"I'll help you, Robert," says Marjorie. "My dear sister," says he, "please consider the size of the _Pyxie's_ galley." So, as there didn't seem to be any more competition, after we'd finished everything in sight we left the two of 'em joshin' away merry, doin' the dishes. Later on, while Ferdie's pokin' around, he makes a discovery. "Oh, I say, Bob," he calls down, "there's a box up here that hasn't been opened. Groceries, I think. Come have a look at it." Mr. Robert he takes one glance and turns away disgusted. "No," says he. "I know what's in there. No use at all on this trip." Then, as he passes me he whispers: "I say, when you get a chance, chuck that box overboard, will you?" I nods, grinnin', and explains confidential to Vee. And half an hour or so afterwards, ten perfectly good volumes of Bernard Shaw splashed overboard. Next we sends Ferdie to take a peek down the companionway and report. "They're looking at a chart," says he. "Same side of the table," says I, "or opposite?" "Why, they're both on one side." "Huh!" says I, nudgin' Vee. "That highbrow line might work out in time, but for a quick get-together proposition I'm backin' the dishpan." CHAPTER XVIII WHEN ELLA MAY CAME BY Believe me, this job of bein' private sec. all day and doublin' as assistant Cupid after hours may be entertainin' and all that, but it ain't any drowsy detail. Don't leave you much time for restin' your heels high or framin' up peace programmes. Course, the fact that Vee is in with me on this affair between Mr. Robert and Miss Hampton is a help. I ain't overlookin' that. And after our mix-up yachtin' cruise, when we lost a mast and Bernard Shaw overboard the same day, it looked like we'd got everything all straightened out. Why not? Mr. Robert seems to have decided that his lady-love wa'n't such a confirmed highbrow as he'd suspected, and he was doin' the steady comp'ny act constant and enthusiastic, just the way he does everything he tackles, from yacht racin' to puttin' a crimp in an independent. In fact, he wa'n't doin' much else. "Where's Robert?" demands Old Hickory, marchin' out of his private office and glarin' at the closed roll-top. "I expect he's takin' the afternoon off," says I, maybe grinnin' a bit. "Huh!" says the boss. "The second this week! I thought that fool regatta was over." "Yes, sir, it is," says I. "Besides, he didn't enter." "Oh!" says Mr. Ellins. "Then it isn't a case of a sixty-footer!" "The one he's tryin' to manage now is about five-foot six," says I. "Eh?" says Old Hickory, workin' his eyebrows. "That Miss Hampton again?" I nods. "Torchy," he goes on, "of course I've no particular right to be informed, being only his father, but--er--about how much longer should you say that affair would run before it comes to some sort of climax? In other words, how is he getting on?"