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When they reached the place where the name was visible Tom raised his electric torch and, in the glow of it, they all read the painted inscription, Blakesly, New York. "That's the vessel that disappeared so mysteriously!" exclaimed Ned, speaking through his instrument. "I remember reading about her. She sailed from New York for Brest, but was never heard of. At last we have solved the mystery!"
People were soberly converging toward its central building, as if proceeding to church. Among the people who alighted from the two o'clock train were Professor Blakesly and his wife and a tall, dark man whom they called Ware. Mrs. Blakesly was plump and pretty, plainly the mother of two or three children and the sovereign of a modest suburban cottage.
"Well, well! I didn't know you could make a speech." "I didn't mean to do so," she replied. "Go on! Go on!" everybody called out, but she turned away to show some other apparatus. "Wasn't she fine?" exclaimed Mrs. Blakesly to Ware. "Beyond praise," he replied. She went at once to communicate her morsel of news to her husband, and at length to Miss Powell.
"I think they are all going to the gymnasium building. Won't you come? That is my dominion." They answered by moving off, Mrs. Blakesly taking Miss Powell's arm. As they streamed away in files she said: "Isn't he good-looking? We've known him for years. He's all right," she said significantly, and squeezed Miss Powell's arm. "Well, Lou Blakesly, you're the same old irrepressible!"
The men have had the best of it. All the swimming, all the boating, wheeling, all the grand, wild life; now we're going to have a part." The young ladies clustered about with flushed, excited faces while their teacher planted her flag and claimed new territory for women. Miss Powell herself grew conscious, and flushed and paused abruptly. Mrs. Blakesly effervesced in admiring astonishment.
Blakesly was as evidently a teacher; even the casual glances of the other visitors might discover the character of these people. Ware was not so easy to be read. His face was lean and brown, and his squarely clipped mustache gave him a stern look. His body was well rounded with muscle, and he walked alertly; his manner was direct and vigorous, manifestly of the open air.
Her forearm, white and smooth, swelled into strong action, and her supple hands had the unwavering power and pressure of an athlete, and withal Ware thought: "She is feminine. Her physical power has not coarsened her; it has enlarged her life, but left her entirely womanly." In some adroit way Mrs. Blakesly got her husband out of the room and left Ware and Miss Powell together.
Then there was Blakesly, the corporation lawyer, who enjoyed the discussion that arose so thoroughly that he stayed for supper and behaved like a gentleman in the little kitchen, even insisting on throwing off his coat, rolling up his sleeves, and helping to dry the dishes.
There were only a few people remaining in the hall, most of them having passed on into the museum. As they came to the various appliances, Miss Powell explained them. "What are these things for?" inquired Mrs. Blakesly, pointing at the row of iron rings depending from long ropes. "They are for swinging on," and she leaped lightly upward and caught and swung by one hand. "Mercy! Do you do that?"
Two rows of flushed, excited girls with two teachers at their head stood flanking the doorway to receive the visitors, who streamed steadily into the wide, cool hall. Mrs. Blakesly took Ware in hand. "Mr. Ware, this is Miss Powell. Miss Powell, this is Mr. Jenkin Ware, lawyer and friend to the Blakeslys." "I'm very glad to see you," said a cool voice, in which gladness was entirely absent.
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