THE launch was on its way back for those of the actors who were leaving. Gabriel, squatting by the engine, calculated the distribution of his time. After he’d taken them across he’d have his supper and then go back for Joe Tracy, who was leaving on the seven fifteen for his vacation. When Joe was disposed of, Gabriel was to meet two Boston sports who had engaged him for a week’s deep-sea fishing at White Beach, twenty-five miles down the coast. It was a strenuous program for the old man and he grumbled to himself about it, the grumbling gaining zest by anticipations that some of them would be late. If it was any of the actors, by gum, he wouldn’t wait for them, with the sports ready to take him along in their car at seven. By the time he drew near the island he had grumbled himself into a state of irascible defiance against any one who would dare upset his plans. To warn them of his coming he sounded the whistle and its shrill toot acted like a magic summons. A group of men, bearing suit-cases and bags, emerged from the entrance and ran down the path, Bassett following. Miss Pinkney’s helper, a native of Hayworth, hurried from the kitchen wing, a suit-case in her hand, and even the august Sara herself appeared in the doorway of her domain. Gabriel quieted down--they were all ready and waiting--and then saw Joe Tracy come round the corner of the house in his Sebastian dress. The old man muttered profanely--why wasn’t the d----d cub getting ready? And as the boat made its landing, he called out: “Say, you’d better be gettin’ them togs off. I’ll be back here for you at a quarter to seven.” The boy, leaping lightly from rock to rock, grinned without answering. The picturesque dress suited him, he looked almost handsome, and with the feathered cap on his golden wig set rakishly aslant, he moved downward with a taunting debonair swagger. Gabriel didn’t like him anyway and now his impudent face, framed by the drooping blond curls, looked to the launch man malignantly spiteful. Gabriel could say no more then for the confusion of good-bys possessed the wharf. The actors shouted them out even to Miss Pinkney, flattering assurances of their inability to forget her and her cooking. She waved a condescending hand and permitted herself a smile, for she was very glad to get rid of them. But Gabriel wasn’t going to go till he’d made things clear. He appealed to Bassett whom he had privately sized up as the only one of the outfit who was like the rational human males of his experience. Besides he had seen that Joe Tracy respected, if not feared, the director: “I’ll be back here at quarter to seven for the Tracy boy, and I’m tellin’ him he’s got to be ready. I can’t waste no time settin’ round waitin’ and if he’s not here on the dot--” “That’s all right,” Bassett put a comforting hand on his shoulder and turned to Joe. “You heard that, Joe?” The boy answered with his sneering grin: “What’s got the old geezer? Does he think I’m as deaf as he is?”