Larchmont Harbor!

It was fair even to the eyes of Bill Marshall, as he stood under the after awning of the Sunshine, staring out over the shining water, as yet untouched by so much as a breath of breeze. He was in no pleasant mood this morning, but he could not deny the serene, luxurious charm of the harbor. At another time it might have awakened the spirit of the muse within him; Pete always insisted that far under the surface Bill was a poet. But now its influence was not quite so potent as that; it 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 deck or polishing a brass, but he discovered no person who resembled 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 still slept in innocence 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 it 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 I'll go into society, either by way of the steamboat 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 seriously 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 already."

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.

"Oh," she said.

Bill continued to eat in silence. The steward brought another omelette and she 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?"

"I'd 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 innermost self accepted it as a tribute, no matter how ungraciously the tribute might be disguised.

"That's something new, isn't it?" she inquired. "At sea I always thought the captain was a czar. Have we a soviet, or something like that?"

"I'm 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 everything 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?"

"Not exactly; that is, not in so many words. But last night——"

"We won't talk about last night, if you don't mind."

She was becoming better pleased every minute. When she had retired the night before she made up her mind that it would be necessary to make a clear explanation concerning Peter, the valet. Now she knew that she would never explain.

"Well, if we're not permitted to go ashore here, do you think we can get permission at Newport?" she asked.

"Confound it! I didn't say you couldn't go ashore. You can go ashore any time you want. You can——"

Bill excused himself abruptly and walked forward. Mary beamed at his retreating back and poured another cup of coffee.

"He was going to say I could go to hell," she murmured. "Oh, lovely!"

Aunt Caroline had breakfast served in her stateroom and then sent for Mary. After a satisfactory conference, she dismissed Mary and sent for Bill.

"How soon are you going ashore, William?" she asked.

"I didn't know I was going."

"Why, of course. You have friends here. You can't leave Larchmont without calling. That's what we came for."

"Who are the friends, I'd like to know."

"Well, in the first place, I believe Bishop Wrangell is staying here—with the Williamsons. It will give you an opportunity to meet them; they're very desirable. And then the Kingsleys have a cottage here, or did, at any rate. You remember the little Kingsley girl at the party—the one in blue?"

Bill remembered. Only she was not the Kingsley girl; she was Arnold Gibbs's little girl.

"You must look them up, too. They'll probably have some people visiting them, too; the Kingsleys always did entertain, and they have a very good position. And Miss Norcross thinks it just possible that the Humes have opened their house. You've never met Mrs. Hume, but if you just mentioned that you're a Marshall, she'll be delighted to see you. She knew your mother."

Bill groaned.

"Talk to Miss Norcross about it," added Aunt Caroline. "She'll know exactly what you should do."

"Good Lord, Aunt Caroline! Don't you think I know how to behave without getting tips from Miss Norcross? You'll be wanting me to consult Peter next."

"And a very good idea it would be, William. I suggest it. And now see if you can find last night's Evening Post; I haven't seen it yet. After that I think you'd better start."

Bill walked out like a surly child. He could not find the Evening Post, but he picked up a copy of Devilish Stories, gave it to a maid and told her Aunt Caroline wanted it. Then he went on deck and ordered the launch.

He had no intention of calling on anybody. He might ring up Kid Whaley on the 'phone and see if everything was all set for that little affair. But what he wanted principally was a change of environment.

Mary saw him sulking at the rail as he waited for the launch to be brought around to the gangway. She smiled, bit her lip and approached.

"You're going ashore?"

"Uhuh."

"You have cards with you, I suppose? Your aunt's also?"

Bill faced her savagely.

"Stacks of cards," he barked. "Mine and my aunt's and my valet's and my secretary's and the steward's and everybody else's. And my shoes are clean and I've washed behind my ears and brushed my hair in the back. Anything else?"

"I don't think of a thing, unless you've forgotten a handkerchief," she said, sweetly.

The launch arrived and Bill boarded it. At the final moment it occurred to him that he had, perhaps, been ungracious.

"Want to come along?" he asked, looking up at the rail where Mary stood. He really hoped she would say yes.

Mary shook her head and smiled like the morning.

"I'm afraid I've too many things to do," she answered. "But thank you, just the same. You won't forget to call on Mrs. Hume, if she's here."

"I won't forget to take you by the neck and pitch you overboard," was what Bill had in his mind, but he did not give utterance to it. He merely scowled and turned his back.

Mary watched the launch as it headed for the yacht club landing and, when it had moved beyond any possibility of hearing, laughed outright.

"The poor man!" she said. "I'd better watch myself. Back in New York I felt as if I were living in a reign of hidden terror. Now the pendulum is at the other extreme and I feel as if I could do anything that pleased me. It's a time for caution, probably. But he is so funny!"

Bill was gone for several hours. He was late for lunch when the launch drew alongside the Sunshine; in fact, everybody else had had lunch long ago. His visit ashore had not been satisfactory and was only prolonged because he felt that the shore, however strange and lonesome, was more congenial than the deck of his yacht.

He spied Aunt Caroline in an easy chair.

"Nobody home, Aunt Caroline!" he said.

"Oh, I'm sorry, William. Well, there's no hurry, of course; we can stay over indefinitely. Probably you'd better go back this afternoon."

Bill had no intention of going back. He had not visited a single house; he had done nothing beyond making several futile attempts to get a telephone connection with Kid Whaley.

He glanced about the deck and saw nobody but a couple of hands.

"Where's Miss Norcross?" he asked.

"She went swimming," said Aunt Caroline.

"Swimming!"

"Right off the yacht, William. Do you know that she's a very remarkable swimmer. I was completely astonished."

William went to the rail and surveyed the harbor. He saw no sign of a swimmer.

"Where is she?" he demanded.

"Oh, somewhere out there," said Aunt Caroline, with an easy gesture. "She's perfectly safe. Peter is with her."

"What!"

"They went swimming together. I wish you could have seen them, William. They were just like two children. They've been swimming all around among the yachts. Where they are now I haven't the least idea; but they'll be back."

Bill struck the rail savagely and once again glared out at the harbor. So this was the reason his secretary did not want to go ashore; she had an engagement to go swimming with his valet. But if Bill was disturbed, not so Aunt Caroline; she was once more absorbed in her magazine.

The boss of the yacht Sunshine walked forward, where he found the second officer superintending the cleaning of brasswork.

"Where's that swimming party of ours?" asked Bill, carelessly.

"Now, there's a question you might well ask, sir," said the second officer. "Where aren't they? Seems to me they've been all over the harbor, sir, as far as I can make out. Never saw anything like it."

"Is there any boat following them?"

"Boat, sir?" The second officer laughed. "I don't know what they'd be doing with a boat. The last time I saw them they looked as if they were fit to swim to Europe. And the young lady, sir!"

He made what was intended to be an eloquent gesture.

"What about the young lady?"

"A fish, sir; a fish, if ever one lived. First off they did a lot of playing around the yacht, sir. Climbing aboard and diving off again. I give you my word, sir, the whole crew was on deck watching. The young lady—well, she's a little thing, but she's nicely set up, sir. She'd think nothing of making a back dive off the end of the bridge. And the young gentleman was no ways behind her, sir. You'd think there was a couple of porpoises in the harbor."

Bill's soul was growing blacker and blacker.

"I've seen swimmers in my time, but never the beat of that pair, unless it was professionals," added the second officer, in a musing tone.

He glanced out at the water, then gestured quickly.

"Look, now! There they go."

Bill looked. There was a commotion in the water a hundred yards distant. Two heads were moving rapidly in parallel courses; one was conspicuous in a scarlet bathing cap. He could see a flashing of wet arms; the sound of a familiar laugh came to him. A race seemed to be in progress.

He ran up on the bridge for a better view and evidently the red cap sighted him, for there was an instant of slackened pace and the joyous wave of a white arm. And then she was again leaving a wake behind her as she sped in pursuit of the second swimmer. Bill gritted his teeth and watched. They were not returning to the yacht; rather, they were increasing their distance from it with every stroke. He stared until they passed from sight behind a big sloop that lay at anchor, and then the harbor seemed to swallow them. Evidently they were again exploring the yacht anchorage, which was crowded with craft.

Bill slowly returned to the deck.

"They've been at it over an hour," volunteered the second officer. "Get the lady to dive for you when they come back, sir. She'll surprise you, if I don't mistake."

Bill made no answer, but walked aft, where he plunged himself heavily into a wicker chair. Aunt Caroline had retired to her stateroom for a nap and he had the deck to himself.

"I'll not stand for it!" he muttered fiercely. "Last night they were sneaking off to town together and now they're making a holy show of themselves here. What does she think she can put over on me, anyhow? As for Pete Stearns, I'll drown him."

In fact, Bill for a time had been minded to get into his own bathing suit and pursue them, but his dignity intervened. No; if his secretary chose to run away with his valet, let her do so. What made it worse, she knew he was aboard; she had seen him; she had waved her arm at him. And then, deliberately, she had turned her back upon him.

After half an hour of glooming he went to the rail again and once more searched the harbor with his glance. He saw no flashing arms; no red cap.

"I won't stand much more of this," he said, grimly. "I'll show them where they get off."

He went to his stateroom and mixed a drink, and after that he mixed another. Presently he returned to the deck, this time with a pair of binoculars. The glasses showed him no more than he had been able to see without them. He fell to pacing, his hands clasped behind him, his glance directed at the canvas-covered deck beneath his feet. Napoleon could have done it no better; Lord Nelson would have been hard put to outdo him.

The afternoon was as fair as the morning, but Bill took no account of its glory. He was wholly absorbed in plumbing the gloomy depths of his mind.

"They think they're putting it over on me," he sneered. "All right. Let 'em see what happens."

Once again he swept the glasses in a circle of the harbor. No scarlet cap. He glanced at his watch.

"Well, I'm through. Time's up."

Slipping the glasses into their case, he strode forward and banged on the door of the sailing master's cabin. A sleepy-eyed officer answered the summons.

"We're going to pull out of here at once," said Bill.

"Everybody aboard, sir?"

"Everybody that's going."

"Very good, sir. Which way are we heading?"

"I'll tell you when we get outside the harbor. I'm in a hurry."

The sailing master ducked back into his cabin, shouted an order through a speaking tube that communicated with the engine-room and then ran forward along the deck. A minute later the winch was wheezing and the yacht Sunshine was bringing her mud-hook aboard.

Bill retired to his stateroom and poured another drink.