Ruth Fielding Down in Dixie; Great Times in the Land of Cotton. Emerson Alice B.

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      “And we’re not authorized to go to the Capes with her,” said the policeman who had been addressed as Jim. “We’d better go back and report, and let the inspector telegraph to Old Point a full description. Maybe the dicks there can nab the lad.”

      The stateroom door was closed but could not be locked again. The purser and policemen went away, and the girls ran out on deck to see the police officers go down the ladder and into the launch.

      They all did this without accident. Then the rope ladder was cast off and the launch chugged away, turning back toward the distant city.

      The steamer had now passed Romer Light and Sandy Hook and was through the Ambrose Channel. The Scotland Lightship, courtesying to the rising swell, was just ahead. Ruth and Helen had never seen a lightship before and they were much interested in this drab, odd looking, short-masted vessel on which a crew lived month after month, and year after year, with only short respites ashore.

      “I should think it would be dreadfully lonely,” Helen said, with reflection. “Just to tend the lights – and the fish, perhaps – eh?”

      “I don’t suppose they have dances or have people come to afternoon tea,” giggled Ruth. “What do you expect?”

      “Poor men! And no ladies around. Unless they have mermaids visit them,” and Helen chuckled too. “Wouldn’t it be fun to hire a nice big launch – a whole party of us Briarwood girls, for instance – and sail out there and go aboard that lightship? Wouldn’t the crew be surprised to see us?”

      “Maybe,” said Ruth seriously, “they wouldn’t let us aboard. Maybe it’s against the rules. Or perhaps they only select men who are misanthropes, or women-haters, to tend lightships.”

      “Are there such things as women-haters?” demanded Helen, big-eyed and innocent looking. “I thought they were fabled creatures – like – like mermaids, for instance.”

      “Goodness! Do you think, Helen Cameron, that every man you meet is going to fall on his knees to you?”

      “No-o,” confessed Helen. “That is, not unless I push him a little, weeny bit! And that reminds me, Ruthie. You ought to see the great bunch of roses Tom had the gardener cut yesterday to send to some girl. Oh, a barrel of ’em!”

      “Indeed?” asked Ruth, a faint flush coming into her cheek. “Has Tom a crush on a new girl? I thought that Hazel Gray, the movie queen, had his full and complete attention?”

      “How you talk!” cried Helen. “I suppose Tom will have a dozen flames before he settles down – ”

      Ruth suddenly burst into laughter. She knew she had been foolish for a moment.

      “What nonsense to talk so about a boy in a military school!” she cried. “Why! he’s only a boy yet.”

      “Yes, I know,” sighed Helen, speaking of her twin reflectively. “He’s merely a child. Isn’t it funny how much older we are than Tom is?”

      “Goodness me!” gasped Ruth, suddenly seizing her chum by the arm.

      “O-o-o! ouch!” responded Helen. “What a grip you’ve got, Ruth! What’s the matter with you?”

      “See there!” whispered Ruth, pointing.

      She had turned from the rail. Behind them, and only a few feet away, was the row of staterooms of which their own was one. Near by was a passage from the outer deck to the saloon, and from the doorway of this passage a person was peeping in a sly and doubtful way.

      “Goodness!” whispered Helen. “Can – can it be?”

      The figure in the doorway was lean and tall. Its gown hung about its frame as shapelessly as though the frock had been hung upon a clothespole! The face of the person was turned from the two girls; but Ruth whispered:

      “It’s that boy they were looking for.”

      “Oh, Ruth! Can it be possible?” Helen repeated.

      “See the short hair?”

      “Of course!”

      “Oh!”

      The Unknown had turned swiftly and disappeared into the passage. “Come on!” cried Helen. “Let’s see where he goes to.”

      Ruth was nothing loath. Although she would not have told anybody of their discovery, she was very curious. If the disguised boy had left his first disguise in stateroom forty-eight, he had doubly misled his pursuers, for he was still in women’s clothing.

      “Oh, dear me!” whispered Helen, as the two girls crowded into the doorway, each eager to be first. “I feel just like a regular detective.”

      “How do you know how a regular detective feels?” demanded Ruth, giggling. “Those detectives who came aboard just now did not look as though they felt very comfortable. And one of them chewed tobacco!”

      “Horrors!” cried Helen. “Then I feel like the detective of fiction. I am sure he never chews tobacco.”

      “There! there she is!” breathed Ruth, stopping at the exit of the passage where they could see a good portion of the saloon.

      “Come on! we mustn’t lose sight of her,” said Helen, with determination.

      The awkward figure of the supposedly disguised boy was marching up the saloon and the girls almost ran to catch up with it.

      “Do you suppose he will dare go to room forty-eight again?” whispered Ruth.

      “And like enough they are watching that room.”

      “Well – see there!”

      The person they were following suddenly wheeled around and saw them. Ruth and Helen were so startled that they stopped, too, and stared in return. The face of the person in which they were so interested was a rather grim and unpleasant face. The cheeks were hollow, the short hair hung low on the forehead and reached only to the collar of the jacket behind. There were two deep wrinkles in the forehead over the high arched nose. Although the person had on no spectacles, the girls were positive that the eyes that peered at them were near-sighted.

      “Why we should refer to her as she, when without doubt she is a he, I do not know,” said Helen, in a whisper, to Ruth.

      The Unknown suddenly walked past them and sought a seat on one of the divans. The girls sat near, where they could keep watch of her, and they discussed quite seriously what they should do.

      “I wish I could hear its voice,” whispered Ruth. “Then we might tell something more about it.”

      “But we heard him speak on the dock – don’t you remember?”

      “Oh, yes! when he almost knocked that poor colored man down.”

      “Yes. And his voice was just a squeal then,” said Helen. “He tried to disguise it, of course.”

      “While now,” added Ruth, chuckling, “he is as silent as the Sphinx.”

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