eyes were not for them all this while. She was watching the
passengers approaching the ferry, her glance darting from one to the
other, scanning the cable-cars which drew up at the terminus, questing
up toward Market Street, and along the sidewalks and crossings.
"Have you left Granthope?" Dougal inquired.
"Yep." Fancy, as usual, did not explain.
"Why didn't you let us know where you were, then?" he complained. "I
was up to the place the other day looking for you, and no one seemed to
know where you were."
Fancy, still watching for Cayley, did not answer.
"Have you got any money, Fancy?"
"Sure!" she answered eagerly. "I have two dollars here--do you want
it?"
"Oh, no!" he laughed. "I was going to offer you some. If you're out of
a job you must need it. I can let you have twenty or so easy." He put
his hand into his pocket.
She hesitated for a moment, then she said:
"I don't know but I could use it, Dougal, if you can spare it as well as
not."
"I'm flush this week." He handed her a gold double eagle.
"Granthope will lend me all I want, or I could get it from Blanchard,
but somehow I hate to take it from them. Of course, it's all right, and
they have plenty, but I'd feel better borrowing of you, you know."
"That's the best thing you've said yet," he said, beaming on her.
"Oh, Dougal, tell her about the seance," said Elsie, as Fancy put the
money in her purse.
"Oh, yes! I wanted to see you about a materializing seance, Fancy. Do
you know of a good one? We want to go some night and see the spooks.
The bunch is going to have some fun with them."
"You want to look out for yourself, then. They always have two or three
bouncers, and they'll throw you out if there's any row, you know."
Dougal grinned happily. "That's just what we want. I haven't had a
good scrap for months. Maxim can handle three or four of them alone,
while Benton, Starr and I raise a rough house. We're going to go early
and get front seats."
It was Fancy's turn to laugh. "You can't do it, Dougal. You don't know
the first rules of the game. They always have their own crowd on the
first two rows, and they won't let you get near the spirits. They only
want believers, anyway. If you aren't careful, they won't let you in at
all; they'll say all the seats are taken. You'd better go separately
and sit in different parts of the room, and spot the bouncers if you
can."
"Oh, we'll handle them all right. Where's a good one?"
Fancy reflected a minute. "I think, perhaps, Flora Flint is the best.
She's a clever actress, and she always has a crowd. It's fifty cents.
Her place is on Van Ness Avenue--I think her seances are on Wednesday
evenings--you'll find the notice in the papers. But they're pretty
smooth; they've had people try to break up the show before. If you try
to turn on the light or grab any ghost, look out you don't get beaten
up."
"Oh, you can trust us; we've got a new game," he answered.
Then, as the Sausalito boat was about to leave, they bade Fancy a
hurried farewell and ran for the entrance to the slip. A few minutes
after this Blanchard Cayley appeared, put his arm through hers, and they
went on board the ferry.
The harbor of Tiburon, in the northern part of San Francisco Bay, is
sheltered on the west by the promontory of Belvedere, where pretty
cottages climb the wooded slopes, and on the south by Angel Island, with
its army barracks, hospital and prison. Here was huddled a little fleet
of house-boats or "arks," the farthest outshore of which belonged to
Sully Maxwell.
It was a queer collection of architectural amphibia, these nautical
houses floating in the bay. They were of all sizes, some seemingly too
small to stretch one's legs in without kicking down a wall, others more
ambitious in size, with double decks and roof-gardens. There were all
grades and quality as well; some even had electric lights and telephone
wires laid to the shore. Here, free from rent, taxes or insurance, the
little summer colony dwelt, and the rowboats of butcher, baker and
grocer plied from one to another. It was late in the season now,
however, and only a few were occupied. A little later, when the rains
had set in, they would all be towed into their winter quarters to
hibernate till spring.
Cayley conducted Fancy Gray down to the end of a wharf where the skiff
was moored, in the care of a boatman, and after loading the provisions
and supplies he had purchased at the little French restaurant by the
station, he rowed her out to the _Edyth_.
The bay was cloudless and without fog. The September sun poured over
the water and sparkled from every tiny wave-top, the breeze was a
gentle, easterly zephyr. Cayley seemed younger in the open air, and all
that was best in him came to the surface. He was almost enthusiastic.
Fancy was in high feather. As she sat in the stern of the skiff and
trailed her hand in the salt water, he watched her with almost as much
pride as had Gay P. Summer.
She climbed rapturously aboard, unlocked the front room and filled it
with her gleeful exclamations of delight. Then she popped into the tiny
kitchen and gazed curiously at the neat, shining collection of
cooking-utensils and the gasoline stove. She danced out again, to
circle round the narrow railed deck. Finally she pulled a steamer chair
to the front porch and flopped into it.
"I'm never going to leave this place," she cried. "It's just like
having a deserted island all to yourself. I feel like a new-laid bride.
Let's hoist a white flag."
Cayley, meanwhile, put the provisions on the kitchen table and came out
to be deliciously idle with her--but she could not rest. She was up and
about like a bee, humming a gay tune. She went into the square, white
sitting-room to inspect everything that was there, commenting on each
object. She sat in every chair and upon the table as well. She tried a
little wheezy melodeon with a snatch of rag-time. She criticized every
picture, she cleaned the mirror with her handkerchief, then went out to
wash it in salt water and hang it on a line to dry. She read aloud the
titles of all the books, she opened and shut drawers, and peeped into a
little state-room with bunks and was lost there for five minutes. When
she came out again, her copper hair was braided down her back and she
had on a white ruffled apron.
"I'm going to cook dinner," she announced.