Part 18 (2/2)
Blix and Condy had planned a long walk for that day. They were to go out through the Presidio Reservation, past the barracks and officers'
quarters, and on to the old fort at the Golden Gate. Here they would turn and follow the sh.o.r.e-line for a way, then strike inland across the hills for a short half-mile, and regain the city and the street-car lines by way of the golf-links. Condy had insisted upon wearing his bicycle outfit for the occasion, and, moreover, carried a little satchel, which, he said, contained a pair of shoes.
But Blix was as sweet as a rose that morning, all in tailor-made black but for the inevitable bands of white satin wrapped high and tight about her neck. The St. Bernard dog-collar did duty as a belt. She had disdained a veil, and her yellow hair was already blowing about her smooth pink cheeks. She walked at his side, her step as firm and solid as his own, her round, strong arms swinging, her little brown eyes s.h.i.+ning with good spirits and vigor, and the pure, clean animal joy of being alive on that fine cool Western morning. She talked almost incessantly. She was positively garrulous. She talked about the fine day that it was, about the queer new forage caps of the soldiers, about the bare green hills of the Reservation, about the little cemetery they pa.s.sed just beyond the limits of the barracks, about a rabbit she saw, and about the quail they both heard whistling and calling in the hollows under the bushes.
Condy walked at her side in silence, yet no less happy than she, smoking his pipe and casting occasional glances at a great s.h.i.+p--a four-master that was being towed out toward the Golden Gate. At every moment and at every turn they noted things that interested them, and to which they called each other's attention.
”Look, Blix!”
”Oh, Condy, look at that!”
They were soon out of the miniature city of the Post, and held on down through the low reach of tules and sand-dunes that stretch between the barracks and the old red fort.
”Look, Condy!” said Blix. ”What's that building down there on the sh.o.r.e of the bay--the one with the flagstaff?”
”I think that must be the lifeboat station.”
”I wonder if we could go down and visit it. I think it would be good fun.”
”Idea!” exclaimed Condy.
The station was close at hand. To reach it they had but to leave the crazy board walk that led on toward the fort, and cross a few hundred yards of sand-dune. Condy opened the gate that broke the line of evergreen hedge around the little two-story house, and promptly unchained a veritable pandemonium of dogs.
Inside, the place was not without a certain charm of its own. A brick wall, bordered with sh.e.l.ls, led to the front of the station, which gave directly upon the bay; a little well-kept lawn opened to right and left, and six or eight gaily-painted old rowboats were set about, half filled with loam in which fuchsias, geraniums, and mignonettes were flowering. A cat or two dozed upon the window-sills in the sun. Upon a sort of porch overhead, two of the crew paced up and down in a manner that at once suggested the p.o.o.p. Here and there was a gleam of highly polished red copper or bra.s.s tr.i.m.m.i.n.gs. The bay was within two steps of the front door, while a little further down the beach was the house where the surf-boat was kept, and the long runway leading down from it to the water. Condy rapped loudly at the front door. It was opened by Captain Jack.
Captain Jack, and no other; only now he wore a blue sweater and a leather-visored cap, with the letters U. S. L. B. S. around the band.
Not an instant was given them for preparation. The thing had happened with the abruptness of a transformation scene at a theatre. Condy's knock had evoked a situation. Speech was stricken from their mouths.
For a moment they were bereft even of action, and stood there on the threshold, staring open-mouthed and open-eyed at the sudden reappearance of their ”matrimonial object.” Condy was literally dumb; in the end it was Blix who tided them over the crisis.
”We were just going by--just taking a walk,” she explained, ”and we thought we'd like to see the station. Is it all right? Can we look around?”
”Why, of course,” a.s.sented the Captain with great cordiality. ”Come right in. This is visitors' day. You just happened to hit it--only it's mighty few visitors we ever have,” he added.
While Condy was registering for himself and Blix, they managed to exchange a lightning glance. It was evident the Captain did not recognize them. The situation readjusted itself, even promised to be of extraordinary interest. And for that matter it made little difference whether the captain remembered them or not.
”No, we don't get many visitors,” the Captain went on, as he led them out of the station and down the small gravel walk to the house where the surf-boat was kept. ”This is a quiet station. People don't fetch out this way very often, and we're not called out very often, either.
We're an inside post, you see, and usually we don't get a call unless the sea's so high that the Cliff House station can't launch their boat.
So, you see, we don't go out much, but when we DO, it means business with a great big B. Now, this here, you see,” continued the Captain, rolling back the sliding doors of the house, ”is the surf-boat. By the way, let's see; I ain't just caught your names yet.”
”Well, my name's Rivers,” said Condy, ”and this is Miss Bessemer.
We're both from the city.”
”Happy to know you, sir; happy to know you, miss,” he returned, pulling off his cap. ”My name's Hoskins, but you can just call me Captain Jack. I'm so used to it that I don't kind of answer to the other.
Well, now, Miss Bessemer, this here's the surf-boat; she's self-rightin', self-bailin', she can't capsize, and if I was to tell you how many thousands of dollars she cost, you wouldn't believe me.”
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