Bending over her task she did not see,
neither did she hear, an approaching person. It was Ben.
"Busy, eh?" he said in his splendid, candid way. Cora was so glad
it was only Ben.
"Oh yes," she replied, "the boys never seem to know how to leave a
boat. This is thoroughly oil-soaked."
"They're careless that way," admitted Ben, stepping into the boat to
see what the trouble was. "If I were you I would make some rules and
tack 'em down by the license card."
"They would never read them," Cora declared. "There--just look at
that oil," as she collected some in a funnel. "This would have made
the muffler smoke like a locomotive."
Ben looked at the oil cups. "There isn't any thing meaner than
running a boat that throws out soft coal smoke," he admitted.
"Those boys left the plungers up. But I say, girl, where's your new
friend?"
"Laurel?" asked Cora as she put the wrench in the tool box.
"Yes. I thought she had come down here to stay."
"Well, we thought so too, but then she could not be expected to
leave the island--all at once," and Cora wondered if she were saying
too much.
"It's queer to me," went on Ben. "Them fellows have something to do
with that," and he nodded his head toward the landing.
"You mean--Peters and Tony?"
"Yes. And what I want to say, Miss, is this. You had best keep
clear of them. The row at the landing isn't exactly fixed up.
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