"I’ll attend to him," said the boatman hurriedly to Rosalind. "It’s all right. Beat it, you! Take off that badge and make yourself scarce. That’s what I’m going to do as soon as I interview our enterprising young friend. See you to-morrow, maybe. Don’t worry—pal."
He was gone down the porch. Rosalind looked after him doubtfully. Then, with a swift movement, she tore the red badge from her dress, concealed it in her hand, and moved off in an opposite direction.
There was nothing more to be done save escape. The enterprise was on the knees of the gods. Only one thing was certain—Mr. Schmidt, of Chicago, would never desecrate the property of a princess.
In a dark angle of the porch a wriggling boy in uniform was pinned against the wall by a sinewy hand that grasped his shoulder none too gently.
"You little crook, I saw you! Come on! Kick in with it!"
"Produce! I don’t care what you meant. I saw you pipe it, you young burglar! Ah—I thought so!"
The boatman held a heavy yet flexible object close to his eyes to make sure. Then he slipped it into his pocket.
"If I catch you around this hotel again it’ll be you for the lockup!" he growled as he swung the youth away from the wall and held him at arm’s length.
Then the bell-boy was booted off into the gloom.
The boatman waited until the sound of terrified footsteps faded away. He laughed, a second later, as he vaulted the railing to the sod beneath and vanished among the trees on the darkest part of the lawn.
The Witherbee yacht was nearing Clayton, with Rosalind as its only passenger. Principally, its errand was to meet William Kissam Kellogg, the nephew who had been summoned so peremptorily from his banking career in New York to take charge of the Davidson place.
Although the Witherbees were not acquainted with the young man, they had volunteered to take charge of his comfort and entertainment while his uncle was in the West. He was arriving on a mid-day train.
Rosalind was going shopping, she told Mrs. Witherbee. If she was also seeking temporary escape from a household where she found herself somewhat bored, her shopping errands were none the less _bona fide_. And if, further, she had a certain curiosity concerning Billy Kellogg, even a proper regard for the truth did not require her to say so, for she really had things to buy.