The Campfire Girls on Station Island: or, The Wireless from the Steam Yacht

At four o’clock they were all in their bathing suits and joined the company already in the surf or along the sands. In any summer colony acquaintanceships are formed rapidly. Jessie and Amy had already seen some girls of about their own age whom they liked the looks of, and they were glad to see them again at the bathing hour.

“Is it a perfectly safe beach?” Mrs. Norwood asked, and was assured by her husband that so it was rated. There were no strong currents or undertows along this shore. And, in any case, there was a lifeguard in a boat just off shore and another patrolling the sands.

“I ain’t afraid!” proclaimed Henrietta, dashing into the water immediately. “Come on, Miss Jessie! Come on, Miss Amy, you won’t get drowned at my island.”

“What a funny little thing she is,” said one of the friendly girls who overheard Henrietta. “Does she think she owns Station Island?”

“That is exactly what she does think,” said Amy, grimly.

“I never!” drawled the girl. “And there is a girl up at the hotel who talks the same way. At least, when she was down here yesterday she said her father owns all this part of Station Island and is going to have the bungalows torn down.”

Jessie and Amy looked at each other with understanding.

“I guess I know who that girl is,” said Amy quickly. “It’s Belle Ringold.”

“Yes. Her name is Ringold,” said their new acquaintance. “Do you suppose it is so – that her father can drive us all out of the cottages? You know, we have already paid rent for the season.”

CHAPTER XII – A DOUBLE RACE

Amy Drew scoffed at the thought of Belle Ringold’s tale of trouble for the “bungalowites” being true.

“She is always hatching up something unpleasant,” she told the neighbor who had spoken of Mr. Ringold’s claim to a part of Station Island. “We know her. She comes from our town.”

But little Henrietta continued to tell anybody who would listen that she owned a part of the island and expected to take possession of the golf links almost any day. The funny little thing, however, was very generous in inviting people to remain on “her island,” no matter what happened.

“Something has got to be done about that child,” said Jessie, sighing. “I can’t control her. She does say the most awful things. She has no manners at all!”

“He, he,” chuckled Amy. “Hen was built without any controller. I wouldn’t worry about her, Jess. She’ll come out all right.”

“I hope she comes out of the water all right,” murmured her chum, starting again after the very lively little girl who occasionally made dashes for the surf as though she proposed to go right out to sea.

But for one person Henrietta had some concern. That was Mrs. Norwood. She thought Jessie’s mother was a most wonderful person. And when Mrs. Norwood had a chair and umbrella brought to the sands and sat down within sight of Henrietta, the older girls had some opportunity of having a little amusement with the college boys.

“Come on,” Darry Drew said. “This staying inshore is no fun. Beat you to the raft, girls, and give you ten yards start.”

“O-oh! You can’t!” cried his sister, dashing at once for the sea.

“Hold on! Hold on!” commanded Darry. “I don’t believe you even know how long ten yards is. Both you girls go in and stand even with that pile yonder. You are headed for the raft. You see the life saver beyond it, I hope?”

Amy made a face at him, settled her bathing cap more firmly, and looked at Jessie.

“Ready, Jess?” she asked.

“We’ll just beat them good,” declared her chum. “They always think they can do things so much better than us girls.”

“‘We’ girls,” corrected Amy, giggling.

“‘We’ or ‘us’ – it doesn’t so much matter, as long as we win the race,” said Jessie.

“All ready out there?” demanded Darry.

“They’re edging out farther,” observed Burd Alling. “It wouldn’t matter if you gave them a mile start; they’d take more if they could. Give ’em an inch and they’ll take an ell,” he quoted.

“You don’t know what an ell is,” scoffed his friend.

“It’s something you put on a house after you think you’ve got all the rooms you’ll ever need. I know,” declared Burd, grinning.

“Come on out!” retorted Darry. “Cut the repartee. You have got to swim your little best, for those two girls are no slow-pokes.”

“You’ve said something,” agreed Burd. “Shoot! I am ready, Gridley.”

“Huh!” exclaimed his chum. “You have even forgotten your Spanish War history.”

“Shucks! They change history so fast now you don’t more than learn one phase than you have to forget it and learn some other fellow’s ‘hindsight’ of important events. The only way to get history straight,” declared the philosophical Burd, “is to be Johnny-on-the-spot and see things happen.”

“Now!” shouted Darry to the girls.

The four splashed in, the girls starting with a breast stroke and the boys having to run for some distance until the sea was deep enough to enable them to swim. The water beyond the ruffle of surf was almost calm. At least, the waves did not break, but heaved in, in smooth rollers. As Amy had said: The sea was taking deep-breathing exercises.

Just now, however, she was not making jokes. The two girls were doing their best to win the race. Darry was a long, rangy fellow, and his over-hand stroke was wonderful. Burd Alling – “tubby” as he was – was an excellent swimmer. The girls started with a dash, however, and they kept up their speed for some rods before either felt any fatigue.

The diving raft was a long distance out from the beach, because the sandy bottom here sloped very gradually. This part of the island was ideal for swimming and bathing. If it was finally proved that the old Padriac Haney estate belonged to little Henrietta, she would control the longest strip of beach on the island.

Amy flashed a glance over her shoulder to see how close they were pursued, and almost lost stroke.

“Come on!” panted Jessie. “Don’t let them beat you.”

“Ain’t – go-ing – to,” gasped her chum, in four short breaths.

They were more than half way to the raft, and it really seemed as though the stronger – and longer – arms of the two college boys were not aiding them to overtake the Roselawn girls. The latter began to congratulate each other upon this – with glances. They did not waste any more breath in speech.

Rising high to change stroke, Jessie turned on her side and did the over-hand. It heaved her ahead of her chum for a yard or so; and it likewise enabled her to see over the raft. The raft chanced to be deserted, nor were there any swimmers between her and the boat of the lifeguard beyond the raft.

The man in the boat suddenly stood up. He began waving his arms and shouting. As he was looking shoreward Jessie thought he must be cheering her and her chum on. She forged still farther ahead of Amy, and the lifeguard became more energetic in his motions.

Suddenly he dropped upon the seat of his boat, grabbed the oars, and pulled the bow of the craft around, heading it seemed, for the raft. He did act peculiarly.

From behind her Jessie heard faintly a cry from her chum:

“Oh, Jess! What’s that? What is it?”

“Why, it is the lifeguard,” rejoined Jessie Norwood, flashing another glance over her shoulder, but continuing to thrash forward at her very best speed.

“No, no! That thing! In the water!” At first Jessie saw nothing ahead but the raft. She thought the lifeguard was hurrying to the raft to meet Amy and herself if they won the race. Another glance that she flashed back swept the smooth, rolling sea as far as Darry and Burd, endeavoring to overcome the handicap they had given the two girl chums.

It was only then that Jessie realized that something must be happening – some threatening thing that she did not understand. From the rear Darry’s hail reached Jessie’s ear:

“Turn back! Come back, Jess!”