“Do you mind running up and asking if they’re ready?” says Payne.

“Why, no,” says I; “but—­but who do I ask?”

“That’s so,” says he.  “And they’ll not know who you are, either.  I’ll go.  Just hold her off.”

Me with a boathook, posin’ back to for the next ten minutes, not even darin’ to rubber over my shoulder.  Then voices, “Have you the coffee bottles?”—­“Don’t forget the steamer rugs.”—­“I put the olives on the top of the sandwiches.”—­“Be careful when you land, Mabel dear.”—­“Oh, we’ll be all right.”  This last from Vee.

Another minute and they’re down on the float, with Payne Hollister explainin’, “Oh, I forgot.  This is someone who is helping me with the boat while Tucker’s disabled.”  I touches my hat respectful; but I’m too busy to face around—­much too busy!

“Now, Cousin Mabel,” says young Hollister, “right in the middle of that seat!  Easy, now!”

A squeal from Mabel.  No wonder!  I gets a glimpse of her as she steps down, and, believe me, if I had Mabel’s shape and weight you couldn’t tease me out on the water in anything smaller’n the Mauretania!  All the graceful lines of a dumplin’, Mabel had; about five feet up and down, and ’most as much around.  Vee is on one side, Payne on the other, both lowerin’ away careful; but as she makes the final plunge before floppin’ onto the seat she reaches out one paw and annexes my right arm.  Course that swings me around sudden, and I finds myself gazin’ at Vee over Payne Hollister’s shoulders, not three feet away.

“Oh!” says she, startled, and you couldn’t blame her.  I just has to lay one finger on my lips and shake my head mysterious.

“All right!” sings out Payne, straightenin’ up.  “Always more or less exciting getting Cousin Mabel aboard; but it’s been accomplished.  Now, Verona!”

As he gives her a hand she floats in as light as a bird landin’ in a treetop.  I could feel her watchin’ me curious and puzzled as I passes the picnic junk down for Hollister to stow away.  Course, it wa’n’t any leadin’-heavy, spotlight entrance I was makin’ at Roarin’ Rocks; but it’s a lot better, thinks I, than not bein’ there at all.

“Oh, dear,” sighs Mabel, “what a narrow, uncomfortable seat!”

“Is it, really?” asks Vee.  “Can’t it be fixed someway, Payne?”

“Lemme have a try?” says I. With that I stuffs extra cushions around her, folds up a life preserver to rest her feet on, and drapes her with a steamer rug.

“Thanks,” says she, sighin’ grateful and rewardin’ me with a display of dimples.  “What is your name, young man?”

“Why,” says I, with a glance at Vee, “you can just call me Bill.”

“Nonsense!” says Mabel.  “Your name is William.”

“William goes, Miss,” says I; and as she snuggles down I chances a wink Vee’s way.  No response, though.  Vee ain’t sure yet whether she ought to grin or give me the call-down.