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In my agitation and fear of losing all, I could not concentrate my mind upon the thinking out of any stratagem to outwit Alec if he came upon us, and I dared not interrupt Alb's task by imploring him to rack his brains. The thing for him to do, I told myself, was to keep ahead of "Wilhelmina" at any price, especially while we were in open water.
Alb's "curl," a fair flaxen curl upon a broad white forehead, had become a jest in Thrawl Street. "'E throws it at yer," the youths said and this was no untrue description. Alban walked swiftly up the Whitechapel Road and was going on by Aldgate Station when the Reverend "Jimmy" Dale, as all the district called the cheery curate of St.
Whether he was worrying over his own affairs, or whether friend Robert had commandered his hero's sympathy, I could not guess, and dared not ask. Nor had I much time to speculate upon Alb's business, for I saw by Freule Menela's eye that my own was pressing, and all my energies were bent in steering clear of her during the good-by excursion through Utrecht.
"The game isn't up yet. Good-by. I've got to work in Davy Jones's workshop." Drawing a deep breath, he dropped down under water, which hid him from sight like a roof of thick gray glass. Then, in a few seconds, we heard a knocking, muffled, mysterious, somewhere below that glass roof. After a time which seemed long to every one, and an age to me, up came Alb's head, wet, black, and glittering.
The girls were delighted at this, and so was the L.C.P., who flew off so quickly to get a "refill" for her note-book, that Tibe nearly upset an old peasant with a broad hat and silver ear-rings, who was eating and drinking of the best, at a table near ours. All this feminine enthusiasm over Alb's idea piqued me just enough to keep me from joining the party.
No, nothing heard or seen yet. I made Miss Van Buren come back at last. Had to say I was afraid of catching cold or she'd be there now. But see here, as it isn't Alb's fate that's bothering you, may I make a guess?" "Yes, because you never could guess," said I. "Is it anything about van Buren?" My face felt as if it was on fire. "Why, what should it be?" I asked.
Alb's pleasantries and the might of the Club flag had brought us near to the top of the lock, and I had begun to hope that his dark prophecies were not to be fulfilled, when I jumped at the sound of a shout from shore. The voice was the voice of Alec MacNairne, and turning my head with a start, I saw his tall figure tearing toward us on the narrow parapet made by the edge of the lock.
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