"Number two hundred and seventy-six," he read. "That's it--two
hundred and seventy-six." And seeking out the number he knocked on the
door. It opened slightly and Jan saw peeking out at him the lips, chin
and half an eye each side of the nose of a pretty and well-dressed girl.
Jan looked up at the number over the door again to see if he had made a
mistake. Then the door opened more widely--and it was she, smiling out
at him; but so rosy and terribly pretty that Jan felt afraid and drew
back.
"I thought maybe you would like to get out for some fresh air soon," he
stammered.
"I was just trying on the new hat I bought with the money you sent up
last night--and a shirtwaist and a lovely long coat. How did you get
through the night?"
"Fine! I went over to the dry dock and turned into a bunk on the
schooner."
She made a mouth at the mirror. "That was no place to sleep. You should
have taken a comfortable room at the hotel."
Jan was silent.
"Yes, you should. I'll be right out."
She came out, but with her face veiled, and clung close to him as they
walked the deck. Jan sniffed the air.
"Snow, I think," he said.
"Meaning a storm? I was never in a storm. Are they terrible?"
"A storm is nothing," said Jan, "when you get used to them. But will we
go in to supper?"
They went in. The boat was now outside the harbor and pitching slightly.
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