“Humph!  What’s the matter with that?” says Vee.

“Jumpy,” says I.  “Red pepper and powdered sugar; sometimes all sugar, sometimes all pepper, then again a mixture.  You never can tell.”

“Then I’d throw her over,” says Vee.

“Honest, would you?” says I, lookin’ her square in the eye.

“If I didn’t like her disposition, I would,” says she.

“But that’s the best part of her to me,” says I.  “Adds variety, you know, and—­well, I expect it’s about the only way I’m like her.  Mine is apt to be that way too.”

“Why, of course,” comes in Mabel.  “If she was as pretty as all that, and angelic too——­”

“You got the idea,” says I.  “She’d be in a stained glass window somewhere, eh?”

“You’re a silly boy!” says Vee.

“That sounds natural,” says I.  “I often get that from her.”

“And is she living up here?” asks Mabel.  “Visiting,” says I.  “She’s with her——­”

“William,” breaks in Vee, “I think Mr. Hollister wants you.”

I’d most forgot about Payne; for, while he’s only a few feet off, he’s as much out of the group as if he was ashore.  You know how it is in one of them high-powered launches with the engine runnin’.  You can’t hear a word unless you’re right close to.  And Payne’s twistin’ around restless.

“Yes, Sir?” says I, goin’ up and reportin’.

“Ask Miss Verona if she doesn’t want to come up here,” says he.  “I—­I think it will trim the boat better.”

“Sure,” says I. But when I passes the word to Vee I translates.  “Mr. Hollister’s lonesome,” says I, “and there’s room for another.”

“I’ve been wondering if I couldn’t,” says Vee.

“You can,” says I.  “Lemme help you over.”

Gives me a chance for a little hand squeeze and another close glimpse into them gray eyes.  I don’t make out anything definite, though.  But as she passes forward she puckers her lips saucy and whispers, “Pepper!” in my ear.  I guess, after all, when you’re doin’ confidential description you don’t want to stick too close to facts.  Makin’ it all stained glass window stuff is safer.

I goes back to Mabel and lets her demand more details.  She’s just full of romance, Mabel is; not so full, though, that it interferes with her absorbin’ a few eats now and then.  Between answerin’ questions I’m kept busy handin’ out crackers, oranges, and doughnuts, openin’ the olive bottle, and gettin’ her drinks of water.  Reg’lar Consumers’ League, Mabel.  I never run a sausage stuffin’ machine; but I think I could now.

“You’re such a handy young man to have around,” says Mabel, after I’ve split a Boston cracker and lined it with strawb’ry jam for her; “so much better than Tucker.”

“That’s my aim,” says I, “to make you forget Tucker.”

Yes, I was gettin’ some popular with Mabel, even if I was in wrong with Vee.  They seems to be havin’ quite a chatty time of it, Payne showin’ her how to steer, and lettin’ her salute passin’ launches, and explainin’ how the engine worked.  As far as them two went, Mabel and me was only so much excess baggage.