A TELEPHONE MESSAGE.
Dean Mercer had arisen from his berth early on that eventful morning,
the proudest in his life. As he went upon the deck of the _Spray_,
realizing that he was its commander, he felt as if his life work had
truly begun.
Without dreaming of the work of his enemies, he was extremely happy.
At his first turn he was greeted by Jack Carboy with his characteristic
salute, and the cheery voice of the old sailor bidding him a cordial:
“Fine seas to ye, admiral.”
“A return of the compliment, Mr. Carboy,” replied Dean, gravely,
purposely imitating the manner of address of the other.
“Reef yer sails!” fairly roared Jack. “Ship yer picter, ain’t I tol’
yer never to _mister_ ol’ Jack Carboy?”
“Haven’t I told you not to _admiral_ me?”
“Shiver my toplights, Dean,” cried the old tar, extending his hand. “My
boy, ye air honest and true. I’ll stand by ye till the seas run dry.”
“I know it, Jack,” replied Dean, as he grasped the sailor’s hand. “You
and I will get along famously together.
“I suppose we are to start at ten o’clock. Now, that I have fixed up
the matter with the builders of the _Spray_, that will not have to be
attended to. There are a few things to look after on shore. I will be
back by nine sharp.”
“Aye, aye, lad, sharp.”
Dean felt anxious over the fortunes of Marcus Ellison, and he
resolved to visit him as soon as he had eaten breakfast at one of the
restaurants.
He had no trouble in finding the humble home of his friend, and he was
met at the door by a sweet-faced woman whom he quickly learned was
Marcus’ mother.
She greeted him with extreme kindness as soon as she had found that he
was her son’s friend, but to Dean’s dismay he was told that Marcus had
not come home.
Mrs. Ellison had not been worried over his non-appearance, as she would
have been had she known the truth. Attributing his prolonged absence to
some cause connected with his errand to Millville, she had not felt
any great uneasiness. But now she suddenly became alarmed.
“Something has happened to him--my boy! He would have come directly to
me if he had been able,” she declared, and Dean did not doubt the truth
of the assertion.
“Let us hope he is safe. Perhaps he has gone to see his father with the
good news.”
“He would have come to me first. Oh, my boy! my boy!”
“Can you think of any place where he would be likely to call? You know
we did not get into the city until nearly midnight.”
“I can think of no place where he would go before coming to me,”
replied the distracted mother. “Oh, when will our troubles end? We were
so happy a few years ago, and now----”
Dean soon started out to see if he could not get some trace of the
missing boy, but at half-past nine he had not got an inkling of his
whereabouts. No one had seen him after he had left the _Warrior_, and
his disappearance was shrouded in mystery.
So Dean Mercer went on board the _Spray_ with a heavy heart. In the
short time he had known Marcus Ellison, he had come to regard him as a
friend, and the other’s sad story had awakened his pity.
News of the new steamer _Spray_ had been heralded about Springfield and
vicinity, so that before seven o’clock people had begun to throng about
the pier, many of them anxious to make the initial trip, while the
others came as curious onlookers.
Jack Carboy watched this throng with keen interest, ever and anon
giving expression to his feelings in one of his quaint expressions.
But finally he grew anxious about Dean, and as the hour began to draw
towards a close without bringing the young commander, he became excited:
“By the horn of Neptune!” he stormed, “here’s a gale! Ship ready to
sail and no skipper.”
“Blow your trumpet, you water-soaked old salt, and be hanged,”
exclaimed a bystander. “Where under the sun did you get washed in here?”
Jack Carboy glowered upon the speaker with a look of contempt,
murmuring as he moved away something about a “pollywog in a mud puddle.”
Then he hailed with joy the return of “Captain Mercer,” and
preparations for the start of the _Spray_ was no longer delayed.
Amid wild shouts and prolonged huzzas the new steamer started upon her
first trip, carrying with her not only a big crowd of passengers, but
the good wishes of the thousands who would be only too glad to know
that at last, proper accommodations for travel had been secured on the
lake.
Colonel Darringford, still under the influence of liquor, witnessed
these demonstrations.
“That boy!” thinking even then of his bargain with Tim Downey, “he has
betrayed me. Hallo, Rodney! Where are you going?”
“On board the _Warrior_, governor, of course. What a fuss they make
over that new boat. I can’t see that she is more than an ordinary tub.”
The _Warrior_ was soon upon her way, following nearly in the wake of
the new steamer, which was soon lost to the sight of the lookout. Nor
did the old boat again come in sight of her rival upon the trip.
The _Spray_ fulfilled the expectations of her master and crew, even
Jack Carboy gladly boasting that she was worthy of “bigger seas than
the land-locked puddle.”
The grandest sight was when they reached Millville. While her owner
had maintained silence in regard to his intentions, it was generally
known that the boat would soon be ready for its first trip, and that
morning before Dean had started with the steamer, a dozen telephone
messages had been sent over the wires, and the town was all agog over
the new arrival.
Some one, determined that a reception fitting the occasion should be
made, hastily got the members of the local band together, and when the
_Spray_ came in sight of the wharf, it seemed as if the whole town had
poured out to meet it.
The band was playing “See, the Conquering Hero Comes!” and everywhere
manifestations of pleasure and rejoicing were to be seen. There were
few, indeed, so stupid that they could not see that a new day had
dawned for Millville.
In all the town there was no prouder person than Judge Oglesby, who,
from the vantage ground of his own wide veranda, watched the scene.
With him were his wife and Evaline and Manly. In fact, this little
group had been the first to discover the appearance of the steamer, as
they had looked down the lake through the glass.
“Will Dean come up here?” asked Eva.
“Pardon me, my child, but Captain Mercer. Doubtless he will pay us his
respects.”
“I cannot quite get into the habit of calling Dean ‘captain’,” replied
Evaline.
“How I wish I was down on the shore!” cried Manly, enthusiastically.
“See how many people there are all along the dock. Hear the band
playing. Was there ever such a day in Millville, papa?”
“Never, my son, never,” and if there was a ring of triumph in his
voice, the speaker certainly had a right to feel elated over the
success of his plans.
“You may run down to the shore if you want to, Manly, and escort the
hero up here as soon as he is at liberty to come.”
Manly needed no urging to do this. With a cheer that would not have
been received without a rebuke under ordinary circumstances, he ran
down the pathway, soon disappearing from the view of the watchers.
It was half an hour later, a half-hour which seemed very long to the
impatient waiters, before Captain Mercer and his young escort were seen
coming toward the house.
The crowd had dispersed somewhat from the scene at the water’s edge,
but the band was still playing as Dean, proud, yet timid in the midst
of these honors, was met by Judge Oglesby and his family.
“Allow me to congratulate you, Captain Mercer, upon your successful
maiden trip. May it be an example of the many which are to follow. I
felt confident that we should succeed.”
“This is the happiest day of my life,” declared Eva, timidly, as she
advanced to offer her congratulations. “I think that all Millville has
joined with us in expressing their sincere gratitude over this event.”
Dean murmured his thanks for her kind words, as he clasped her hands,
and felt that her appreciation had made it the happiest day of _his_
life.
Before more could be said, Mrs. Oglesby interrupted them by saying:
“There is a call at the telephone from Springfield, Martin.”
“Some trifling business matter. Do not let it interfere with the
happiness of this occasion while I answer it.”
While the judge was gone only a few minutes, when he returned to join
the little group his countenance had a serious expression in marked
contrast to its recent display of joy.
“It seems, Dean, you did not call upon Messrs. Brown, Sewall and
Company in regard to paying for the steamer as you were intending to
do,” he said.
Suddenly a vague fear came into the heart of Dean Mercer, as he
hastened to reply:
“I did, Judge Oglesby. That is, one of the firm came aboard the _Spray_
and I paid him there.”
“I felt sure you would not neglect so important a trust. There has been
some oversight in the affair. I will ’phone to them. Who was it called?”
“Mr. Sewall himself.”
“Then it must be all right. I will explain.”