lessly misused by Nelson. The Caliph, higher in the air, and with a greater field of vision, found both. It was Claire who saw the green-and-white cushion.
"Something ahead to the left," she said. "It's just under water; but a little of it sticks out. Let's see what it is."
Platter throttled the engine down, then threw out his clutch; the Caliph lost headway and lay heaving beside the water-logged green-and-white cushion against which bobbed and snuggled a yellow paddle. Platter's mouth opened dismally.
"My goodness!" he exclaimed. "Say!"
"What's the matter?"
"They're his. They're Nelson's."
"But you don't—you don't think"
Platter swallowed heavily. "I told him he had no business out here in that canoe. I told him he didn't. I told him he hadn't any sense. I told him"
"Platter! Do you mean he's drowned?"
"No," he said. "But—but—well, it begins to look kind of queer."
"Oh!" she gasped. "How awful! How awful!"
"It begins to look pretty queer," Platter repeated. "It certn'ly does."
