_ CHAPTER XX. CROSSING THE CHANNEL
Two days later our party started for France by way of Dover. They parted regretfully from their friends, who were obliged to remain in London a few days longer, and it is safe to say the others, the boys at least, were even more sorry to part from them. They had not expected any one to see them off, and so it was a complete surprise when they found, not only the Dickensons and Archie, but all the rest of the jolly yachting party, waiting to say good-by to them and speed them on their way.
Our girls were showered with good wishes and pleadings from the boys not to "forget them altogether in the gay and riotous life of Paris." They promised laughingly, thankful to their friends for making the parting a so much easier one than they had anticipated.
The little packet steamed away from the dock and the girls waved to the group on the wharf and the group on the wharf waved to them until they were out of sight.
"Wasn't that lovely of them?" fairly beamed Lucile, as she turned from the last wave at the little dots that had been people. "I think they are the jolliest crowd I've ever met. Jessie, your bow is crooked; hold still a minute. There, it's all right now. Oh, girls, I'm so happy that, if some one doesn't hold me down, I'll go up in the air like a balloon and sit on that fluffy white cloud. No, that one over there, the one that looks like a canary bird."
"Goodness! She's quite romantic!" said Jessie, squinting up at the cloud in question. "It looks more like an elephant to me."
"To come down from the discussion of clouds and elephants," began Evelyn, "to every-day matters, I wonder if that Frenchman we met on the steamer--what was his name? Oh, yes, I remember; Monsieur Charloix--I wonder if he's found that girl yet."
"And the fortune," added Lucile. "Don't forget to mention the most important part. I've----"
"Lucy, how very mercenary!" reproved Jessie.
"Don't you call my sister names," said Phil, who was always pretending surprise at Jessie's long words.
"I've been wondering about that myself," said Lucile, ignoring Phil's remark. "Now that we're going to France, perhaps we will hear something about him."
"France is supposed to be a respectable-sized town," said Phil, with what was meant to be biting sarcasm. "It's not like Burleigh, where Angela Peabody can tell you the history of everybody in town, and then some. We might be in Paris a year and never hear a word about him."
"I realize that quite as well as you do, brother, dear," said Lucile, sweetly. "However, you must admit that there is more chance of our finding out something about the gentleman in France than there was in London."
"Or in Egypt," Phil agreed, and Lucile gave up with a little shrug of her shoulders.
"Well, it doesn't matter, anyway; only I would like to know the end. It's like starting to read an interesting serial story in a magazine, and just when you get to the most exciting part, you come up against a 'To be continued in our next.' Look!" she added, irrelevantly, clutching Jessie's wrist and pointing upward. "Now the cloud has changed shape again. It's the image of old Jim's dog, Bull."
Phil turned away in utter disgust. "You don't have to go to Bronx Park to see the zoo," he muttered.
"Not when we have you with us," Jessie retorted, at which Phil retreated in undignified haste.
The girls turned laughingly to each other.
"What do you say if we have an old-fashioned talk?" suggested Evelyn. "There's has been such a crowd around all the time that we haven't had a minute to talk things over."
"Let's not sit in any regular, ordinary old place to-day, said Lucile. Let's find some snug little corner in the stern, where we can do just as we please and make believe we are back in camp. Oh, for one little sight of our guardian!"
"If she were only here, our happiness would be complete," said Jessie, as they made their way back. "I wonder how Marjorie and Eleanor and Dot and Ruth and the whole bunch of them are, anyway. I'm crazy to see them all."
"And we haven't heard from them in so long! I do wish it didn't take mail so long to travel across the----Oh, here's the very place we are looking for, girls," she interrupted herself. "It's just big enough for three of us, and I don't believe anybody ever comes this way."
So saying, she pulled a chair into the corner and made herself comfortable, while Jessie and Evelyn followed her example.
"You're a wonder at thinking things, Lucy," said Evelyn, as she comfortably settled herself with her head resting against the cabin. "This is ever so much better than sitting where everybody can look at us."
"Of course it is," agreed Lucile. Then, after a moment, she added, dreamily, "Girls, do I look any different than I did when we started? Somehow, I feel awfully different."
Jessie regarded her through lazy, half-closed eyes. "No," she drawled, "I don't see that you've changed so much. Your nose and eyes and mouth are all the same and your hair still curls. You have tanned, though, and there's a little rim of white right up close to your hair, where the curls keep the sun off, and ever since a certain morning"--here Jessie and Evelyn, companions in crime, exchanged glances, and Lucile began to burn a deeper red under the tan--"and ever since a certain morning I have noticed a very marked tendency toward dreaming, and several times when you should have answered 'no' to a question you have answered 'yes,' and we knew you hadn't heard a single word. Aside from that, you haven't changed at all, except that you're a million times dearer and sweeter than you ever were," she finished, with a sudden outburst of affection.
Lucile hugged her gratefully, but her cheeks were still unduly red when she answered, "I didn't know I was being so rude, and it must have sounded frightfully foolish when I answered 'yes' instead of 'no'; but I'll try to reform."
"Don't you do it," said Evelyn. "You don't know how interesting you are this way, especially to Jessie. She says it's better than reading a story any day, and she can enjoy herself without breaking any of the camp-fire rules."
Lucile shot a reproachful glance at her friend, who laughed shamelessly, "I don't care, Lucy; you'd enjoy it just as much as I do if you were in my place. You used to make such fun of my McCutcheon books and everything----"
"Yes; but don't forget I took it all back that day in camp when we saw--well, you know what----"
"Yes, I know," said Jessie, star-eyed at the memory. "Was there ever such a summer anyway?"
"You haven't told us yet what Jack said in his letter," Evelyn interrupted, irrelevantly. "Be good to us, Lucy, and throw us some more small scraps of information to satisfy our curiosity."
"Well, I can't tell you everything he said," Lucile began.
"We hardly expect that," murmured Jessie, and Lucile threw her a suspicious glance.
"Well," she continued, after an ominous silence, during which Jessie intently studied the sky-line, "I can tell you the part that would interest you most. He says if he can persuade his uncle that he is desperately in need of a change, he may see us in Paris."
"What?" cried Jessie, regarding Lucile with laughing eyes. "You mean that Jack says he may actually come to Europe? That means he will, because he can wind that wealthy old uncle of his around his little finger. Good for dear old Jack!"
And so they talked on and on, reviewing past and prophesying future delights, until the position of the sun reminded them that it was time to seek the rest of the party.
"So here you are," said Mrs. Payton, as they approached her from around a corner of the cabin. "We were beginning to think you had jumped overboard. Your father has just gone around the other way to look for you."
"I'm sorry we didn't come back before; I can see it must be about time to land by Phil's face. He never looks sad unless he's hungry."
"You're wrong this time," said Phil. "I'm looking sad because I haven't seen Jessie for two long hours."
"Don't tell me that," said Jessie, the unconvincible. "You might try that with some one else, but not with me; I know you too well."
"But suppose I don't want to try it with any one else," Phil objected, managing to fall behind the rest and lowering his voice to a whisper. "Suppose I wasn't fooling; suppose I really meant what I said?"
Jessie turned quickly and said, in a tone in which laughter and despair were equally blended, "Oh, Phil, you're not going to begin anything like that--please----"
"Why not?" said Phil, doggedly. "If you don't mind, I think I shall."
Jessie regarded Phil's serious face out of the corner of her eye and gave a little hysterical gurgle.
"It's no use," she thought, as Phil placed a chair for her with more than usual care; "it must be in the air. When Lucy knows----" _