a classy speed boat that's headed towards Vee at a twenty-mile clip.




CHAPTER XIII

AUNTY FLAGS A ROSY ONE

Lemme see, I was headed out of Boothbay Harbor, Maine, bound for
Roarin' Rocks, wa'n't I? Hold the picture,--me in a white jumper and
little round canvas hat with "Vixen" printed across the front, white
shoes too, and altogether as yachty as they come. Don't forget young
Mr. Payne Hollister at the wheel, either; although whether I'd
kidnapped him, or he'd kidnapped me, is open for debate.

Anyway, here I was, subbin' incog for the reg'lar crew, who was laid up
with a sprained ankle. All that because I'd got the happy hail from
Vee on a postcard. It wa'n't any time for unpleasant thoughts then;
but I couldn't help wonderin' how soon Aunty would loom on the horizon
and spoil it all.

"So there's a picnic on the slate, eh?" I suggests.

Young Mr. Hollister nods. "I'd promised some of the folks at the
house," says he. "Guests, you know."

"Oh, yes," says I, feelin' a little shiver flicker down my spine.

I knew. Vee was a guest there. So was Aunty. The picnic prospects