The Invader’s Retreat
The three boys started guiltily and stared in consternation at the
figure in the doorway, whose wide shoulders stretched almost from
lintel to lintel. With the light behind him, it was impossible to see
the face distinctly, but there was no mistaking that voice nor that
figure. It was Bill Glass himself. Hal, courageous in the conviction of
his wrongs, recovered first.
“We were looking around,” he said with a suspicion of insolence that
made Bee glance uneasily at the window. “You have so many interesting
things here, Mr. Glass, and I’ve been wondering where you――” Bee made
up his mind to sell his life dearly――“got them all.”
Bee in his relief subsided in the rocking chair. Bill Glass entered the
cabin with a rumbling chuckle that seemed to start at his shabby boots
and grow in volume all the way up.
“Interestin’s just the word, shipmate. Some o’ them things could tell
stories what would make them eyes o’ yours stick plumb out o’ your
head if they could talk. Sit ye down, mates, sit ye down. Nice kind o’
weather for the time o’ year.”
“I guess we’ll be going,” said Jack carelessly. “We just thought we’d
drop in. Not finding you at home, we took the liberty of looking
around.”
Bill nodded soberly. “Right you be, right you be. I thought maybe,
though, you seen me goin’ out that time you waved to me.”
“Oh, was that you in the dory?” asked Bee innocently.
“That was me, mate, but I cal’ate you couldn’t tell at that distance.”
“Oh, we knew you,” said Hal rashly and rudely. “What’s more, we’re
getting to know you better all the time.”
Bill Glass blinked untroubledly. “That’s right, mate. We be neighbors
in a way o’ speakin’ an’ neighbors ought for to be friendly. I take it
kind o’ ye to call, mates.”
Jack couldn’t make up his mind whether the man was speaking
sarcastically or not. “You――you’ve got a real cosy place here,” he
murmured.
“It does well enough for a chap like I be,” agreed Bill. “Not much
in the way o’ luxury, you see, but comfortable, comfortable. I ain’t
a-sayin’ that I wouldn’t like a fine house on Church Hill, mates, an’
a carriage to drive about in an’ servants to wait on me, but I be
contented, I be contented. There’s many that lives in fine state an’
ain’t no happier’n I be; not so happy, likely. It’s a clean conscience,
mates, as brings joy and happiness. Poor I be, but honest. That’s me,
shipmates all, Honest Bill Glass.”
“That’s a nice pair of oars you have out there,” said Hal with apparent
irrelevancy.
“Eh? Oh, them oars. Yes, they be a good pair.”
“I see you’ve just painted them,” Hal pursued in spite of the appealing
glances of Bee and Jack.
“Yes, I have to do that mates, so’s they won’t be taken by mistake.
Them Portigees ain’t particular whose oars they row with. That’s why I
likes to have ’em a distinguishin’ color, so to speak. Now if you had
had your oars painted mates, I guess maybe you wouldn’t have lost ’em.”
“We didn’t lose them; they were stolen from us,” replied Hal sharply.
“But what,” interposed Jack hurriedly, “is to keep anyone from painting
them over another color?”
“Well, they might, an’ that’s a fact, but they ain’t so likely to.
Haven’t found your oars yet, have ye?”
“No, not yet,” Jack replied. “We haven’t had time to look around much.”
“We know where they are, though,” said Hal meaningly. “I guess we won’t
have to look very far for them.”
“I want to know! Well, I was thinkin’ as how maybe you’d like to buy a
good pair. That pair there might suit ye an’ I’d let ’em go right down
cheap; say two dollars to you, mates.”
Hal grew so red in the face that Bee feared results and so jumped
to his feet. “Let’s――let’s go out and look at them,” he stammered
nervously.
“We’ve got a new pair,” exploded Hal, “and I wouldn’t buy those from
you, anyway, you――you――”
“That’s so,” cried Jack hurriedly. “We bought a pair yesterday. You
see, we went to town after you left us. We bought a boat-hook too,
and――and other things.”
“Did ye now?” asked Bill regretfully. “I wish I’d known ye was
intendin’ to buy. I could have sold you oars cheap. An’ I’ve got
a boat-hook ye might have had too.” He blinked benevolently as he
followed them outside. The sun had appeared at last and the mist was
rolling inland across the marsh. Hal, almost choking with repressed
emotion, was dragged aside by Jack.
“Don’t be silly,” begged the latter. “There’s no use in getting the old
chap down on us. There’s no telling what he might do; set fire to the
sloop, perhaps, or steal the launch. It doesn’t do any good, Hal.”
“Oh, all right,” muttered Hal, “but those are my oars, and he knows it!
And you heard what he just said about the boat-hook!”
“Yes, but it may not be yours, and――”
“It is mine!” He turned suddenly toward Bill Glass. “Say, I might buy
that boat-hook if you don’t want too much for it. May I have a look at
it?”
“Cert’nly! Cert’nly!” Bill walked over to the shed and fumbled for a
moment amongst a pile of stuff on the rafters.
“I’ll know it in a minute if it’s mine,” whispered Hal. “It was brand
new and――”
“Here ye be, mate.” Bill Glass came back with the article in his hands.
“Pretty nigh as good as new it be, too.”
Jack and Bee grinned at the expression of surprise and disappointment
that overspread Hal’s countenance as he looked at the boat-hook. It was
weather-stained to the hue of an old fence-post and the brass hook on
the end was covered deep with verdigris. Jack thought that Bill Glass
had a mocking twinkle in his good eye as he offered the implement for
inspection. Hal, however, took one disgusted look at it and waved it
away.
“I don’t want it,” he said ungraciously. “It isn’t the one――I mean it’s
too old. Come on fellows!”
“Fifty cents takes it,” urged Bill. “It’s a bargain, mate.”
But Hal was marching straight for the wharf and Bee and Jack followed
perforce. Bill Glass ambled along behind, boat-hook in hand. He watched
silently while Jack unfastened the painter and Hal kicked the switch on
angrily and twirled the fly-wheel over. Then, with the engine running,
he remarked:
“Cute things, they be, them motor-boats. Times I think I’ll have to get
me one, mates.”
“Great Scott!” exclaimed Bee involuntarily. Luckily the humming of the
engine partially drowned his voice. Hal threw the lever forward and the
_Corsair_ made a rush across the little basin as though determined to
climb the further bank.
“Hey!” bawled Jack at the wheel. “Whoa, for the love of mud!”
Hal made a clutch at the throttle with one hand and pulled back the
lever with the other just in time. Jack, scampering across the little
decking forward, tried to fend the boat off the bank with his feet, but
the momentum buried her nose a foot deep in the mud and sand.
“Reverse her slowly, Hal!” he called. Hal, completely flustered by this
time, threw the lever forward again. The propeller churned wildly and
the _Corsair_ dug further into the bank.
“Don’t cal’ate,” observed Bill Glass mildly from the wharf, “you can go
much further in that direction, mates.”
Hal finally got the lever at reverse and, after a moment’s struggle,
the _Corsair_ backed out into the pool. Jack spun the wheel, Bee
fended the launch away from the wharf and at last she was straightened
out. “All right,” called Jack. “Let her go!”
The launch poked her nose down-stream and Bill Glass waved politely
with a big brown hand. “Come again, mates,” he rumbled, “come again. If
I ain’t here, just make yourselves to home!”