Aunt Jane's Nieces Out West
"
They had retired to a cosy corner of the public drawing room and were
conversing on this interesting topic when they espied A. Jones walking
toward them. The youth was attired in immaculate evening dress, but his
step was slow and dragging and his face pallid.
Arthur and Uncle John drew up an easy chair for him while Patsy performed
the introductions to Mrs. Montrose and her nieces. Very earnestly the boy
grasped the hand of the young girl who had been chiefly responsible for
his rescue, thanking her more by his manner than in his few carefully
chosen words.
As for Maud, she smilingly belittled her effort, saying lightly: "I
know I must not claim that it didn't amount to anything, for your life is
valuable, Mr. Jones, I'm sure. But I had almost nothing to do beyond
calling Patsy Doyle's attention to you and then swimming out to keep you
afloat until help came. I'm a good swimmer, so it was not at all
difficult."
"Moreover," he added, "you would have done the same thing for anyone in
distress."
"Certainly."
"I realize that. I am quite a stranger to you. Nevertheless, my gratitude
is your due and I hope you will accept it as the least tribute I can pay
you. Of all that throng of bathers, only you noticed my peril and came to
my assistance."
"Fate!" whispered Flo impressively.
"Nonsense," retorted her sister. "I happened to be the only one looking
out to sea. I think, Mr. Jones, you owe us apologies more than gratitude,
for your folly was responsible for the incident. You were altogether too
venturesome. Such action on this coast, where the surf rolls high and
creates an undertow, is nothing less than foolhardy."
"I'm sure you are right," he admitted. "I did not know this coast, and
foolishly imagined the old Pacific, in which I have sported and played
since babyhood, was my friend wherever I found it."
"I hope you are feeling better and stronger this evening," said Mr.
Merrick. "We expected you to join us at dinner."
"I--I seldom dine in public," he explained, flushing slightly.
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There was once an honest journeyman tailor, by name Labakan, who learned his trade with an excellent master in Alexandria. It could not be said that Labakan was unhandy with the needle; on the contrary, he could make excellent work: moreover, one would have done him injustice to have called him lazy. Nevertheless, his companions knew not what to make of him, for he would often sew for hours together so rapidly that the needle would glow in his hand, and the thread smoke, and that none could equal him.
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