ALMOST

Barzilla Ball was, like most single-minded people, thoroughly confident that the project he had evolved regarding the swordfishing industry had no flaw in it. And perhaps it was perfect. As Joe Bassett pointed out, Barzilla made his sole mistake in determining that he, Bassett, was turned up by the plough of Good Luck particularly to be the partner Barzilla was looking for.

"You don't have to repeat your patter in relation to the swordfishing game to me. I believe it all," Bassett said, as they landed after mooring the Snatch It at her buoy. "And if I had the money I would strike hands with you on the spot."

"That's what I want to hear you say, Mr. Bassett," declared the swordfisher.

"But what good does it do you—or me? That 'if' is in the way. You need a partner with at least two thousand dollars. Where would I get such a sum?"

"I don't know, Mr. Bassett. But I feel that you could get it if you would only believe you could."

"Great Scott! You talk like Carolyn's father. He was for ever telling me while I was on the Beacon that I had no self-confidence. But I can't go up to a man and knock him down and take his purse away from him," and he laughed rather bitterly.

"I dunno," drawled Barzilla, "but even that would be less of a sin than lettin' opportunity slip right by you without a-grabbing of his fetlock."

"Forelock you mean, Barzilla."

"Fetlock, or forelock—it amounts to the same. Gettin' a strangle hold on opportunity is the meanin'. And that's what you ought to be doin' of right now."

"How?"

"You've got slathers of friends. You went to college with a bunch of men who have plenty of money. You can borrow on your bare word more than I could scrape together by givin' my note to ev'ry man on the island."

"The responsibility would be more than I could bear, Barzilla," Joe Bassett answered quietly. "I have been neck deep in debt. I still owe some money. Believe me, I would starve—and so would my wife—rather than be borne down by the weight of debt again."

"But this is a dead-open-an'-shut business proposition."

"May be. I believe it is. But who could I go to who is within reach to ask for money? On this island, for instance?"

"How 'bout Ben Truefelt?"

"Ben's got his hands full after that fire in his hotel."

"I s'pose so. Wish't you knowed the big bug Carolyn's goin' picnickin' with, today. They say he's got plenty o' money."

"Who are those people?" asked Bassett curiously.

"I dunno. He's a mighty st'arn lookin' old guy. I'm so desp'rit, Mr. Bassett, I'm near 'bout tempted to tackle him on my own hook nex' time I see him talkin' to Car'lyn May. And his wife's so stuck on that baby o' yourn—"

"Good heavens, Barzilla! I can't make profit because those people are interested in little Laird," cried Bassett in something like horror. It seemed his wife's opinion and his own were much alike on this point.

The two young men, having tramped across the island with their gear, on approaching the lane leading up to the cottage on the bluff saw the hotel carriage standing in the highroad. Carolyn and Edna had come home from the picnic. The moneyed man sat on the front seat beside the driver.

"There he is now!" exclaimed Barzilla. "And they say he's so rich that two thousand wouldn't be a fleabite to him."

"You don't realize how tender the financial skin of the wealthy may be. It sometimes seems that the more money a man has the more he groans over a fleabite."

But Bassett gazed at the man in the carriage with keen scrutiny. When Barzilla again glanced at him the former hotel clerk had pulled the peak of his tarpaulin over his face and did not look again in the direction of the carriage. Indeed, taking a short-cut path over the roadside ditch, he headed toward the house without further word.

The fisherman approached the carriage with curiosity. Carolyn had run up for Baby Laird and he was now crowing and kicking in the lady's arms. Carolyn was saying to their host:

"We're awf'ly obliged, Edna and me, for the picnic. It was one of the very nicest parties I was ever to."

"Yes," agreed Edna, who was suddenly tongue-tied.

"We never would have seen so much of this island if it hadn't been for you," continued Carolyn May. "And I think it is an awfully interesting place, don't you, sir?"

"If you mean that it is as dead as a doornail, and therefore an ideal place for a vacation, I agree with you," said her friend, grimly smiling. "Have you ever sailed around the island—seen it from all sides?"

"Oh, no, sir. Barzilla's going to take us out in his Snatch It some day when he isn't swordfishin'. But he hasn't got to it, yet. Why! here's Barzilla now."

"The baby's father, Henry," the lady whispered. Baby Laird was putting out his arms to the broadly-smiling fisherman who could not fail to be a favourite with the little man.

"You've a fine baby here," said Carolyn's friend.

"I cal'late we have," replied Barzilla, coming nearer to the carriage. "Your servant, Marm."

The invalid bowed. "The little girl says you are a swordfisher," continued the man, who never found any other man too uninteresting to talk to—on his vacations!

"I am," agreed Barzilla. "Got the last double-ender ever built in this port."

"Is it still a paying business?"

"It makes us a livelihood. But 'twould pay better if me an' my partner had the capital we need to build a shed for saltin' swordfish when the market's low, and so go at it right."

"That your partner?" asked the man, nodding toward the departing Joe Bassett.

"Yes, sir. And a mighty nice feller, if he is a city man. You know, we don't us'ally think much of off men about boat an' gear. But he's all right. If he had two thousand dollars to put into my scheme I cal'late he'd be put' nigh perfect," said Barzilla, smiling again broadly.

Carolyn's friend continued to stare after the figure plodding up the lane toward the cottage on the bluff. The baby, in his eagerness, almost leaped into Barzilla's arms.

"He knows his father, it seems," said the woman, in a more friendly tone than was usually her way.

"I cal'late he do, Marm," said Barzilla politely. "But I ain't his father."

"No?" she said in well-bred surprise.

"No, Marm. There goes his pop," pointing to Joe Bassett in the distance. "This little Tom-cod's an off child. But he's might' nice folks."

"Who is his father?" asked the woman quickly, staring now as did her husband after the figure plodding up the lane.

"My partner, Marm," replied Barzilla, simply. "Or, he would be my partner, fair an' full, if he could scrape together 'bout two thousand dollars to put into the firm against my Snatch It and my 'know how.'"

The woman turned swiftly to look at her husband. "The dear little baby!" she murmured.

There must have been something more in her look and tone than was apparent in the mere words she said, for the man spoke to Barzilla as the carriage rolled away:

"Tell Mr. Laird to come to see me. I may be able to help you boys out. I take a flyer sometimes for old times' sake. I was longshore-bred, myself."

"Good-bye! Good-bye!" shouted the children after the carriage.

Barzilla said: "He ain't got Mr. Bassett's name jest right, has he? But, hi gummy! looks though there might be a chance't for us to git what we want. Glad I spoke as I did."

Mr. Cameron came again, and when he returned to New York on Sunday afternoon, Edna went home with him. She departed with one desire unsatisfied. There had been no opportunity for the little girls to make another attempt to unveil the mystery of the Double O's wooden legs.

"But you just keep at 'em till they tell you, Carolyn May," commanded Edna. "I shall expect to hear all about 'em when you come back home. To think of it! Two cousins and both wearing wooden legs. I never did!"

Carolyn and her mother and Prince drove over to the dock in Uncle Smith Dodge's carriage to see Edna and Papa Cameron off.

The White Streak still lay in the Great Salt Pond; but Carolyn saw nothing of her friends who were staying at the Orowoc House. And the turbine meant nothing to her, for she did not see the dark complexioned man or René about the dock.

The little girl might have been rather lonesome when Edna was gone, except that there was so very much to do about the cottage on the bluff—and elsewhere. She had always Prince and Nebuchadnezzar to play with; and when she could go down on the shore, there were so many curious things to find and to make playthings of that the child seldom thought about being lonely.

She realized that there was something wrong with her friends, "the pale lady" and her husband. It came to the little girl's mind that Baby Laird's father was supposed to have done something very wrong when they were all at home in New York. Her papa had been very angry with him for it and Carolyn wondered if he had "done it again."

The baby's mother often talked very seriously with Baby Laird's father. Even Barzilla looked oddly at him. Once Carolyn heard the fisherman say:

"Looks to me like 'twas your chance't, Mr. Bassett. Old Man Opportunity, like we was talking about once, is right where you can grab his fetlock."

But the young man shook his head silently and his eyes were so grave and sad that, had he not been such a very, very naughty man Carolyn would certainly have tried to comfort him. Even the pale lady seemed to think he was not doing the right thing in refusing to approach the capitalist at the Orowoc House as he had been bidden; so how could Carolyn seek to sympathize with Mr. Joe Bassett?

She sat with the pale lady and her baby more than she had before. Was it because the child felt that her hopeful chatter and the radiance of her sunny heart was helpful to her sorrowful friend? Even her mother was often puzzled to know just what went on in Carolyn May's busy brain.

These days the little girl did not play "If I Were Rich" in the pale lady's hearing. It seemed to Carolyn May that her friend's heartache and despair was so closely connected with her husband's lack of money that the mere suggestion of her former state of wealth might add to the pale lady's unhappiness.

And that she was unhappy none could doubt who saw her. The pallor of her cheek, her feebleness, and her mental as well as physical weariness, were so marked that everybody noticed it. Molly Ball said she never knew an "off" person to come to the island and seem to get so little good of it as Baby Laird's mother.

The crew were now recalled to the life saving station, and Captain Ozias Littlefield sent word by one of the surfmen that he was going to be at home at the Portuguese's cabin on a certain day, for he and Oly had a boatload of pollock to split and salt. Carolyn was invited to visit the shack and stay "over chowder time." Barzilla was going down to the cove for a wagon load of shack fish to bury under the seaweed pile for next year's garden fertilizer; and the little girl rode with him behind Beppo, the pony.

At a certain point on the road Barzilla stopped the pony to let Carolyn get down. She was going across the spur of the sandhill by the path on which Mr. Oly Littlefield had once come to grief. This was the nearer way to the cabin.

For once Prince was content to trail at his mistress' heels. He had trotted all the way behind Barzilla's empty wagon, and Barzilla was in a hurry and had urged the pony.

So Carolyn was the first to come in sight of the open beach. She could see the roof of the fisherman's shanty; but nearer—right under the bank where she stopped suddenly—two men sprawled.

Carolyn could see them plainly. They had evidently been walking the beach and had thrown themselves down in this sheltered place to rest. She knew them both—René, the chauffeur, and the dark man whom Carolyn May so disliked.

She squatted down in the sand, with a warning hand upon the back of Prince's neck. She had a feeling that she did not wish to let these men know that she was so near to them.