The lightkeeper continued to shout and wave.I lifted an oar to show that he had my attention.He recognized the signal, and began pointing out over the water astern of me.I looked where he was pointing.I could not see anything out of the ordinary.Except for my own skiff and the gulls, and the row boat with the two persons in it there was nothing astir on the bay.But Ben kept on waving and pointing.At last I decided that it must be the row boat he was pointing at.I stopped rowing and looked.
The row boat was a good distance off and its occupants were but specks.Now one of the specks stood up and waved its arms.So far as I could see, the boat was drifting; there were no flashes of sunlight on wet blades to show that the oars were in use.No, it was drifting, and, as I looked, it swung broadside on.The standing figure continued to wave its arms.
Those people must be in trouble of some sort, I decided, and it was evident that Small thought so, too.There could no imminent danger threaten for, on a day like this, with no sea running, there was nothing to fear in the bay.If, however, they should drift out of the bay it might be unpleasant.And they certainly were drifting.
I resigned myself to the indefinite postponement of my dinner, swung the skiff about, and pulled as hard as I could in the direction of the row boat.
With the tide to help me I made good progress, but, even at that, it took me some time to overtake the drifting craft.She was, as Ben had said, a lap-streaked, keel-bottomed dingy--good enough as a yacht's tender or in deep water, but the worst boat in the world to row about Denboro bay at low tide.Her high rail caught what breeze there was blowing and this helped to push her along.
However, I got within easy hailing distance after a while and called, over my shoulder, to ask what was the matter.
A man's voice answered me.
"We've lost an oar," he shouted."We're drifting out to sea.Lend us a hand, will you?""All right," I answered."I'll be there in a minute."Within the minute I was almost alongside.Then I turned, intending to speak again; but I did not.The two persons in the dingy were Victor--I did not know his other name--and Mabel Colton.
I was wearing the oilskin slicker and had pulled down the brim of my sou'wester to keep the sun from my eyes; therefore they had not recognized me before.And I, busy at the oars and looking over my shoulder only occasionally, had not recognized them.Now the recognition was mutual.Miss Colton spoke first.
"Why, Victor!" she said, "it is--"
"What?" asked her companion.Then, looking at me, "Oh! it's you, is it?"I did not answer.Luck was certainly against me.No matter where I went, on land or water, I was fated to meet these two.
Victor, apparently, was thinking the same thing."By Jove!" he observed; "Mabel, we seem destined to...Humph! Well? Will you give us a hand?"The most provoking part of it was that, if I had known who was in that rowboat, I could have avoided the encounter.Ben Small could have gone to their rescue just as well as I.However, here I was, and here they were.And I could not very well go away and leave them, under the circumstances.
Victor's patience was giving way.
"What are you waiting for?" he demanded."Aren't you going to help us? We'll pay you for it."I pulled the skiff a little closer and, drawing in my oars, turned and picked up the slack of my anchor rope.
"Here," I said, brusquely; "catch this line and I'll tow you."I tossed him the loop of rope and he caught it.
"What shall I do with it?" he asked.
"Hold it, just as it is, for the present.What became of your other oar?""Lost it overboard."
"Why didn't you throw over your anchor and wait where you were?"I think he had not thought of the anchor, but he did not deign to explain.Instead he began pulling on the rope and the two boats drew together.
"Don't do that," I said."Wait."
I untied the rope, where it was made fast to the skiff's bow, and with it and the anchor in my hands, scrambled aft and wedged the anchor under the stern thwart of the little craft.
"Now," I said, "you can pull in the slack until you get to the end.
Then make it fast to your bow somewhere."I suppose he did his best to follow instructions, but the rope was a short one, the end jerked loose suddenly and he went backward in a heap.I thought, for an instant, that he was going overboard and that mine would be the mixed pleasure of fishing him out.
Miss Colton gave a little scream, which changed to a ripple of laughter.I might have laughed, too, under different circumstances, but just now I did not feel like it.Besides, the rope, having flown out of his hands, was in the water again and the two boats were drifting apart.
"What did you do that for?" demanded the fallen one, scrambling to his knees.I heard a sound from the dingy's stern as if the young lady was trying to stifle her merriment.Victor, doubtless, heard it, too.
"Where are you going?" he sputtered, angrily."Give me that rope."I gave it to him, literally gave it, for I pulled alongside and put the end in his hands.
"Tie it in the bow of your boat," I said.He did so.I drew in the slack until a fair towing length remained and made it fast.
While he was busy I ventured to glance at Miss Colton.Her eyes were snapping with fun and she seemed to be enjoying the situation.
But, catching my look, her expression changed.She turned away and looked indifferently out to sea.
I swung the skiff's bow around.
"Where do you want to go?" I asked.
Victor answered."Back to Mr.Colton's landing," he said."Get as much of a move on as you can, will you? I'll make it worth your while."I was as anxious to get there as he was.I did not care for a quarrel, and I knew if he continued to use that tone in his remarks to me I should answer as I felt.I pulled with all my strength, but against the tide towing was hard work.
