“You bet she’s kind!  Good old soul!” murmured Lawford.  “I’d have been six fathoms deep if it hadn’t been for Betty.”

“She hauled you into the boat, did she?” Prue said in a sympathetic tone.  “Well, we won’t forget that.”

Betty had stepped aboard the sloop again to reef down and make all taut.  Her sailor-soul would not allow her to leave the lapstreak in a frowsy condition.

Meanwhile Cecile came flying down from the garage, and between his two sisters Lawford was aided up to the house.  Despite the young man’s protests, Dr. Ambrose was called and he rattled over in what the jolly medical man termed his “one-horse shay.”  That rattletrap of a second-hand car was known in every town and hamlet for miles around.  Sometimes he got stalled, for the engine of the car was one of the crankiest ever built, and the good physician had to get out and proceed on foot.  When this happened the man who owned a horse living nearest to the unredeemed automobile always hitched up and dragged the car home.  For Dr. Ambrose was beloved as few men save a physician is ever loved in a country community.

“You got a hard crack and no mistake, young man,” the physician said, plastering his patient’s head in a workmanlike manner.  “But you’ve a good, solid cranium as I’ve often told you.  Not much to get hurt above the ears—­mostly bone all the way through.  Not easy to crack, like some of these eggshell heads.”

Lawford felt the effects of the blow, however, for the rest of the evening.  His father was away and so he had no support against the organized attack of the women of the family.  Although it is doubtful if I. Tapp would have sided with his son.

“It really serves you right, Ford, for taking that movie actress sailing,” drawled Marian.

“It is a judgment upon him,” sighed their mother, wiping her eyes.  “Oh, Ford, if you only would settle down and not be so wild!”

“‘Wild!’ Oh, bluey!” murmured L’Enfant Terrible, who considered her brother a good deal of a tame cat.

“At least,” Marian pursued, “you might carry on your flirtation in a less public manner.”

“‘Flirtation!’” ejaculated Lawford, with a spark of anger—­and then settled back on the couch with a groan.

“My goodness me, Ford!” gasped Prue.  “You’re surely not in earnest?”

“I should hope not,” drawled Marian.

“Oh, Ford, my boy——­”

“Now, mother, don’t turn on the sprinkler again,” advised L’Enfant Terrible.  “It will do you no good.  And, anyway, I guess Ford hasn’t any too bright a chance with the Grayling.  You ought to have seen that handsome Judson Bane lean over her when they were walking up to Cap’n Abe’s.  I thought he was going to nibble her ear!”

“Cecile!”

“Horrid thing!” Prue exclaimed.  “I don’t know where she gets such rude manners.”

“That boarding school last winter completely spoiled her,” complained the mother.  “And I sent her to it because Sue Perriton and Alice Bozewell go there.”