“I should think it would be dreadfully lonely,” Helen said, with reflection. “Just to tend the lights—and the fish, perhaps—eh?”
“I don’t suppose they have dances or have people come to afternoon tea,” giggled Ruth. “What do you expect?”
“Poor men! And no ladies around. Unless they have mermaids visit them,” and Helen chuckled too. “Wouldn’t it be fun to hire a nice big launch—a whole party of us Briarwood girls, for instance—and sail out there and go aboard that lightship? Wouldn’t the crew be surprised to see us?”
“Maybe,” said Ruth seriously, “they wouldn’t let us aboard. Maybe it’s against the rules. Or perhaps they only select men who are misanthropes, or women-haters, to tend lightships.”
“_Are_ there such things as women-haters?” demanded Helen, big-eyed and innocent looking. “I thought _they_ were fabled creatures—like—like mermaids, for instance.”
“Goodness! Do you think, Helen Cameron, that every man you meet is going to fall on his knees to you?”
“No-o,” confessed Helen. “That is, not unless I push him a little, weeny bit! And that reminds me, Ruthie. You ought to see the great bunch of roses Tom had the gardener cut yesterday to send to some girl. Oh, a barrel of ’em!”
“Indeed?” asked Ruth, a faint flush coming into her cheek. “Has Tom a crush on a new girl? I thought that Hazel Gray, the movie queen, had his full and complete attention?”
“How you talk!” cried Helen. “I suppose Tom will have a dozen flames before he settles down——”
Ruth suddenly burst into laughter. She knew she had been foolish for a moment.
“What nonsense to talk so about a boy in a military school!” she cried. “Why! he’s only a boy yet.”
“Yes, I know,” sighed Helen, speaking of her twin reflectively. “He’s merely a child. Isn’t it funny how much older we are than Tom is?”
“Goodness me!” gasped Ruth, suddenly seizing her chum by the arm.
“O-o-o! ouch!” responded Helen. “What a grip you’ve got, Ruth! What’s the matter with you?”
She had turned from the rail. Behind them, and only a few feet away, was the row of staterooms of which their own was one. Near by was a passage from the outer deck to the saloon, and from the doorway of this passage a person was peeping in a sly and doubtful way.
“Goodness!” whispered Helen. “Can—can it be?”