All-Story Weekly, Vol. 112, No. 1 — page 116: what you’re looking at

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

106 tucking a wet lock of hair under the scarlet cap. “TY believe you. But there’s only one thing I’d criticise: you’d get more out of that trudgeon of yours if you watched your breathing.’ ‘T Know it,” she answered, with a nod. ‘“ But I don’t take it so seriously as all that. I’ve always managed to get along, anyhow.” Pete blinked the salt water out of his eyes and studied the social secretary with new respect. “You haven’t ever been a diving beauty or a movie bathing girl or anything like that, have you?” Mary laughed. “ Not yet, thank you. I never made any money out of swimming.”’ “Oh, they don’t swim,” said Pete. ‘“‘ They just dress for it.” ‘Well, I never did that either.” “But you could if you wanted to.” “That will do,” said Mary. Even in the democratic embrace of Larchmont Harbor she did not think it ad- visable for her employer’s valet to venture into the realm of personal compliment. Be- sides, she was not wholly convineed of the validity of his status as a valet. thing, she had never heard of a valet who could swim, and by swimming she meant more than the ordinary paddling about of the average human. For Mary could swim herself and she had discovered that Pete was something more than her equal. ‘“‘ Well, anyhow,” he said, “ you’re a first- class seagoing secretary. Did you notice Mr. Marshall standing on the bridge? I think he saw us.” ‘I’m quite sure he did. And I believe we'd better be starting back.” “Ts it a race?” ‘“’You never can tell,” said Mary, as she slid off the buoy like a seal and shot along under the surface for a dozen feet. Pete fell in beside her and let her set the pace. It was a smart one and he did not try to take the lead; he was saving himself for the sprint. For several minutes Mary attended strictly to her work. They were reaching mid-harbor when she eased up and raised her head to take a bearing for the Sunshine. Then she ceased swimming al- together and began to tread. For one ALL-STOR¥Y WEEKLY, “‘ Why, where’s the yacht?” she said. Pete also paused for a survey. ‘They've moved it, haven’t they? Well, 1” : He made a slow and deliberate inspection of the horizon. “Ts that it?” and Mary pointed. Pete studied a stern view of a somewhat distant craft, shading his eyes from the sun. ‘“That’s it,” he announced. “ And it’s still moving.” ‘““ They must be going to anchor in an- other place. I think they might have waited until we reached them. Shall we fallow?” She did not wait for an answer, but fell once more into a steady trudgeon stroke that served her extremely well. Then she paused for another reconnaissance. ‘The darn thing is still moving,” de- clared Pete. ‘It’s further off than when we first saw it. Now, what do you make out of that?” Mary wrinkled her forehead into a moist frown as the water dripped from the tip of her nose. _“ It’s perfectly silly to try to catch it by swimming,” she said. ‘“ They must have forgotten all about us. Why didn’t they blow a whistle, or something?” There was no question that the silhouette of the Sunshine had receded since their first observation. Pete tried to judge the dis- tance; It was more than half a mile, he was certain. “Well, what I] we do? Paddle around here and wait for it to come back?” “T don’t mind admitting that I’m a little bit tired,” said Mary. “I’m not. going to wait out here in the middle of the bay for Mr. Marshall to turn his yacht around. How far is it over to that shore?” “It’s only a few hundred yards. Shall we go?” | “We'll go there and wait until we see what they’re going to do.” Several minutes afterward Pete stood waist deep on a sandy bottom. There was a tiny beach in front of them, where a cove nestled between two rocky horns. He gazed out into the harbor. “It’s still going—the other way,” he re- ported. comiclboolk C©