.

It was dim and cool in there--all narrow gravity canals, and quaint
canvas buildings, and queer arches, and mellow lights, with little dark
curves and long winding reaches, and a restfulness almost like
solemnity.

It was the first time Johnny had been in such close companionship with
Constance as this strange isolation gave them, and he did not know what
to say. After all, what was the use of saying? They were there, side by
side, upon the gently flowing water, far, far away from all the world;
and it would seem almost rude to break that bliss with language, which
so often fails to interpret thought.

Constance's hand was drooping idly across her knee and, by an
uncontrollable impulse, Johnny's hand, all by itself, slid over and
gently clasped the whiter and slenderer one. It did not draw away; and,
huddled up on their low narrow seat, bumping against the wooden banks
and floating on and on, they cared not whither, they stared into
oblivion in that semi-trancelike condition that sometimes accompanies
the peculiar state in which they found themselves.

"Oh-ho-o-o-o!" rang the clear voice of Winnie from a parallel canal
just behind them.

Constance, flushing violently, attempted to jerk her hand away; but
Johnny, animated by a sudden aggressiveness, clasped it tightly and
held it--captive--up to view.

At that interesting moment another sharp turn in the canal brought them
face to face with an approaching boat in which were Paul Gresham and
Jim Collaton!

"I said it was a girl," charged Collaton, studying the green pallor of
Gresham's face with wondering interest as they stepped out into the
glare of the million electric bulbs.

"That is not a topic for you to discuss," returned Gresham, looking up
the brilliantly lighted board walk around the bend of which Johnny
Gamble, with Constance on one arm and Winnie on the other, was gaily
following Polly, that young lady being escorted by the attentive Loring
and the submissive Sammy.

"That's what you said before," retorted Collaton, his eyebrows and
lashes even more invisible in this illumination than in broad
day-light. "It's time, though, for a showdown. You drag me into dark
corners and talk over schemes to throw the hooks into Johnny
Gamble--and I tell you I'm afraid of him!"

"You're mistaken," asserted Gresham dryly. "It was I who told you that
you were afraid of him."

"I admitted it all right," sulkily answered Collaton. "He's awake now,
I tell you;