CYNTHIA FOGG
Beth had learned something about vigorous play at basket-ball under
the direction of the instructor in physical culture at the Hudsonvale
high school. Besides, she had not played with Marcus and the other
boys--even with Larry in years gone by--without learning what is meant
by a low tackle.
So, when she jumped for the girl who seemed about to throw herself into
the river from the stern of the _Water Wagtail_, she “tackled low.” She
seized the reckless girl about her knees, locking her legs tightly in
her arms.
“You can’t! I sha’n’t let you!” Beth gasped, as the other struggled.
“Oh! what a wicked thing you are doing!”
The freckled girl squealed--no other word could exactly express the
startled sound she made when Beth seized her. Then she attempted to
turn around and face her rescuer, as the latter dragged her down and
away from the rail.
“What are you doing? Stop it!” sputtered the tall girl. “Goodness! how
strong you are! Do let me be!”
“I won’t!” cried the excited Beth. “I won’t! You sha’n’t do such a
dreadful thing! I’ll shout for help!”
“Oh! don’t do that,” begged the other girl. “They’ll do something awful
to me.”
“Then promise you won’t do _that_----”
“What?”
“It would be dreadful----”
“What would be dreadful?” repeated the strange girl, in some heat.
“They’d have got the boat back again. I wasn’t going to steal it.”
“Steal it?” murmured Beth, startled and confused.
“Yes. I’d have left it tied along shore there. No harm would have come
to it.”
“Oh, my dear!” gasped Beth. “Is there a boat there?”
“Of course there is. Didn’t you see it dragging just astern? They
forgot to hoist it in. I noticed it before dark. Say!” exclaimed the
other, her strange eyes suddenly shining in the mist as she stared at
Beth. “What did you think I was trying to do when I was hauling in on
that painter?”
“I--I thought you wanted to drown yourself,” whispered the confused
Beth.
“My aunt!” exclaimed the girl, and laughed shortly. “No. I’m not quite
so desperate as all that.”
“But you might fall overboard getting into that boat,” said Beth.
“I can swim. But the current’s swift here in midstream,” and she
shuddered. “Now you’ve knocked the courage all out of me. Oh, dear!”
“Why do you want to leave the boat in such a crazy fashion?” demanded
Beth, regaining her self-possession.
“I’ve got to get away before the _Water Wagtail_ stops at Marbury,”
said the other, hastily.
“Why?” repeated Beth.
“Oh--because!”
“But you wouldn’t dare take that boat. You might fall overboard from
it. You would be lost in this fog,” Beth urged.
“I know. I wouldn’t dare now,” said the other, gloomily.
“If I hadn’t stopped you something dreadful might have happened.”
“Nothing more dreadful than will happen when we reach Marbury.”
“What do you mean?” asked the curious and sympathetic Beth.
“They know I am on this boat,” confessed the girl, with sudden
desperation. “And they’ll come aboard of her and take me back.”
“Back where?”
“I can’t tell you. It’s awful! I haven’t a living soul I can call my
own--not a real relative----”
“You are an orphan?” asked Beth, thinking at once of an asylum or
an institution to which she supposed poor girls without parents or
relatives have to go. Besides, the awful clothing this girl wore bore
out this supposition of Beth’s--that she had run away from a charitable
establishment of some kind.
“Of course, I’m an orphan,” said the other girl, quickly.
“Can’t I help you?” suggested the sympathetic Beth.
“How?”
“What is your name, please?” asked Beth. “Mine is Beth Baldwin.”
“Cynthia--Cynthia Fogg,” mumbled the other girl, and so hesitatingly
that Beth half believed that the last name, at least, was born of the
thick river mist out into which the wonderful blue eyes were staring.
Nevertheless, Beth said nothing to betray her doubt.
“You say these--these people will search the boat for you?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“People from the--the institution from which you have run away?”
Cynthia turned her head quickly so that Beth could no longer see her
face, replying in a muffled tone: “Yes; from the institution.”
“How do you know they are on board?” continued the practical Beth.
“Somebody that knows me saw me at that last landing--just as the
steamboat was pulling out,” replied Cynthia. “I know he’ll telephone up
the river to Marbury. And I’ll never get away from them now.”
“You may escape them,” said Beth, kindly. When Cynthia looked back at
the dragging boat, she added hastily: “Oh, not by that means. There
must be a less perilous way.”
Without any thought of the possible consequences, Beth had given her
heart and hand to the strange girl’s cause. It meant little to her that
this girl had run away from some public institution. She did not stop
to ask why she had run away.
“How, I’d like you to tell me?” said Cynthia.
“Surely those who look for you will not arouse the passengers and make
a disturbance in the middle of the night? We don’t get to Marbury till
midnight, I understand.”
“That’s right.”
“Then,” said the generous Beth, “why not come to my stateroom?”
“Yours? Why! you don’t know me,” said the other girl, rather astounded.
“Surely, we’ve just introduced ourselves,” laughed Beth. “I am alone in
my stateroom. There are two berths. They’ll never look for you there.”
“Oh, my aunt!” ejaculated Cynthia Fogg, with such sudden animation,
that her strange eyes sparkled again. “That would be great!”
Beth thought the girl an odd combination of characteristics. One moment
she was morose; the next she brightened up and was all life and gaiety.
But the girl from Hudsonvale was bent only on helping Cynthia.
“Will you come to my room?” she repeated.
“Surely I will--if you think they’ll let me.”
“Who?”
“Why, the steamboat people,” said Cynthia.
“I guess they won’t stop us. But we’d better not let anybody see us
together. When the boat gets to Marbury, somebody may remember having
seen you with me, and then they’ll suspect where you are hidden,” said
the practical Beth.
“My aunt! so they will,” admitted Cynthia.
“So we’ll go singly. Don’t let the stewardess see you,” said Beth,
warningly. “I’ll go first. You’ll surely follow?”
“Of course I will,” said the other girl, warmly.
“And no trying to go overboard--into a boat or not?” added Beth,
smiling.
“I’m afraid now,” confessed the other. “You’ve scared me.”
“Then I’ll take care of you,” promised Beth, laughing again.
“You _are_ a nice little thing,” repeated Cynthia Fogg.
“Thank you. My room is Number Fifty-three.”
“I know,” said the other. “I saw those flowers. I’ll wait till you get
there before I come upstairs.”
Beth re-entered the enclosed part of the boat and went up to the main
deck at once. She had been in her stateroom ten minutes before she
heard a quiet little rustle outside her door. She had left it unlocked,
but now she turned the knob invitingly.
The freckled girl pushed it open and glided in, closing it noiselessly
behind her.
“Here I am,” she said.