Part 26 (1/2)

The meal was rather a merry one, in spite of the grief that hung over the party--a grief occasioned by the fear of what might have befallen Mrs. Kimball, as well as Mr. and Mrs. Robinson.

And yet, with all their sorrow, there was that never-failing ray of hope. Without it, the days would have been dismal indeed.

Joe ran the boat while the others were eating, and presently he called into the dining compartment.

”Cape San Juan!” was his announcement.

”Have we sighted it?” asked Jack, referring to the north easternmost point of Porto Rico.

”Just ahead of us,” replied Joe, who was a skillful navigator of the West Indian waters. ”You said you were going to change the course there.”

”Oh, yes. We'll round the cape and go south, I think,” went on Jack.

”A little more of that red snapper, Cora. Whoever cooked it knew how to do it,” and he looked at Ben, while the others laughed.

”What's the joke?” Jack demanded, as he ate on, seemingly unperturbed, though his cut hand made it rather awkward to handle his knife and fork.

”Honor to whom honor is due,” quoted Cora.

”It was Inez who cooked the fish. It's in Spanish style.”

”Good!” exclaimed Jack, as he flashed another look at Bess, with whom he seemed to have some understanding. ”Whatever style it is, I'm for it. I don't care whether it has gores down the side, and plaits up the middle, with frills around the ruffles, or whatever you call them--it's good.”

The others laughed, while Inez looked very much puzzled at Jack's juggling of dressmaking terms.

”Is it zat I have put too much paprika on ze fith?” asked the Spanish girl.

”No, Jack is just trying to be funny,” explained Cora. ”He thinks it's great--don't you, Jack?”

”What, to be funny?”

”No, to eat the fish,” said Walter.

There was more laughter. Little enough cause for it, perhaps, and yet there seemed to come a sudden relaxation of the strain under which they had all been laboring the last few days, and even a slight excuse for merriment was welcomed.

So the meal went on, and a good one it was. The motor girls, from having gone on many outings, and from having done much camping, were able to cook to satisfy even the sea-ravenous appet.i.tes of two young men, although Jack was not exactly ”up to the mark.”

Then, too, the novelty of s.h.i.+fting for themselves, after being used to the rather indolent luxury of a tropical hotel, made a welcome change to them. Joe had his meal after the others had finished, as it was necessary for some one to stay at the wheel, for the Tartar was slipping along through the blue water at a good rate of speed.

Cape San Juan was rounded, and then the prow of the powerful motor boat was turned south, to navigate the often perilous pa.s.sage between Porto Rico and Vieques.

”Do you think we'll find any news at St. Croix?” asked Cora, of Jack, in a low voice, when, after the meal, they found themselves for the moment by themselves.

”Hard to say, Sis,” he answered. ”I'm always living in hope, you know.”

”Yes, I suppose we must hope, Jack. And yet, when I think of all they may be suffering--starving, perhaps, on some uninhabited island, it--it makes me s.h.i.+ver,” and Cora glanced apprehensively across the stretch of blue water as though she might, at any moment, sight the lonely isle that served as a refuge for her mother, and for Mr. and Mrs. Robinson.

”Don't think about it,” advised the practical Jack. ”There are just as many chances that the folks have been picked up, and taken to some good island, as that they're on some bad one.”