Part 5 (1/2)
”Afraid?” asked Bobby, teasingly, flas.h.i.+ng a smile over her shoulder.
”I don't think,” said Percival, and, immediately was chagrined at having indulged in such a vulgar expression.
”I love it!” cried Bobby. ”It's more fun than a bucking bronco. Is this our wave? All right! Let her go!”
The Kanaka in the prow gave the signal, and the boat backed into the monster wave just as it was about to break. Simultaneously the paddles were plunged into the water, and a vigorous pull was made for the sh.o.r.e.
There was a merry whiz of rus.h.i.+ng waters, a breathless suspension in midair, then a gigantic upheaval as the boat plunged over the crest of the wave and shot like an arrow two miles in two minutes to the beach.
Percival, as has been stated, rather prided himself on having exhausted life's thrills. When one has made a reputation for luging at Caux and has raced on skis with the professionals at St. Moritz, not to boast of a daring flight in a French aeroplane, one is apt to be rather superior to minor sports. But the present thrilling diversion, shared with a girl as irresistibly pretty and as utterly abandoned to the joy of the moment as Bobby Boynton, proved quite the most exhilarating pastime in which he had ever indulged.
Again and again the boat went out, and again and again Mrs. Weston beckoned frantically and imperatively from the pier. The last time she looked at her watch, she seemed to give up the hope of getting the delinquents back to sh.o.r.e. Gathering up scarfs and parasols, she and Elise hurried back to the steamer.
For the two young people in the boat the steamer had ceased to exist.
Everything had ceased to exist except a narrow sh.e.l.l of wood, three brown-backed natives, and one towering wave after another that shot them through delicious realms of s.p.a.ce and left them, with every nerve a-tingle, laughing into each other's eyes.
”Ripping, isn't it?” cried Percival on the third return. ”Shall we have one more go?”
”I expect we ought to be going,” said Bobby, shaking the salt spray out of her hair. ”I don't see anything of Mrs. Weston and Elise.”
”I don't want to see anything of them,” cried Percival, recklessly.
”Right ho! once more!”
She was nothing loath, and they went blithely forth to meet the next big wave.
”Mrs. Weston _has_ gone!” said Bobby when they again touched sh.o.r.e.
”Wouldn't it be a lark if we were left?”
No bullet ever brought a soaring bird to ground more promptly than this remark brought the Honorable Percival to his senses.
”Gad!” he cried, ”but it's impossible! My luggage is all on board!”
He scrambled frantically out of the boat and rushed to his bath-house.
The prospect of being stranded, on even a fairy island, with a dangerously beguiling maiden of the middle cla.s.s was even more appalling than being divorced from his luggage. He struggled frantically into his clothes, losing three precious minutes over a broken shoe-lace. When he came out he found Bobby, very cool and collected, sipping an iced drink at the pavilion. Not waiting for her to finish, he rushed her into the waiting motor and implored the chauffeur to get them to the dock with all possible speed.
He was aghast at his own folly. It was incredible that he should have allowed himself to drift into such an awkward situation. They might not be missed until after the steamer sailed, in which case it was quite possible that the erratic captain would refuse to put back. The man might even make capital of the incident and claim that his daughter was compromised. What if he should demand satisfaction? What satisfaction would be due in the circ.u.mstances? Percival felt the hot blood rush to his head.
”Can't you speed her up a bit?” he urged, his elbows on the front seat and his eyes on the small watch encased in the leather strap about his wrist.
”Yes, do!” cried Bobby, excitedly. ”I love to go fast!”
”Do you realize,” asked Percival, a.s.suming his sternest manner in order to impress her with the gravity of the situation, ”that we stand a very good chance of being left?”
”I can't imagine a nicer place to be left in,” said Bobby, adding between bounces, ”besides, you needn't--look so cross--at me. It is all your--own fault.”
The chauffeur at this point felt it inc.u.mbent upon him to avert a quarrel, so he offered the cheering a.s.surance that it was only four forty-five, and he could get most anywhere in fifteen minutes. But even as he spoke there was an ominous report, followed by the unmistakable sound of escaping air.
”Oh, I say!” cried Percival in tones of horror, ”not a puncture?”
”That's whut!” said the chauffeur, who had jammed on the brakes, and was now ruefully inspecting a back wheel.