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“Sam,” said Sally, when we were alone, “it’s just occurred to me that we may be causing some of these people to lose a lot of money.”

“Why, Sally,” I said, “you look scared.”

“I am,” she said. “Don’t you think it would be rather awful?”

“No, I don’t,” I said; “I think it would be split-tingly funny. But they won’t lose. Their absence will steady the market.”

“Who told you that, Sam?” said Sally.

“Sam!” said I.

IV

Even before the leaves come, you can’t see the pier from the house. It runs out from the bottom of a high bank and is otherwise hidden by trees. But it’s only a short distance, and in good weather we have the guests walk it, because it gives them a better chance to admire the gardens and the Athenian columns and things. But Monday, which dawned bright and still and warm, and was just as typical of May in Westchester as was the snow-and-wind storm, we drove them down in a bus because the roads and paths were horribly muddy. Of course, none of the women wanted to take the early train, so there were only the men and Sally and I in the bus. Sally said that there was going to be some fun when the men got to the pier and didn’t find the Hobo, and she wasn’t going to miss it. Just before we started she drew me aside and said:

“Sam, when we get there, for Heaven’s sake look blank.”

“I understand your fears, Sally,” I said, “and I will look as blank as I possibly can. But remember, child, how easy it is for you to look blank; and don’t always be urging others to attempt the impossible.”

“Mrs. Sam,” said Billoo, on the way down, “I can’t tell you what a good time I’ve had.”

“You nice man,” said Sally, “I wish we could persuade you to stay a day or two longer.”

“If it wasn’t for the market, I could stay forever,” said Billoo.

“Not if I lived,” said I. “Saturday to Monday is plenty long enough–Hello–!”

The pier and the empty stretch of water between the island and the mainland were in sight, but there was no Hobo.

“Hello what?” said Tombs. “Why, where’s the ferry?”

“I don’t see her,” I said, and, I hope, anxiously; “you don’t suppose–“

“Isn’t the Hobo there?” shrieked Billoo. He turned his head on his fat neck, and at first he looked very angry, and then scared.

We walked down to the pier, and then out on the float to get as big a water view as possible, but there wasn’t so much as a row-boat in sight.

“What can have happened?” said Sally.

“I’m worried to death,” I said. “Suppose she was blown from her moorings, the captain could have run her into New Rochelle, and come back yesterday afternoon when the wind went down. Something must have happened.”

“Oh, Sam,” cried Sally, “you don’t think she may have been run down by one of the Sound steamers and sunk?”

“I dare not think of it,” I said. “I dare not think of the poor chaps on board.”

“I don’t see how I’m to get to town,” said Billoo dismally. He pulled out his watch, and held it in his hand, and every moment or two looked at it. “Haven’t you a couple of row-boats? We couldn’t get this train, but we could get the next–“

I shook my head. “I’m sorry,” I said. “We’re not much on the water, and we’ve never been properly supplied with boats–“

Billoo swallowed some hasty thought or other, and began to look across at the mainland. My father owns all the land opposite the island, even the pier and the short road to the village of Stepping-Stone; and although there were several boats at the pier, there were no people, and the rest of the shore is nothing but thick woods.

“We must telephone somewhere,” said Billoo.

“You can’t,” I said. “You know you tried to telephone all yesterday and couldn’t, and the butler told me this morning that he had tried to put in a call and got no answer.”