the water. "If she's going to be my wife, that's a good step
on. And she can help me like no one but my father. And then I'll make
something of myself. If not ... if not,--no faltering, Gray,--then I'll
do it alone for both their sakes."

He chucked his sweater into the dingey, shoved it off the beach and
sprang in and rowed strongly towards the yawl. Somehow he felt broader
of back and harder of muscle for this summing up of things, this audit
of his account. He was nearly twenty-six and nothing was done. That was
the report he had to make to his conscience, that was what he had to
say to the man who smiled down upon him from his place in the New York
house.... Good Lord, it was about time that he pulled himself together.

The yawl was lying alone, aloof from the other small craft anchored
near the pier. Her mast seemed taller and her lines more graceful
silhouetted against the sky, silvered by the moon. It was indeed the
witching hour of night.

He got aboard and tied up the dingey, cast a look round to see that
everything was shipshape, took in a deep breath and went into the
cabin. He was not tired and never felt less like sleep. His brain was
clear as though a fog had risen from it, and energy beat in him like a
running engine. He would light the lamp, get into his pajamas and think
about to-morrow and Joan. He was mighty glad to have come to a decision.

Stooping, he lit the lamp, turned and gave a gasp of surprise.

There, curled up like a water sprite on the unmade bunk lay Tootles in
bathing clothes, holding a rubber cap in her hand, her head, with its
golden bobbed hair, dented into a cushion.

For a moment she pretended to be asleep, but anxiety to see how Martin
was looking was too much for her. Also her clothes were wet and not
very comfortable. She opened her eyes and sat up.

"My dear Tootles!" said Martin, "what's the idea? You said you were
going home to bed." She would rather that he had been angry than
amused. "It was the night," she said, "and something in the air. I just
had to bathe and swam out here. I didn't think you'd be coming yet. I
suppose you think I'm bug-house."

"No, I don't. If I hadn't taken my bathing suit to the cottage to be
mended I'd have a dip myself. Cigarette?" He held one out.

But she shook her head. How frightfully natural and brotherly this boy
was, she thought. Was her last desperate card to be as useless as all
the rest of the pack? How could it be! They might a