He gave the half-submerged woman a hand and drew her out to the side of the road, and upon a comparatively dry spot. He had some difficulty with the umbrella just then and raised it high enough for the two girls in the carriage to see his face.
“Oh, Ruthie, look there!” whispered Helen, as the horse started forward. “See who it is!”
“It’s Curly—it’s surely Curly Smith,” muttered Ruth.
“That’s what I tell you,” whispered Helen, fiercely. “And now we can’t speak to him.”
“Not with that Miss Miggs in the way. She is mean enough to tell the police who he is.”
“Never mind,” cried Helen, exultantly, “he got ashore from the fishing boat.”
“But I wonder if he has any money left—and what he will do now. The police may still be looking for him.”
“Oh, a boy as smart as he is would _never_ get caught by the police,” declared Helen, in delight. “I only wish I could speak to him and tell him how glad I am he escaped arrest.”
“You’re an awful-talking girl,” sighed Ruth, as the old horse jogged on. “I wish I could get him to go back to his grandmother—and go back to show the people up there that he is innocent.”
“That does all very well to talk about, Ruth Fielding!” cried Helen. “But suppose he can’t _prove_ himself innocent? Do you want the poor boy to go to jail and stay there the rest of his life?”
The shower was over when Unc’ Simmy stopped before the hotel veranda. The two girls were rather bedraggled in appearance; but what would Miss Miggs look like when _she_ arrived!
“I hope we won’t see that mean thing any more,” Helen declared. “She is our Nemesis, I do believe.”
“Don’t let her worry you. She surely punished herself this time,” said Ruth, getting down. “Good-bye Unc’ Simmy. Come for us again to-morrow—only I hope it won’t rain.”
“Ya-as’m! ya-as’m! T’ankee ma’am!” responded the darkey, and when Helen had likewise alighted, he rattled away.
“Goodness!” laughed Helen. “Are you so much in love with that old outfit that you want to ride in it again, Ruthie Fielding?”
“I want to see Miss Catalpa again—don’t you?” returned her chum. “And I would not go to the gatehouse with anybody but Unc’ Simmy. It would be impudent to do so.”
“Oh—yes! that’s so,” admitted Helen. “Come on to luncheon. I have Heavy Stone’s appetite, right now!”