like the
real, home-grown article. But aren't they damned handsome?"

CHAPTER XIII

After supper, Captain Jay was rowed out and put to bed in his own bunk on
the Scimitar. Then we heaped together a huge pile of the driftwood on
the beach and raised a blazing beacon, the red light of which I doubt not
could be seen from the mainland. The men made prongs from the soft wood,
while Miss Thorn produced from the stores some large tins of
marshmallows.

The memory of that evening lingers with me yet. The fire colored
everything. The waves dashed in ruby foam at our feet, and even the
tall, frowning pines at our backs were softened; the sting was gone out
of the keen night wind from the north. I found a place beside the gray
cape I had seen for the first time the night of the cotillon. I no
longer felt any great dislike for Miss Thorn, let it be known.
Resentment was easier when the distance between Mohair and Asquith
separated us,--impossible on a yachting excursion. But why should I be
justifying myself?

Mr. Cooke and the Four, in addition to other accomplishments, possessed
excellent voices, and Mr. Drew sang a bass which added much to the
melody. One of the Four played a banjo. It is only justice to Mr. Drew
to say that he seemed less like a detective than any man I have ever met.
He told a good story and was quick at repartee, and after a while the
music, by tacit consent, was abandoned for the sake of hearing him talk.
He related how he had worked up the lake, point by point, from Beaverton
to Asquith, and lightened his narrative with snappy accounts of the
different boatmen he had run across and of the different predicaments
into which he had fallen. His sketches were so vivid that Mr. Cooke
forgot to wink at me after a while and sat spellbound, while I marvelled
at the imaginative faculty he displayed. He had us in roars of laughter.
His stories were far from incredible, and he looked less like a liar than
a detective. He showed, too, an accurate and astonishing knowledge of
the lake which could hardly have been acquired in any other way than the
long-shore trip he had described. Not once did he hint of a special
purpose which had brought him to the island, and it was growing late.
The fire died down upon the stones, and the thought of the Celebrity,
alone in a dark cave in the middle of the island, began to prey upon me.
I was not designed for a practical joker, and I take it that pity is a
part of every s