The Deserted Yacht

A Strange Reception

A young girl in a neat traveling suit of dark blue, alighted from the last car of the long train which had pulled into the Cheltham Bay station and with eager eyes surveyed the crowded platform.

"Expectin' someone to meet you, Miss?" the colored porter inquired politely.

"Why, yes, I was," Madge Sterling returned, a perplexed frown puckering her eyebrows. "Just set the suitcase down anywhere here. My friends will surely come in a few minutes."

With profuse thanks, the porter pocketed the coin she gave him and swung back into his car. Madge looked anxiously about. On all sides persons were hurrying up to greet friends who had arrived on the train, but no one appeared to be searching for her.

"Strange Enid didn't meet me or at least send word," she thought. "I do hope I've made no mistake about the time."

To make sure, she opened her purse and looked again at the letter which she very nearly knew by heart. She had made no error. Enid Burnett had stated very clearly that she would be on hand when the ten-fifteen train arrived.

"It will be more convenient to meet you at Cheltham Bay than any other place," she had written in a bold scrawl. "From the station we'll go directly to our yacht, The Flora which will be anchored in the harbor. Father will have everything in readiness for the trip, so the instant you set foot on deck, we'll sail. Here's to two glorious weeks on the water!"

Madge folded the letter and laid it away. There was nothing to do but wait. Undoubtedly, Enid had only been delayed.

She watched the heavy train move slowly from the station. The crowd on the platform rapidly thinned and soon she alone remained. After a little, she picked up her suitcase and carried it to the waiting room, stationing herself near a window where she could see all automobiles driving in and out of the railway yard.

"I can't imagine what is keeping Enid," she thought anxiously. "It looks as though I may be stranded here."

It occurred to her that her friend might have dispatched the invitation upon the impulse of the moment, and then, in the rush of social affairs which always engulfed her, forgotten about it. Enid was generous to a fault but she was apt to be careless too. In school she had been known to make rash promises which she promptly forgot.

"If I've traveled all the way from Loon Lake, Canada, to participate in a mythical yacht cruise, I'll never forgive her," Madge assured herself.

Time dragged slowly. She made innumerable trips to the water fountain, she experimented with the gum machine and even tried to interest herself in a magazine. At length, after more than an hour had passed, she arose impatiently.

"I don't believe she's coming," she decided. "There's no sense in waiting here forever."

After a brief debate, she walked over to an information window.

"I know this isn't in your line," she said apologetically to the young man in charge, "but I'm trying to locate a party by the name of Burnett. You're not acquainted with anyone by that name?"

"You don't mean Frank Burnett, the yachtsman?"

Madge nodded eagerly.

"I can't say I know him," the other informed, "but I did see by the paper that his yacht had dropped anchor in the bay. It came in yesterday, I believe."

This information left Madge more puzzled than before. If The Flora had arrived at Cheltham Bay, she could think of no reason for Enid's failure to meet her.

"If you want to get out to the yacht, you likely can find some boatman at the dock who will row you over," the clerk advised.

Madge thanked him and turned away. She scarcely knew what to do. It would prove embarrassing to go alone to the Burnett yacht, and yet, surely they were expecting her. After traveling so many miles it would be foolish to return home without making an attempt to see her friend. It was barely possible that an accident had delayed Enid.

"I may as well try to locate the yacht," she decided.

She carried her suitcase outside and a taxi driver immediately came to her assistance. Directing him to take her to the wharf, she sank wearily against the cushions, scarcely troubling herself to gaze at the tall office buildings which whizzed by on either side as the cab rattled over the rough pavement. A short drive carried her within sight of the bay and only then did she lean forward in her seat to obtain a better view.

The taxi halted near the wharf and the driver swung open the car door. Madge alighted and paid her fare.

"Can you tell me which yacht is The Flora?" she inquired.

"She lies yonder." The driver indicated a vessel anchored out some distance in the bay.

At sight of the trim little yacht with its gay flags fluttering in the off shore breeze, Madge's spirits arose. It was good to be near the water again. And a two weeks' sailing trip would be such glorious fun!

She looked about for someone to row her out to the yacht. The wharf appeared deserted, for the hour approached noon. After walking a short distance along the water front, her attention was attracted to a man who sat hunched over in a boat that was tied to the dock. His lunch was spread out on the seat before him, but his real interest seemed to center upon something out in the bay. Following his gaze, Madge saw that he was intently watching The Flora.

"He must have a boat to rent," she reasoned. "I'll see if I can bargain with him."

She approached closer and addressed him. Startled, the man turned sharply and stared.

Instantly, Madge regretted that she had spoken for the boatman was not at all to her liking. He was dressed in dirty white duck trousers and a grimy shirt, but it was his face rather than his clothing that repulsed her. She saw at once that he was of foreign extraction, though she could not have guessed his nationality. His complexion was extremely dark and his straight black hair had not been cut in many weeks. His eyes bore into her with disconcerting intensity.

"I beg your pardon, do you have a boat to rent?" she questioned.

He continued to stare until she thought he would never reply. Then touching his cap, he muttered something, speaking with such an accent that she could scarcely make it out.

"Three dolla' an hour," he added indifferently.

"I didn't want to buy the boat," Madge smiled. "Perhaps I failed to understand correctly. You said-"

"Three dolla' an hour," he repeated, scowling darkly.

"Why, that's unreasonable. At my Uncle George's fishing lodge in Canada we rent out boats for all day at less than that."

The boatman shrugged indifferently and Madge thought for an instant that an expression of relief actually crossed his face.

"That my price," he insisted. "Maybe you find another boat."

Madge looked up and down shore but there was no other boat to be had. She realized full well that she was being outrageously over-charged, but she was eager to reach the Burnett yacht without delay.

"I'll rent your boat," she decided. "It won't take more than half an hour to get where I'm going."

"Three dolla' minimum charge," the boatman announced impressively.

"Are you trying to discourage me?" Madge demanded suspiciously. "I don't believe you're very anxious to rent your boat." Without giving him an opportunity to reply, she took a small roll of bills from her pocketbook and handed him three. "Here's your pay in advance."

He accepted the money with obvious unwillingness and lifted her suitcase into the boat. She seated herself and he cast off the painter.

"Take me to The Flora," she directed. "See, it's that yacht this side of the buoy."

Madge was unprepared for the effect her words produced upon the man. He turned quickly, his eyes smoldering. An expression she could not fathom, flashed over his face.

"I not take you there!" he uttered vehemently, thrusting the three bills rudely toward her. "Here, take your money! You mus' get another boat!"