Part 23 (2/2)
”Oh!” whispered Florence, suddenly sitting up among the robes. ”Oh, I do hope the ice is gone by morning!”
”Why? Aren't you happy here?”
”Yes, but I want to get back to the city--want to awfully. You see, I think I know where the blue G.o.d is and I want to go and find it.”
It was the afternoon of the second day following the night spent in the igloo before they were able to leave the island. Ice still blocked their path, that first day, so they had spent the whole day piling the deck of the O Moo high with Christmas trees. Since fate had been kind to them in landing them on the hospitable sh.o.r.es of this island they had been glad to do this much toward the happiness of others.
The lake could never have appeared more lovely. Its surface, smooth as a mirror, reflected the white clouds which drifted lazily overhead. The sun, sending its rosy reflections over all, made each tiny wavelet seem a saddle on the back of a fairy horse of dreamland. Across this dreamland the O Moo cut her way.
Now they were nearing the city. For some time they had been seeing the jagged line of sky sc.r.a.pers. Now they could catch the outline of the beach by the dry dock. Toward this they pointed the prow of the O Moo. A wireless telephone message had made known to Dr. Holmes the probable hour of their arrival. Old Timmie would doubtless be prepared to get the O Moo back upon her trestle.
”But what makes the sh.o.r.e all around the dock look so black?” puzzled Lucile.
Just then there came a succession of faint and distant pop-pop-pops.
”Someone coming to meet us,” Lucile decided, pleased at the thought.
Then there came another set of poppings, another and another, all in slightly different keys.
Now they could see the gasoline launches coming toward them. Seeming but sea gulls for size at first, they grew rapidly larger.
”Six of them,” murmured Marian. ”I didn't know we had that many friends.”
Their amazement grew as three other boats put out from sh.o.r.e. Then Lucile, who had been studying the beach exclaimed:
”I do believe that black spot about the dry dock moves. It seems to contract and expand, to waver backward and forward. You don't think it could be--be people?”
”Why no, of course--yes! I do believe it is!” cried Marian.
”It's the newspapers,” exclaimed Florence. ”They've published a lot of nonsense about our silly adventure and all those people have come down to see us come in.”
”And the people in those motorboats are reporters,” groaned Marian. ”It's the last of our life on the O Moo.”
”That's over anyway,” said Lucile. Her face was very sober. ”By the time we've paid for having this yacht put back in order, I figure we'll have about enough money left to buy soup and crackers for examination week and a ticket home. Good-bye old university!”
”Ho! Well,” laughed Florence, ”no use being gloomy about it. No use being gloomy about anything. Life's too long for that. Let's make up what we'll tell the reporters. They won't print the truth anyway, so we might as well tell them plenty.”
”Tell them what you like,” said Marie Neighbor, ”only please don't give them the location of my island. I don't want them to come out there bothering me.”
”We'll guard your secret, never worry,” smiled Lucile.
When the reporters' boats swarmed about them, the girls told as little as they could, but when later Dr. Holmes came on board with three official reporters, they gave them the true story of their adventures.
They were shown their own pictures on the front pages of all the papers and were a.s.sured that nothing but their adventure had been talked of since their disappearance.
A woman had come on board with the reporters, a trim, matronly woman in a tailored suit. At her first opportunity she drew Florence to one side to talk with her long and earnestly.
”The cabin of the O Moo is a wreck,” Marian said to Dr. Holmes. ”But really, Mr. Holmes, you may trust us to put it back into perfect shape if it takes our last penny. You may send upholsterers and decorators over as soon as the O Moo is in dry dock.”
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