She fairly stamped
her wrath, and to Jack's amaze took him by the hand and marched off
with the hauteur of an empress.
Then Ben must call out something about M. Picot, the French doctor, not
being what he ought, and little Hortense having no mother.
"Ben," said I quietly, "come out on the pier." The pier ran to deep
water. At the far end I spoke.
"Not another word against Hortense and Jack! Promise me!"
His back was to the water, mine to the shore. He would have promised
readily enough, I think, if the other monkeys had not followed--Rebecca
with big tear-drops on both cheeks, Hortense quivering with wrath, Jack
flushed, half shy and half shamed to be championed by a girl.
"Come, Ben; 'fore I count three, promise----"
But he lugged at me. I dodged. With a splash that doused us four, Ben
went headlong into the sea. The uplift of the waves caught him. He
threw back his arms with a cry. Then he sank like lead.
The sailor son of the famous captain could not swim. Rebecca's eyes
nigh jumped from her head with fright. Hortense grew white to the lips
and shouted for that lout of a blackamoor sound asleep on the sand.
Before I could get my doublet off to dive, Jack Battle was cleaving air
like a leaping fish, and the waters closed over his heels.
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