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PAGE 4

On The Spot; Or, The Idler’s House-Party
by [?]

“The man himself,” said Sally.

“Captain,” said I, “how are we off for boats?”

By good-luck there were in commission only the motor-boat, and the row-boat that she towed behind, and a canoe in the loft of the boat-house.

“Captain,” I said, “take the Hobo (that was the name of the motor-boat) and her tender to City Island, and don’t come back till Wednesday morning, in time for the Wall Street special.”

“When you get to City Island,” said Sally, “try to look crippled.”

“Not you,” I said, “but the Hobo.”

“Tell them,” said Sally, “if they ask questions, that you were blown from your moorings, and that you couldn’t get back in the teeth of the gale because–because–“

“Because,” said I, “your cylinders slipped, and your clutch missed fire, and your carbureter was full of prunes.”

“In other words,” said Sally, “if anybody ever asks you anything about anything–lie.”

We gave him a lot more instructions, and some eloquent money, and he said, “Very good, ma’am,” to me, and “Very good, miss,” to Sally, and pretty soon he, and the Hobo, and the engineer, and the Hobo’s crew of one, and the tender were neatly blown from their moorings, and drifted helplessly toward City Island at the rate of twenty-two miles an hour. Then Sally and I (it was snowing hard, now) climbed into the loft of the boat-house, and fixed the canoe.

“There,” said Sally, putting down her little hatchet, “I don’t believe the most God-fearing banker in this world would put to sea in that! Well, Sam, we’ve done it now.”

“We have,” said I.

“Will Monday never come?” said Sally.

“Stop,” said I; “the telephone.”

Idle Island was moored to the mainland by a telephone cable. It took us nearly an hour to find where this slipped into the water. And we were tired and hungry and wet and cold, but we simply had to persevere. It was frightful. At length we found the thing–it looked like a slimy black snake–and we cut it, where the water was a foot deep–the water bit my wrists and ankles as sharply as if it had been sharks–and went back to the house through the storm.

It was as black as night (the weather, not the house), snowing furiously and howling. We crept into the house like a couple of sneak-thieves, and heard Billoo at his very loudest shouting:

“I had Morgan on the wire all right–and the fool operator cut me off!”

Sally snipped her wet fingers in my face.

“Hello, fool operator,” she said.

“Hello, yourself,” said I. “But oh, Sally, listen to that wind, and tell me how it sounds to you. A wet hug if you guess the answer.”

“To me,” said Sally, “it sounds plausible.” And she got herself hugged.

III

I don’t believe that anybody slept much Saturday night. You never heard such a storm in your life. It seemed to Sally and me, who would have been the chief sufferers if it had blown down, that our comfortable, brand-new marble house flapped like a flag. Every now and then there came a tremendous crack from one part of the island or another; and each time Sally would say, “There goes my favorite elm,” or I would say, “There goes that elm again.”

Most of the men came down to breakfast Sunday morning. What with the storm and the worry about stocks keeping them awake most of the night, they were without exception nervous and cross, particularly Billoo. He looked like an owl that had been first stuffed and then boiled. Blenheim told me later that at various times during the night he had carried four several pints of champagne to Billoo’s room; and at 7 A.M., bicarbonate of soda and aromatic spirits of ammonia.

“I tell you, Sam,” said Billoo crossly, “I’ve been awake all night thinking what it would mean to some of us–yes, me!–if this storm should wreck that ferry-boat of yours.”

A lot of wet snow and wind hit the dining-room windows a series of rattling slaps.