ys I.

"It's clever," says he; "but hanged if I know what it's all about! I
must find out though--I must!"

He didn't need to state why. I could see him preparin' to swap highbrow
chat with Miss Hampton.

Meanwhile he barely takes time to 'phone a few orders about gettin' the
cruisin' yawl ready for the trip. I hear him ring up the Captain, tell
him casual to hire a cook and a couple of extra hands, provision for
three or four days, and be ready to sail Saturday noon. Which ain't the
way he usually does it, believe me! Why, I've known him to hold up a
directors' meetin' for an hour while he debated with a yacht tailor
whether a mainsail should be thirty-two foot on the hoist, or thirty-one
foot six. And instead of shippin' up cases of mineral water and crates
of fancy fruit, he has them blamed Shaw books packed careful and
expressed to Travers Island, where the boat is.

We was to meet there about noon; but it's after eleven before Mr. Robert
shuts his desk and sings out to me to come along. We piles into his
roadster and breezes up through town and out towards the Sound. Found
the whole party waitin' for us at the club-house: Vee and Marjorie and
Miss Hampton, all lookin' more or less yachty.

"Hello!" says Mr. Robert. "Haven't gone aboard yet?"

"Go aboard what, I'd like to know?" speaks up Marjorie.

"Why, the _Pyxie_," says he. "See, there she is anchored off--well, what
the deuce! Pardon me for a moment."

With that he steps over to a six-foot megaphone swung from the club
veranda and proceeds to boom out a few remarks.

"_Pyxie_ ahoy! Hey, there! On board the _Pyxie_!" he roars.

No response from the _Pyxie_, and just as he's startin' to repeat the
performance up strolls one of the float tenders and hands him a note
which soon has him gaspy and pink in the ears. It's from his fool
captain, explainin' how that rich uncle of his in Providence had been
taken very bad again and how he had to go on at once. The message is
dated last Wednesday. Course, there's nothing for Mr. Robert to do but
tell the crowd just how the case stands.

"How absurd--just an uncle!" pouts Marjorie. "Now we can't go cruising
at all, and--and I have three pairs of perfectly dear deck shoes that I
wanted to wear!"

"Really!" says Mr. Robert. "Then we'll go anyway; that is, if you'll all
agree to ship as a Corinthian crew. What do you say?" And he glances
doubtful at Miss Hampton.

"I'm sure I don't know what that means," says s