All-Story Weekly, Vol. 112, No. 1 — page 112: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

102 merely laid a restraining spell upon him, soothing him, mollifying him, yet not lifting him to the heights. There were many yachts at anchor, with club ensigns and owners’ flags drooping limp in the sluggish air. Bill watched them for signs of life, but it was still an early hour for Larchmont. Occasionally he saw a hand scrubbing a dedék or polishing a brass, but he discovered no person who re- sembled an owner or a guest. A warm mist had thinned sufficiently to show the rocky shore, and beyond it, partly sequestered among the trees, the summer homes and cottages of persons who stil] slept in inno- cence of the designs of Aunt Caroline. The harbor was not even half awake; it was yet heavy with the unspent drowsiness of a summer night. Bill was on deck early because he had slept badly. The affair of Mary Wayne and Pete Stearns, as he interpreted it, rankled. The yacht had been clear of Hell Gate before he went to his stateroom, and even then if was a long time before he closed his eyes. The fact that Bill was jealous he did not himself attempt to blink; he admitted it. ‘“‘He’s not a valet, of course,” Bill was muttering, as he continued to watch the harbor. “But she doesn’t know that. Why does she have to pick a valet? And if she wanted to go ashore with him, why didn’t she say so, instead of sneaking off? I wish I’d stayed home. Damned if Ill go into society, either by way of the steam- boat route or any other way.” A steward brought breakfast and served it under the awning. Bill greeted it with his usual sound appetite; nothing ever seri- ously interfered with his breakfast. “Good morning!” He looked up from the omelette at Mary Wayne, who stood there all in white, fresh, clear-eyed, a part of the morning itself. Bill arose and drew another chair to the table; he could do no less. “Good morning,” he said. ‘““Doesn’t it make you just want to shout?” she exclaimed. ‘I was watching it from my stateroom window while I dressed. It’s Larchmont, isn’t it? I love it al- ready.” ALL-STORY WEEKLY. Bill pushed the coffee pot toward her and rang for the steward. ‘Yes; it’s Larchmont,” he said. “ Aren’t you just glad all over that we came?” “Not particularly.” Mary studied him more carefully. ‘* Qh,” she said. Bill continued to eat in silence. The steward brought another omelette and ane helped herself sparingly. “ How long shall we stay here, do you think?” she ventured. ‘What have I got to say about it?” ‘“ I should think you’d have quite a lot to say. I would if I was in command of a yacht.” “Suppose you weren’t sure who was in command ?”’ ‘Ud make sure,” she answered promptly. Bill glowered sullenly. The spell of the morning was loosening its grip. ‘Well, aboard this yacht it appears that everybody does as he pleases,’ said Bill, helping himself to more coffee and ignoring her proffered assistance. His mood pleased her. She would not, of course, show him that it did; but her inner- most self accepted it.as a tribute, no matter how ungraciously the tribute might be dis- guised. “ That’s something new, isn’t it?” she in- quired. ‘“ At sea I always thought the cap- tain was a czar. Have we a soviet, or something like that?” “Tm not sure we have even that much. More coffee?”’ “ No, thank you.” ' He appeared determined to relapse into a silence, but Mary would not have it so. She had not been wholly tranquil when she came on deck; she was somewhat uncertain about the night before. But now every- thing suited her very well. . ‘*Do you go ashore here?”’ she asked. ‘Don’t know.” “Will any of us be permitted to go ashore?”’ “Why ask me?”’ ‘“‘ Because you don’t seem to want us to use the launch.”’ Bill gave her a measuring glance. “ Did I say so?” comiclboolk C©