"Uncle Monty!" Billy's face wore an injured expression which would have fitted a Raphael cherub. "You know I wouldn't have missed that boat for anything. I'm sure to be rooked if I'm not in Cambridge Thursday."

Cosden joined them in time to hear Billy's expostulations. "We couldn't let that happen," he said comfortingly. "Come on; I've fixed it up with the jolly skipper in this motor-boat. He swears he can reach the 'Arcadian' before the tender does. Quick! there isn't a minute to lose!"

"But I haven't packed my bag--"

"Here it is!"

Huntington removed Billy's one remaining hope, and the boy saw that he was fairly beaten.

The broad grin returned to his face as he took his bag. "That's mighty good of you, Mr. Cosden," he said, with such apparent sincerity that it disarmed his uncle's wrath. "There aren't many men who would help a fellow out like that. I won't forget it!"

He ran down the stone steps and took his place in the stern of the motor-boat. "Good-bye, everybody! Say, Uncle Monty, explain to Merry why I didn't have time to say 'good-bye' to her, and don't forget that this joy-ride is on Mr. Cosden. Good-bye!"

They watched the little boat speed after the tender, which by this time had reached the narrows; then they turned back to the piazza.

"We've succeeded in making ourselves fairly conspicuous," Cosden remarked. "A good deal of fuss over one small boy, eh, Monty?"

"Thank you so much!" Edith cried enthusiastically as they joined her. "I haven't seen so much excitement since I arrived,--and I love to watch two live men in action."

"It's frightful, being stared at, isn't it?" Cosden protested.

"Don't believe a word he says, Miss Stevens," Huntington retaliated. "He really loves to be stared at; it's the disappointment on the people's faces after looking at him that causes the worry.--Now, Connie, you can put your foot on the ground without stepping on Billy. How are you planning to take advantage of your opportunity?"

Cosden glanced at his watch. "I have an appointment with Thatcher at eleven on that little business proposition. We're to meet at the 'Hamilton.' I've just about time to keep it. As for you, I suggest that you invite Miss Stevens to show you the way to the Devil's Hole. They have a wonderful collection of fish over there, which the Scotch keeper puts through their paces every little while whenever he needs the money.

I commend your attention to the bachelor-fish: it has a bad disposition, makes itself obnoxious to its fellow-creatures, and would be sarcastic in its conversation if it had the power of speech."

With this parting shot Cosden made his excuses to Miss Stevens and walked over to the "Hamilton." His spirits had improved immensely within the past half-hour, and the proximity of his appointment caused him to forget for the moment that his vacation trip thus far had distinctly bored him. To Cosden a vacation consisted, as Henry James would have described it, of "agitated sc.r.a.ps of rest, s.n.a.t.c.hed by the liveliest violence." On other occasions, when he sought relaxation, he had found it in strenuous physical exercise; in the present instance he had intended to engage himself in the more unfamiliar occupation of offering a partnership to Merry Thatcher in the "Cosden Social Development Company, Limited," although he had not expressed it to himself in just these words. In this expectation he had so far signally failed. Had he been a baron of old he might have seized the prospective bride bodily and made off with her to his ancestral castle, but, even with the handicap imposed by modern civilization, now that the diverting influence had been eliminated, he believed the opportunity was nearer to the point of offering itself. The fact that Thatcher had turned to him in this proposition, whatever it was, not only pleased him as a further evidence of recognition, but supplied him with an agreeable outlet for his pent-up energy.

Cosden had told Huntington that Thatcher was a "big man," and his friend, having learned his business vocabulary, understood what was meant by this designation: Thatcher was a man of substantial means, held influential positions on important boards, and wielded a power in the financial circles in which he moved. Cosden had been far-sighted, he told himself, to have happened upon the scene at this particular juncture, for Thatcher would scarcely have gone out of his way to invite him to join in the enterprise except for the coincidence of their meeting; and Cosden was not averse to being included in the Thatcher group of operators.

Thatcher was awaiting him on the lower piazza when he arrived at the "Hamilton."

"I wanted to have a few words with you before we join this promoter person up-stairs," he explained, "so I sent Stevens on ahead to tell him we are on our way. Duncan is the man's name. He's a Scotchman who has lived down here for many years. He has little education, and you could cut his brogue with a knife."

"I won't object to his brogue if his signature is any good at the foot of a check," Cosden interrupted.

"He doesn't come in on that end," Thatcher continued. "The idea is his, and he can be of service later on if we proceed with it. It isn't very large, and we can finance it easily if the thing is worth taking up at all. The scheme is to fit Bermuda out with a trolley system, and to bring the right tidy little island down to the twentieth century."

"Not a bad suggestion," Cosden commented,--"and a great improvement upon the present system of bicycling." Billy would have rejoiced had he known how stiff his adversary's legs were after the famous ride to Elba Beach.

"Why hasn't some one thought of it before?"

"Duncan will tell you the story as he has told me," Thatcher said rising. "Come, let us go to him now. Ricky will have exhausted his vocabulary by this time."

Cosden smiled at the mention of Stevens' name. "He's a curious fellow,--Stevens," he remarked. "With that vacant expression on his face he ought to make a corking poker-player. Is he interested in this deal?"

"Ricky interested in business?" Thatcher laughed. "He would run a mile to avoid it! No, he's just a messenger this morning; but Ricky is all right in his way. He's the society member of his family. He isn't a heavy-weight, but when it comes to dancing or the latest word in men's attire, you can't overlook Ricky."

Cosden's departure left Huntington and Miss Stevens together on the piazza of the hotel. The bustle attendant upon the sailing had quieted down but Huntington had not recovered from the unusually violent action of the past few moments.

"I was going over to have another visit with Hamlen," he remarked, "but the morning is gone."

"It isn't eleven o'clock yet," Miss Stevens commented.

"By Jove! is that all? Well, it's too late now, but I'll go this afternoon.--It seems as if ages had pa.s.sed since breakfast! Do you suppose they'll keep that boy on board once they get him there?"

"Of course," she laughed. "Why worry about him?"

"I'm not worrying," Huntington protested. "I never worry,--I don't believe in it. Worry is for parents and married people generally."

"What a cynic you are on the subject of marriage," Edith remarked; "you never pa.s.s an opportunity to knock it, do you?"

"Am I so heartless as all that?" Huntington inquired by way of answer.

"But why can't you and I, who may cla.s.s ourselves among those fortunate ones who have escaped the snares, be honest with each other and enjoy watching the thraldom of others who have shown themselves less discreet?"

"How do you know that I do cla.s.s myself among the fortunate ones?"

"Because you are unmarried, and seeing you is to know that you could not enjoy that blessed state except through choice."

Edith smiled at his gallantry, wondering whether he was really as flippant as he would have her think.

"If a woman were to take that position she would be accused of 'sour grapes,' wouldn't she?"

"Probably; such is the instinctive pessimism of the times. It is so much easier to do the conventional when one sees it going on all about him that people are intellectually incapable of comprehending that to avoid the obvious may be a matter of pre-determination, and an evidence of strength rather than the result of accident or an act of omission."

"Does Mr. Cosden share your views upon this subject?" Edith inquired.

"Not at the present moment, if I am credibly informed by my observations."

Edith looked at him critically. "Do you mean that he is engaged?" she asked pointedly.

"Oh, no," Huntington disclaimed promptly, conscious that he was talking of his friend with considerable freedom, but suddenly inspired with the idea that it might help the situation; "no, I didn't mean that at all.

He isn't as careful as he used to be about exposing himself; that is what I was trying to say. You see, I don't know how long inoculation holds good: it's seven years for smallpox, and three years for typhoid.

How long should you say a man could hold out against matrimony on the same ratio?"

"When was Mr. Cosden 'inoculated,' as you call it?" she asked, smiling.

"When he started out to make his fortune, about fifteen years ago."

"Then I'm sure it has run out of his system long since," she laughed.

"He ought to be very susceptible."

"I'm afraid you're right," Huntington sighed. "Of course, Connie has a strong, robust const.i.tution and he may pull through, but I will admit that I've seen symptoms lately which cause me some anxiety. Did you notice anything while you were out driving?"

"I noticed a good many things, but nothing which would contribute to the subject you mention. He was about as responsive as the wrong side of a mirror, but I talked at him until he had to say something in self-defense."

"Dear me!" Huntington held up his hands deprecatingly. "That is one of the worst symptoms possible. I had no idea that it had gone as far as that. You and I must take Connie in hand."