The Motor Boat Club in Florida; or, Laying the Ghost of Alligator Swamp

by H. Irving Hancock

  CHAPTER XX

  AN INNOCENT EAVESDROPPER

  DOWN at Port Tampa, out in the bay, lay the “Restless” at anchor.

  Jeff Randolph was aboard the yacht, in sole charge. That Florida boycouldn’t have been coaxed on shore, no matter what the allurementoffered. He was supremely happy in the realization of his greatambition.

  For four days, now, the Tremaines and their friends, including CaptainHalstead and Engineer Dawson, had been at the big, luxurious Tampa BayHotel, at Tampa proper, nine miles up from the port.

  Both Tom and his chum had demurred mildly, when invited to go with therest of the party to the hotel.

  “Oh, come along,” said Henry Tremaine, genially. “It will do youyoungsters good to get away from your yacht once in a while. Up at thehotel you will mix with people, and learn some things of the ways ofthe world that can’t be learned on the salt water.”

  Borne right down in their mild resistance, the boys had yielded andgone with the party.

  Nor did either Halstead or Dawson feel at all out of his element inthe sparkling life of the great hotel. Both were self-possessed boys,who had seen much of the world. Both were quiet, of good manners, andtheir shore clothing, once their uniforms were discarded on board the“Restless,” were of good cut and finish.

  Altogether, they _did_ enjoy themselves hugely at this fashionablewinter resort. Moreover, they made quite a number of pleasantacquaintances in Tampa, and found much to make the time pass pleasantly.

  As for the Tremaines and their ward, they had met friends from theNorth, and were enjoying themselves. There were drives, automobilerides, short excursions, and the like. At night there was the hotelball to take up the time of the ladies.

  “It’s rather a new world to us, chum, and a mighty pleasant one it istoo,” said Joe Dawson, quietly.

  As for Halstead, though he remained outwardly cool and collected, thesewere days when he secretly lived on tenterhooks. He haunted the mailclerk’s desk all he could without betraying himself to Dixon.

  When asking Randolph to write him at this hotel the young skipper hadplanned to run up each day from Port Tampa. Now, however, being atthe hotel all the time, young Halstead chafed as the time slipped bywithout the arrival of the letter he expected.

  This afternoon, realizing that there was no possibility of a letterbefore the morrow, Halstead slipped off alone, following the street cartrack up into the main thoroughfare of Tampa.

  Presently, in the throng, Halstead found himself unconsciously trailingafter Tremaine and young Mr. Dixon.

  “By the way, you’re known at the bank here, aren’t you, Tremaine?”inquired Dixon.

  “Very well, indeed,” smiled the older man. “In fact, I’ve entertainedthe president, Mr. Haight, in New York.”

  “Then I wish you’d come in with me, a moment, and introduce me,”suggested the younger man.

  “With pleasure, my boy.”

  As they stepped inside the bank Halstead passed on without havingdiscovered himself to either of the others.

  Henry Tremaine, inside the bank, led the way to Mr. Haight’s office.

  “Mr. Haight,” he said to the man who sat at the sole desk in the room,“my friend, Mr. Dixon, has asked me to present him to you. He’s a goodfellow, and one of my yachting party.”

  Mr. Haight rose to shake hands with both callers.

  “I wish to cash a check for a thousand,” explained Dixon, presently.

  “You have it with you?” inquired President Haight.

  “Yes; here it is.”

  “Ah, yes; your personal check,” said Mr. Haight, scanning the slip ofpaper. “Er—ah—er—as a purely formal question, Mr. Tremaine, you willadvise me that this check is all right?”

  Oliver Dixon laughed carelessly, while Henry Tremaine, in hisgood-hearted way, responded:

  “Right? Oh, yes, of course. Wait. I’ll endorse the check for you.”

  Nodding, Mr. Haight passed him a pen, with which Tremaine wrote hissignature on the back of the check. With this endorsement it matterednothing to the president whether the check was good or not. HenryTremaine’s written signature on the paper bound the latter. Mr. Haightknew quite well that Tremaine’s name was “good” for vastly more than athousand dollars.

  “I’ll endorse anything that my young friend Dixon offers you,” smiledthe older man, as he passed the check back to the bank president.

  “With such a guarantee as that,” smiled Mr. Haight, affably, “Mr. Dixonmay negotiate all the paper he cares to at this bank.”

  “I may take you up, later on,” smiled the younger man. “I’ve taken sucha notion to Tampa that I think I shall buy a place here, and spend agoodly part of my winters here.”

  “In that case, if you’ll favor us with your account——” began Mr. Haight.

  “That is exactly what I shall want to do,” the young man assured thebank president.

  The money was brought, in hundred dollar bills, and Dixon tucked itaway in his wallet. After handshakings all around, the two callersdeparted.

  On coming out of the bank Oliver Dixon trod as though on air. He wasbeginning to feel the importance of a man who is “solid” at a bank.

  Having turned back along the main thoroughfare, Halstead met the pairas they came out of the bank.

  “You look rather aimless, Captain,” observed Tremaine, halting andsmiling.

  “I’m just strolling about taking in the sights of this quaint littleold place,” replied Tom.

  “And I’ve been making Dixon acquainted at the bank, so that he can cashhis checks hereafter without difficulty,” replied Mr. Tremaine. “As Iam in a position to know that the young man has a good deal of moneyabout him, I think we ought to require him to lead us to the nearestice cream place. Eh?”

  “He’ll do it,” laughed Tom, easily, “if he’s as good natured as he isprosperous.”

  Nodding gayly, young Mr. Dixon wheeled them about, piloting themwithout more ado in the right direction.

  * * * * *

  The night’s dance was on at the Tampa Bay Hotel. The strains of a dancenumber had just died out. Out of the ball-room couples poured into thegreat lobby of the hotel, rich and fragrant with the plants of thetropics. Doors open on the east and west sides of the lobby allowed awelcome breeze to wander through. Women wore the latest creations fromParis; the black-coated men looked sombre enough beside their moregayly attired ball-room partners. All was life and gayety.

  Tom Halstead, who did not boast evening clothes in his wardrobe, haddropped into a chair beside a window in one of the little rooms off thelobby. The breeze had blown the heavy drapery of the window behind hischair, screening him from the gaze of anyone who entered the room—afact of which the young skipper was not at that moment aware.

  Into this room, with quicker step than usual, came a young woman. Intoher face had crept lines of pain. She looked like a woman to whom hadcome a most unwelcome revelation.

  At her side, pale and over-anxious, stepped a young man. Yet his facewas strongly set, as the face of a man who did not intend to acceptdefeat easily.

  The young woman wheeled abruptly about, looking compassionately at herescort. Then she spoke; it was the voice of Ida Silsbee:

  “I can’t tell you how wretched this has made me feel, Mr. Dixon,” shesaid, in a low voice. “So far, I have given no thought to marriage.”

  “Do—do you love anyone else?” he inquired, huskily.

  “No,” she answered, promptly. “I am heart-free—utterly so.”

  “Then why may I not hope?” he demanded, eagerly.

  “No, no; it would be worse than unkind for me to let you even hope thatI might change my answer. I do not care for you in the way that a womanshould love her husband.”

  “Have you any real objection to me?”

  “Yes,” she answered, clearly, steadily, meeting his eyes. “My objectionis not one that should cause you any humiliation, Mr. Dixon. It issimply that you do not combine th
e qualities that I would expect in theman I married.”

  “But you have not known me long. Perhaps——”

  “I have seen enough of you, Mr. Dixon, to feel certain that I shouldnever feel a deep affection for you.”

  “If you have discovered anything about me,” he pleaded, intensely, “Imight be able—would be able—to change for your sake.”

  “That, of all, is least likely,” she replied, honestly, seriously. “Ifyou were the man to win my heart, Mr. Dixon, you would already haveshown the traits, the characteristics, that would interest me in a man.”

  “And I have not shown those traits?”

  “You have not.”

  “Then wait! Perhaps——”

  Ida Silsbee laid an appealing hand on the arm of the pallid-faced youngman.

  “Do not hope. Do not give this unhappy fancy any further encouragement,Mr. Dixon. To say what I am saying now gives me the greatest pain Ihave felt in many a year. But, believe me, there is absolutely no hopethat I can ever love you. My own heart tells me that most positively.You understand, don’t you? It will be worse than folly ever to thinkof repeating our talk of these last few minutes. I am heartily sorry,but I do not love you, Mr. Dixon, and I am wholly certain that I nevershall. Now, please lead me among others that we may be certain not tocarry this wholly unpleasant, impossible conversation any further.”

  It was said in all gentleness. Yet, as he watched her while she wasspeaking, Oliver Dixon realized that this young woman knew her ownmind thoroughly. He saw, and believed, that he could never be anythingto her.

  “A heart’s Waterloo, then,” he sighed, with a bitter smile. He bowed,offering her his arm. “I shall not distress you again, Miss Silsbee.”

  They turned, passing from the room, joining the throng in the lobby.

  Tom Halstead? He had heard every word. Too honorable to play theeavesdropper, he had risen at once. Then he had halted for a briefinstant, that he might think what best to do in the circumstances.

  From the first word the conversation had told its own story swiftly.Captain Halstead, at the very moment of impulse to step from behind thedraperies and proclaim his presence, drew back. By showing himself washe not far more likely to bring great annoyance upon Ida Silsbee?

  The scene had passed swiftly. While Tom Halstead was rapidly trying tomake up his mind whether he would annoy Miss Silsbee more by showinghimself, the pair turned and left the room.

  “That makes me feel like a mean hound!” Tom Halstead muttered,indignant with himself, though he was not at fault. “I had no notionof playing the spy, yet I’ve done it. Confound it, there’s only onereparation I can make, and that is to hold my lips padlocked!”

  He waited but a decent interval, then stepped from the room, afraidthat, if he lingered in his former seat, he might be forced to be awitness to more such scenes. Though Halstead had no means of knowingit, that little room had been the scene of hundreds of proposals ofmarriage.

  “Yet, now that I _do_ know what I had no business to find out inthat way,” murmured Skipper Tom to himself, “I’ve got Mr. Tremaine’sinterests to think about a bit. If Oliver Dixon knows that he has beendefeated, then he’ll be likely to get away in a hurry, and withoutleaving any address behind, for he has at least the money he stole fromTremaine. That is, if he _did_ steal it. Of course he did.”

  Hearing the music and the soft, rhythmic swish of feet over the waxedfloor, young Halstead presently glanced in through one of the entrancesto the ball-room. Dixon was there, dancing with Mrs. Tremaine. Theyoung man had recovered much of his usual self-possession, even forcinga smile. Then Ida Silsbee, still looking pained, glided by, directed bythe arm of Henry Tremaine.

  “Does Dixon mean to fly?” Tom wondered. “After all, why should he? He’shaving a good time, and he doesn’t fear being found out. Besides, he’svery likely a big enough egotist to imagine there’s still a chance ofwinning Miss Silsbee. No; I hardly think he’ll run away for a whileyet.”

  None the less the young motor boat captain determined to keep a closeeye over the movements of Oliver Dixon.