The Girl With the Blue Sailor

Front matter

THE SPARKLING NEW ROMANCE OF

The Girl With the Blue Sailor

By Burton E. Stevenson, Author of “The Marathon Mystery,” “A Soldier of Virginia,” etc.

Part 1

Chapter I

“Kingston Point!” shouted a deck-hand. “All ready for Kingston Point!”

Sheldon rose lazily to his feet and shook himself into trim. Then, fumbling for his check, he made his way to the package-room, redeemed his suit-case, and joined the crowd at the gangplank. As he fell into line there he was interested to note, just in front of him, the broad-brimmed, blue-ribboned sailor-hat which shadowed the face that had been his only diversion on the tedious journey up from New York. He had gazed at her discreetly from the ambush of his paper, until, fearing to annoy her, he had removed himself to the windy forward deck out of the way of temptation.

Now, as she stood silhouetted against the lights on the pier, he could look at her without danger of offensiveness, for she was too occupied to see him. He noted with a peculiar, sentimental satisfaction the curve of her cheek, the slim grace of her neck, the wavy lines of the hair, the little ear, set very low, just as the Greeks loved to place it. She was young—not over twenty-one or twenty-two, Sheldon decided; yet she had a certain sedate, self-reliant air, as of one who had seen more of life than is visible from within the walls of a boarding-school, or even the circumference of the family circle.

The crowd surged forward, and in another moment Sheldon was hurrying toward the train which stood puffing and panting just beyond the pier. He found, with some amusement, that he was still close behind the sailor, which gleamed whiter than ever under the sputtering arc-lights. She, also, was headed for the train, and they reached the steps almost at the same instant. She carried a bag which seemed heavy; there was no brakeman in sight; and Sheldon was just holding out his hand to assist her, when a crowd of young people came charging down the platform.

“Here they are!” shouted one. “Here they are!” And as Sheldon took the bag he felt what seemed to be a shower of little pebbles pattering on hat and shoulders.

“What in the world!” he began, and stopped; for she of the sailor suddenly snatched her bag away from him and fairly fled up the steps and into the coach.

“Well!” said Sheldon, again; and then his eyes fell on the steps and the platform, white as under a snowstorm. In a flash he understood, and with a little laugh he raised his hat and stepped out from the shadow of the cars. “You people are wasting a lot of rice,” he remarked.

With a gasp of dismay they shrank away from him; and then, as the girls burst into hysterical laughter, one of the boys managed to pull himself together.

“Oh, I say, we beg a thousand pardons!” he cried, his face very red. “You see,” he stammered, breaking down suddenly—“you see2”

“Yes,” and Sheldon smiled, “I see.”

“I'm awfully sorry,” added the boy.

“Oh, that's all right,” Sheldon assured him. “I don't mind,” and he mounted the step as the train started slowly. He paused a moment on the platform to consider.

She had entered the rear coach, and he felt a mad desire to follow her; but she wouldn't like if, it would be an unfair advantage; so he took himself resolutely in hand and turned the other way. Then his heart gave a sudden bound, for there, in a seat with its back to him, was a broad-brimmed sailor, and beside it2

They looked around at the sound of his entrance with such evident trepidation that he understood in an instant; then, as he met the blue eyes,of the man, he dropped his luggage with a whoop.

“Why, Rock!” he yelled. “Don't tell me it's you!”

“Why, hello, Deacon!” cried the other, jumping out of his seat and pumping Sheldon's hands up and down. “This is luck! Where'd you come from?”

“Oh, I'm bound back in the hills for a month.”

“So are we,” and he reddened suddenly. “Let me introduce you to Mrs. Agens. Edith, you've heard me speak of Jack Sheldon.”

“Of course she has,” said Sheldon. “I don't doubt you refer to me lovingly every day,” and he shook hands in his very best manner with the pretty and exceedingly embarrassed young woman. He looked at her approvingly. “You're in luck, Rock,” he added.

“I think so. Sit down. What's that stuff on your coat?”

“That,” said Sheldon, deliberately picking off a few grains—“that—but here, see for yourself.”

Agens examined the grains critically.

“Why, it's rice!” he cried. “I say, old man, you haven't gone and done it, too? Where's the lady?”

“The lady,” answered Sheldon slowly, “is in the rear coach.”

“But2”

“Queer that I should leave her at this moment, isn't it? But I don't dare show my face back there. 1 don't believe she wants to see me.”

“Oh,” cried Mrs. Agens, “you haven't2”

“They Were Ushered in Impressively by Roberts Père, and Took Their Seats with a Prodigious Rustling”

“No, don't worry; we haven't quarreled already. The fact is, I've never met her—I don't even know her name. We were just getting on the train when some friends of yours charged down on us and covered us with rice. Of course they saw their mistake as soon as I got out in the light, where they could see how good-looking I am.”

Agens leaned back in his seat and fairly yelled; then he got out in the aisle and stamped.

“Funny, isn't it?” queried Sheldon dryly. “Mrs. Agens, I hate to interfere with love's young dream, but can you look at that hopeless idiot and preserve its bloom intact?”

“Well,” stammered Mrs. Agens, striving vainly to repress her laughter—“well, it was—unusual!”

“Rock, sit down!” commanded Sheldon, and Agens tumbled limply into his seat.

“Why do you call him Rock?”—queried Mrs. Agens. “I've always thought his name was Harry.”

“His parents may have named him that,” Sheldon explained, “but he was rechristened the day he entered college. I never heard him called anything but 'The Rock'—'Rock' for short.”

“But why?”

“I assure you the name wasn't given him because of any fundamental traits of character, nor, indeed, because of his appearance—though I've seen him looking exceedingly rocky—but merely because 'The Rock' seemed to go so well with Agens.”

“All the fellows had nicknames,” chimed in Agens, seeing his wife's somewhat astonished countenance. “They seemed more natural.”

“Mr. Sheldon's, I presume, was 'Deacon'?”

“Yes,” said Sheldon. “It was a tribute to my sedateness of character, my religious disposition2”

“Yes,” agreed Agens with a grin; “it was, my dear, a stroke of deepest irony. You'll believe me when I tell you that old Bob Williams, who married us, was called 'Sport.'”

“Did Sport Williams officiate?” asked Sheldon. “Why didn't you send some of us other fellows a bid?”

“The Rock” stammered and Mrs. Agens turned a a guilty crimson. Sheldon eyed them coolly.

“Oh, I see; you thought we'd be obstreperous.”

“We did,” groaned Agens. “That is, my wife2”

“Yes,” said Sheldon. “Of course; certainly; cherchez la femme!”

“The natives were bad enough—we couldn't have escaped you fellows.”

“No, you couldn't,” agreed Sheldon grimly. “You'd have had to face the music. Whither do you two children happen to be bound?”

“We'll get off at Shandaken,” explained Agens, “and there'll be a wagon waiting to take us on to Lexington. It's moonlight, and we thought the night drive would be just the thing.”

“Of course—a romantic, honey-mooney sort of thing. I hadn't thought of that.”

“You!” they cried together.

“I—certainly—who else?”

“See here, old man,” said Agens earnestly, “are you going to Lexington?”

“Sure—I've already engaged a room there with Mynheer Van Valkenburg.” “The Rock” groaned. “I thought perhaps I'd have to stay at Shandaken over night, but now I'll honor you with my company. It would hardly be decent to refuse to take me.”

Bride and groom exchanged a look full of apprehension.

“What's the matter?” demanded Sheldon. “You needn't mind me. I'll even agree to go to sleep.”

“Well, you see,” Agens explained slowly, “it's not the trip over—we'll be glad to have you, of course—it's after we get there. We're going to stay at Van Valkenburg's, too, and we thought maybe we could get along without any one suspecting we were on our wedding trip—people are such fools, you know, about that sort of thing. You won't give us away, will you?”

“No,” said Sheldon airily, smiling at the pathetic tone. “No, I sha'n't need to!”

“Shandaken!” yelled the brakeman, slamming open the door behind them, and sticking in his head. The train rumbled to a stop, and they started for the door. As they neared it Sheldon saw, coming down the aisle of the other car, the sailor with the blue ribbon.

“I say, Deacon, don't poke me in the back with that cane,” protested Agens, who was ahead of him.

But Sheldon only poked him the harder, and Agens, turning to protest more effectively, saw his glance, followed it, and began to grin.

“Oh, I see,” he said. “The fair unknown!”

“Shut up!” commanded Sheldon.

But the fair unknown swept down the steps without raising her eyes. There was a man in livery awaiting her, and he took her bag and trunk-check. Sheldon stood gazing after her until she disappeared into the waiting-room of the little frame station.

“Edith,” said Agens, “did I ever look like this?”

“Shut up, you idiot!” commanded Sheldon again, and rapped him over the head. “Let's get our trunks.”

“But observe the cool calculation of the man,” continued Agens, apparently addressing the ambient air. “He takes care to select a girl not only pretty, but who owns a liveried servant as well. You won't forget your old friends, will you, Deacon?”

“Here's your driver looking for you,” said Sheldon. “Will you give him your trunk-checks, or do you want to stand here all night?”

“Oh, I'll give him the checks. But I'm not to be diverted from my train of thought. I perceive in you a disposition to evade the issue. Here, my good friend, are the checks. Where doth our chariot of state await us?”

“Th' wagon's b'hin' th' station, there,” answered the driver, motioning with his whip, and looking a little alarmed at the form of the inquiry.

“As I was saying,” continued “The Rock,” as they walked around the building, “you must promise—hello!—by Jove!—look at that!”

A stunning private rig was drawn up beside the platform, and, as they turned the corner, the fair unknown was just mounting into it, assisted by an obsequious footman. A moment later he sprang to his place, the whip cracked, and they were off.

“Whew!” whistled Agens. “Did you see those horses? Deacon, accept my congratulations!”

Sheldon turned silently toward the long, four-seated express, and Agens grinned again. Then he threw back his head and sang at the top of his voice:

“She was a rich man's da-a-aughter, He was a poor man's...”

But a grip on his throat smothered the last word.

Chapter II

Sheldon awoke in the early dawn with the sun at his window and an enthusiasm almost youthful at his heart. For an instant he rubbed his eyes; then, in a flash, he remembered—the trip up from New York, the night ride over the mountains, the girl with the blue-ribboned sailor! He drew a deep breath with quivering nerves; then, with sudden irritation, shook the feeling from him, sprang out of bed, and threw wide the window. Just back of the hotel a hill towered steeply upward. looked fresh and cool and inviting in the morning light, with the sheerest veil of mist about its summit.

“I'll try it,” said he to himself, and five minutes later was running lightly down the stairs.

The front door was already open, though there was no one in sight, and as he turned the corner of the house he found himself suddenly in the barnyard among a herd of cows. They gazed at him inquiringly, and, after a moment, Sheldon saw beside one of them a fresh-complexioned girl milking. She looked up as he approached, and gave him a vision of blue eyes and rosy cheeks and yellow hair that refreshed him like a breath from fragrant meadows.

“Good-morning,” he said, taking off his cap.

“Good-morning, sir,” she returned.

He stood for a moment watching her as, with slight turns of the wrist, she sent two hissing streams foaming into the bucket at her knee. He noted how strong and smooth her arms were, how freely the muscles played under the white skin.

“Is it very hard to do?” he asked.

“Not very,” she answered, smiling frankly up at him. “There's just a knack.”

“It's like a good many other things, isn't it? I never saw milk look so tempting.”

“Would you like a drink?” and without waiting for an answer she picked up a tin cup that stood beside her, filled it and handed it up to him.

“Thank you,” he said, as he took it; how good it tasted and how sweet it smelled—the warm, fresh milk! He handed back the empty cup with a little sigh of satisfaction. “Jove! that makes me young again!”

She nodded brightly as she moved her stool to the next cow.

He stood watching her a moment longer; then a sudden confusion seized him. What right had he here, staring at her, interfering with her work?

He lifted his cap with a quick gesture and turned away. “Good-by,” he said, “and thank you again for the milk.”

“Good-by,” she answered, and he resumed his cap and set his face toward the mountain. Not until he had gained the edge of the woods did he look around; then he turned and paused for a moment's rest. Away below him lay the house; there were the cows and there the milkmaid, still bending to her task. He waved his cap to her, and started upward among the trees.

Half an hour later he scrambled up a great rock at the mountain's crest and looked down upon the valley. the bottom gleamed a silver ribbon, which was the Schoharie; the white houses of the little town clustered together like a flock of sheep, with here and there a straggler; and away and away everywhere stretched the green hills, peak upon peak, serrate against the sky.

“It's great,” he said. “I was right to come. I was getting morbid.”

A column of smoke floating softly upward from the chimney of the hotel told him that the breakfast hour was not far distant. He paused for another long look around, another breath of the living air.

“Oh, world as God has made it! All is beauty; And knowing this is love, and love is duty, What further may be sought for or declared?

The lines leaped to his lips unconsciously, and, still unconsciously, he removed his cap, standing so a moment, deeply moved.

Then he started downward.

“So you've been up the ridge?” his host greeted him as he turned into the office. “You'll have to try Hunter Mountain—that's the highest one around here.”

“I'm more anxious to try breakfast,” protested Sheldon.

“You haven't long to wait,” Van Valkenburg laughed, glancing at the clock. “Ten minutes yet.”

“I'll be ready!” and Sheldon hurried up to his room for a sponge-off and change of clothes. He felt exhilarated, strong, ready for anything. He was eager to go to work—not the grind of the office—no—something that was really worth doing—the story, say, that he had been thinking of for so long a time. His face suddenly sobered.

“Why not?” he asked himself, his hands trembling a little as he tied his cravat. “Why not? I believe I can do it.”

When he came down again other boarders, to the number of perhaps a dozen, were in evidence on the porch or in the yard, but of Agens and his wife he caught not a glimpse.

“Not quite so nervy as they thought they were,” he chuckled, and turned back to the office.

“Mr. Sheldon,” called Van Valkenburg from the window, “let me make you acquainted with Mr. Roberts—he's also a New Yorker,” he added, as though he were pointing out a soul-relationship.

Sheldon found himself shaking hands with a very tall and very thin man, with black eyes, and a black mustache rendered scraggly by much caressing.

“Pleased to meet you, sir,” said Roberts with empressement. “I foresee you will be a welcome addition to our little circle here. A very congenial circle, sir—very congenial. You must meet Mrs. Roberts and the Misses Roberts.”

“I shall be very pleased to,” returned Sheldon.

“We've been having a very pleasant time here,” continued Roberts with a somewhat excessive cheerfulness. “Not wildly exciting—ha! ha!—just calmly interesting; a welcome change from New York.”

“Yes, of course,” agreed Sheldon.

He looked around with a dumb desire to escape, and caught sight of Agens and his wife passing the open doorway.

“There's a couple of friends of mine,” he said quickly. “Let me introduce them. I say, Rock!” he called, and in another moment Roberts was bowing impressively over the hand of the embarrassed Mrs. Agens.

“Delighted, I'm sure!” he cried. “This is good fortune, indeed. You will be a most welcome addition to our little circle here. You must meet Mrs. Roberts and the Misses Roberts.”

Sheldon wondered if he thought this was a joke—he said it almost as though it were, with a quick little deprecating smile. He was about to say something more, perhaps to explain the pleasant time he had been having, and the welcome contrast it offered to New York, but the breakfast bell interrupted him, and he hurried away to find his family.

“Well,” said Sheldon, “that bell has a welcome sound. I'm ravenous.”

“So am I,” said Agens. “1'm also glad to escape from that old bounder. What did you drag us in for?”

“Misery loves company,” smiled Sheldon as they joined the crowd hurrying toward the dining-room. “The mountains agree with you, Mrs. Agens,” he added, looking approvingly at her bright eyes and flushing cheeks.

“Thank you,” she answered. “They always agree with me.”

“She's worth looking at, isn't she?” said “The Rock,” gazing at her with open admiration.

“Yes,” laughed Sheldon, “but I wouldn't look her that way it I wanted to preserve my incognito.”

“Of course not!” cried the bride. “Don't be silly, Harry!”

“Assume the bored, cold, indifferent,” advised Sheldon. “Neglect her a little.”

“Go to the deuce!” protested Agens. “I'm no actor.”

“You'd better be one now! Here's the dining-room. We're the cynosure of all eyes. How do you like it?”

“I don't like it at all,” murmured “The Rock”; “but I dare say I can stand it.”

“Come on, then,” laughed Sheldon, and led the way to the places their host indicated with a wave of the hand.

The dining-room was long, pleasant and fresh-smelling, and from their position near one end of it they were well placed to take an inventory of their fellow-boarders. There was a little plump man and his wife and three children, a married pair of middle age with no children in evidence, a variegated assortment of seemingly unattached young men and women, and a young couple who, as they ate, gazed at each other in a manner not to be mistaken.

“Ye gods!” breathed Agens. “See there, Edith—there's a splendid example of how not to do it.”

Mrs. Agens looked and smiled and blushed.

“Poor people!” she said. “And yet they're happy, Harry; they don't seem to mind.”

“I'm really ashamed to look at them, and I'm married, too. I say, Deacon2”

But Sheldon was gazing approvingly at the bright face above the tray on which their breakfast was being brought to them. The face smiled at him as a pair of white, dexterous hands arranged the dishes.

“Will you have coffee or milk?” asked the milkmaid's voice.

“Oh, milk!” said Sheldon. “I should think you would have known!”

Agens sat looking at him with a reproving eye as the little waitress disappeared.

“Now, see here, Deacon, he protested, “if you think I'm going to sit calmly by and see you enmesh the innocent, trusting heart of that blue-eyed fairy2”

Sheldon merely smiled.

“There come the Misses Roberts, married and single,” he interrupted, nodding toward the door.

They were ushered in impressively by Roberts père, and took their seats with a prodigious rustling. Mother Roberts was a tall, plump woman, with white hair, nose-glasses, and severe cast of countenance, accentuated by a striking nose. The Misses Roberts—there were four of them, ranging in age from sixteen up to thirty—were healthy, fresh-looking young women, with good appetites. Sheldon, looking them over, had to admit that they were much better than he had expected.

Mrs. Roberts swept the tables with her glasses, much as a corsair is supposed to sweep the horizon, held them a moment on our three friends, as on a rich and unexpected prize, and then leaned over and spoke a short sentence to her husband.

“Oh, Harry!” groaned Mrs. Agens, coloring to the roots of her hair. “That woman has discovered it!”

“Which woman?” demanded Agens, who had been occupied with his muffins. “Discovered what?”

“Mrs. Roberts. She just looked at us and then said three words to her husband!”

“Well, I don't care if she said a dozen words to him—or a hundred. What of it?”

“But those three words, Harry! They were 'bride and groom'!”

“The Rock” laid down his fork and straightened back in his chair. His cheeks almost matched his wife's.

“How did she guess?” he demanded desperately.

“She knew the symptoms,” laughed Sheldon. “I told you you'd give yourselves away.”

“Would you have known? Did you see anything?”

“But I'm not an expert—I haven't made a study of the subject. Shall I throw her off the scent?”

“Do you think you can?” asked Agens eagerly.

“I don't know, but I'm willing to try. You may have to fib a little.”

“I'll commit murder, if necessary!”

Sheldon chuckled. “What a terrible disgrace it is to be newly married and to be found out! But I'll protect you! You and Mrs. Agens escape for a while, and I'll start her off on a cross-scent.”

But it was not to be, for Roberts, who had plainly bolted his breakfast, waylaid them at the door and held them captive in the hall until a rustling of skirts announced the approach of his cohorts.

“My dear,” he called, and as his wife sailed up, smiling benignly, “permit me to introduce Mr. Sheldon, of New York, and Mr. and Mrs. Agens, of Kingston.”

“Cha'med, I'm suah!” cried Mrs. Roberts, extending a plump hand. “These are my daughters—Cecil, Maud, Ruth and Margaret”—she nodded from the oldest to the youngest. “We shall be very glad, indeed, to welcome you to ouah little circle—a very congenial2”

“So I told them, my love,” broke in Mr. Roberts hastily. “Shall we adjourn to the veranda?”

“Shall I put the motion?” asked Sheldon.

“Oh, you sarcastic creatuah!” cried Mrs. Roberts, tapping him playfully with her fan. “Do you know, I suspect that you ah literary.”

It was a genuine treat to hear her pronounce the word—no combination of letters can represent the sound. Sheldon began to like her, despite himself.

“Oh, no,” said he, moving along beside her. “Heaven forbid! I couldn't afford it!”

“Afford it?”

“You see, I have to make my living by writing.”

Mrs. Roberts stared. “You mean we don't appreciate real literature?”

“Not to the extent of making it one of the six best sellers.”

Mrs. Roberts was effulgent as she settled into a chair on the veranda. This was the sort of conversation she adored—she knew that the others were listening—she threw her husband a triumphant glance.

“But genius, Mr. Sheldon,” she protested, “does genius stop to inquiah2”

“Oh, genius, that's different! Genius thrives in a garret; but mere plodding industry requires beer and skittles.

“Don't let him bluff you, Mrs. Roberts,” put in Agens. “Sheldon's one of the bright particular stars of the New York press. Only those on the inside know the full power of his trenchant pen, his incomparable style, his2”

“Mrs. Roberts!' interrupted Sheldon earnestly, “I warn you against him. When a man has been married as long as he has2”

He stopped, and six pairs of eyes were centred upon “The Rock's” crimson cheeks.

“Why,” cried Mrs. Roberts, a little breathlessly, “he seems very young—I thought—has he been married long?”

“Oh, quite a while,” stammered Agens, seeing that Sheldon remained inexorably silent.

“Well, I should never have suspected it! Do you know, I thought you and your wife were bride and groom!”

“What nonsense!”and Agens laughed painfully.

“And yet it isn't wonderful you should have thought so, Mrs. Roberts,” said Sheldon. “They do have that appearance. The cares of married life have left no wrinkles on their brows; the years have passed them lightly by; time, the great alchemist, has2”

As he spoke he put his hand in his pocket and flicked out his handkerchief. A little shower of rice pattered about him.

CONTINUED IN THE MAY JOURNAL

Part 2

Chapter III

AS THE rice pattered down in a shower upon the floor Mrs. Roberts gave a gasp of dismay.

“Yes, it's rice,” said Sheldon, coolly stooping and picking up as many of the grains as he could find.

“You seem to value it highly.”

“I do,” he admitted. “It recalls one of the most singular incidents of my life,” and he got out his pocketbook and carefully deposited the rice therein.

“Indeed!” and Mrs. Roberts looked at him suspiciously.

“Yes—last night, as I was stepping on the train at Kingston Point, a lot of people threw it at me.”

“Don't you see, mamma!” cried the youngest daughter. “They mistook him for some one else!”

“Perhaps that was it,” nodded Sheldon, glancing at the fiery countenances of bride and bridegroom. “But I have some scribbling to do,” he added, rising; “a leader that will shake the nation, or a novel that will run into the hundred thousands—I haven't decided which. On the one side, fame; on the other, fortune—you see the choice is difficult. You'll excuse me?”

“Since it's in the cause of humanity,” smiled Mrs. Roberts. “But we've organized a boating party for this evening—may we count upon you?”

“You certainly may,” said Sheldon, and disappeared indoors.

Yet his first movement on entering his room did not indicate any excessive eagerness to labor in the cause of humanity. He filled his pipe, got it to going nicely, pulled a chair up to the window and sat down. Then he stared out at the hillside, puffing contentedly. He was aroused by the violent opening of his door.

“Oh, you hypocrite!” cried Agens. “You double-distilled, unconscionably perjured hypocrite!”

“Cork up and shut the door. Got your pipe?”

“Of course.”

“Then fill up,” and Sheldon indicated his tobacco-pouch. “Where's your wife?”

“In the hands of the Philistines.”

“You coward!”

“Didn't you run away?”

“Yes, but I didn't leave a defenseless wife behind.”

“Oh, she's not defenseless. You don't know her yet. She's been handicapped by circumstances, but she'll come out strong in a day or two. Those Roberts girls aren't bad looking, are they?”

Sheldon grunted.

“Rather nice girls, too; and not in the least stupid.”

“Pity you're married,” Sheldon said.

“The Rock's” eyes became unnaturally bright.

“I knew you'd think so. They're worth marrying, aren't they? Well, I've paved the way for you there, old man. You bet I stayed long enough to do that.”

Sheldon turned an irate eye on him.

“See here, Rock,” he began, “if you've been stuffing those girls with any of your infernal nonsense2”

“I haven't!” cried Agens with a chuckle. “I'm not such a fool. I stuffed the mamma, Deacon. She isn't half-bad, either, once she drops the accent.”

“No, I rather like her,” Sheldon agreed. “She's like a cold bath—refreshing after the first shock. I shall cultivate Mrs. Roberts.”

“And the daughters?”

“Oh, hang the daughters!”

“But, Deacon2”

“Shut up, I tell you!”

Agens performed an extempore war-dance behind his unconscious host.

“Come here and sit down, can't you?” said Sheldon at last. Then he looked around. “Why, what ails the man? Is he crazy?”

“No, only exceedingly happy, Deacon,” and Agens grinned jovially. “Gimme a match.”

Sheldon held out the match silently and watched while the other lit his pipe. Then Agens pulled up a chair beside his companion's and deposited his feet on the window-sill.

“I say, Deacon,” he began, watching a puff of smoke circle upward until it was caught by the draught from the window and whirled outside, “do you remember2”

Magic words! What vision they called to life—the old, gray, ivy-covered building, guarding the front campus; the evenings on the grass beneath the trees with the Seniors singing on the steps; the long winter nights before the fire with half a dozen fellows building castles for the future2

In the dusk of the evening they went down together to the lake, where their hosts were waiting.

“You see, it's not really a lake,” explained Cecil, the eldest, to whom Sheldon, not without an amused perception, found himself allotted. But early every spring the hotel-keepers here get together and build a dam across a narrow place just below, and that backs the water up till it forms quite a little pond.”

“Which has been christened Crystal Lake!” he said. “I understand now why all the boats are flat-bottomed!”

He perceived, also, that most of them were obviously built for two, and it was to one of this class that he and his companion were assigned. He helped her into it, took the oars and shoved off.