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Adventure Stories for Girls
THE CRUISE OF THE O MOO
by
ROY J. SNELL
The Reilly & Lee Co.
Chicago
Printed in the United States of America
Copyright, 1922
by
The Reilly & Lee Co.
All Rights Reserved
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I A Mysterious Tapping 7
II The Blue Face in the Night 24
III Lucile's Quick Action Gas 36
IV Trapped in the Old Museum 51
V A Catastrophe Averted 65
VI The Blue God 78
VII The Mystery Deepens 90
VIII A Strange Game of Hide-and-Go-Seek 103
IX Someone Drops in from Nowhere 117
X The Real Cruise Begins 131
XI A Mysterious Adventure 148
XII The O Moo Rides the Storm 161
XIII Land at Last 177
XIV "A Phantom Wireless" 191
XV The Island's Secret 202
XVI An Unexpected Welcome 215
XVII Hot Water and a Ghost 226
THE CRUISE OF THE O MOO
CHAPTER I
A MYSTERIOUS TAPPING
Lucile Tucker stirred in her berth, opened her eyes drowsily, then
half-framed a thought into a whispered: "What was that?"
The next instant she sat bolt upright. She had heard it again, this time
not in a dream. It was a faint rat-tat-tat, with a hollow sound to it as
if beaten on the head of a barrel.
She strained her ears to catch the slightest sound but now caught only
the constant lash-lash of the flag-rope as it beat the mast of the yacht,
the O Moo, a sure sign of a rising storm.
She strained her eyes to peer into the darkness to the right of her; she
wanted to see her two companions who should be sleeping there to make
sure they were still with her. She could not see; the shutters were
tightly closed and there was no moon. The place was dark; black as soot.
She stilled her breathing to listen again, but caught only the lash-lash
of that flag-rope, accompanied now and then by the drumlike boom of
canvas. The storm was rising. Soon it would be lashing the waves into
white foam to send them crashing high above the breakwaters. She
shivered. A storm aboard ship had always frightened her.
Yet now as she thought of the term, "aboard ship," she shrugged her slim
shoulders. Her lips parted in a smile as she murmured:
"The cruise of the O Moo."
Suddenly her thoughts were broken in upon by the repetition of that
mysterious sound of a rat-tat-tat.
"Like a yellow-hammer drumming on a hollow tree," was her unspoken
comment, "only birds don't work at night. It's like--like someone
driving--yes, driving tacks. Only who could it be? And anyway, why would
they drive tacks into our yacht at midnight."
The thought was so absurd that she dismissed it at once. Dismissing the
whole problem for the moment, she began thinking through the events which
had led up to that moment.
She, with Marian Norton, her cousin--as you will remember if you chance
to have read the account of their previous adventure as recorded in the
book called "The Blue Envelope"--had spent the previous year on the
shores of Behring Straits in Alaska and Siberia. There they had been
carried through a rather amazing series of thrilling adventures which had
not been without their financial advantages, especially to Marian.
Lucile's father had been, when she had left her home at Anacortes,
Washington, a well-to-do salmon fisherman. She had felt no fear of lack
of money for further schooling. The two girls had therefore planned to
study during this present year, Lucile at a great university situated
near the shore of Lake Michigan and Marion in a renowned school of art in
the same city.
But fortune plays rude tricks at times. They had returned to find that
Lucile's father's fortune had been dissipated by an unfortunate
investment in fish-traps for catching a run of sock-eyed salmon, a salmon
run which failed, and that Marian's father had grub-staked a
"sure-winner" gold mine which had panned out not enough gold to pay for
the miner's "mucklucks" (skin-boots).
So Marian had given up the major portion of the money paid to her by the
Ethnological Society for her sketches and Lucile had abandoned all hope
of receiving money from her father for a university education. They had
not, however, given up their plans for further schooling.
"Have to live carefully and not spend an extra cent," had been Marian's
way of summing up the situation. "And we can make it all right. Why, just
look at the price for rooms at the university." She referred to a
catalogue in her hand. "Twenty-three dollars a term. That is less than
two dollars a week. We could pay that. Rooms outside the university
certainly can't be any more--probably not as much."
Lucile smiled now as she recalled this bit of crude reasoning.
They had hurried on to the university with their little checking
accounts. They had had--
But here again Lucile started and sprang half out of her berth. Came
again that mysterious rat-tat-tat.
"What can it be?" she whispered. "Marian! Florence! Wake up. Someone
is--"
These last words, uttered in a whisper, died on her lips. The other girls
slept on. What was the use of waking them? Couldn't be anything serious.
And if it were, what could they do at this mad hour of night? Suppose
they routed out old Timmie, keeper of the dry dock, what could he do? It
was black as jet out there.
So she reasoned, and, having settled back between her blankets, began
again the recalling of events.
They had arrived in the city by the lake to be completely disillusioned.
All university rooms had been reserved for months ahead. So too had all
outside rooms which might be had for a reasonable price. To pay the price
demanded for such rooms as were available had been impossible. They faced
the danger of being obliged to return to their homes, and this, to such
girls as they were, was a calamity unthinkable.
Just at this critical moment, the O Moo had shown her masts above the
horizon. She was a trim little pleasure yacht, thoroughly equipped for
living on board. She belonged to a wealthy doctor named Holmes, a
life-time friend of Lucile's father.
"She's in dry dock down about two miles from the university," he had told
the girls. "You're welcome to live in her for the winter. Canvas over her
now but you can prop that up here and there, I guess. Make a snug place
to camp, I'd say. Cabin's about ten by thirty and there's everything
you'd need, from an eggbeater to an electric range. There's electric
lights and everything; valve-in-the-head motor supplies 'em. Go on; live
there if you want to; keep house and everything. Pretty stiff walk to the
U. But there's the lagoon in winter, with good skating a mile and a half
of the way. What say--want to try it? Old Timmie, the keeper of the dry
dock, will see that nobody bothers you. There's some Chinamen living in a
barge out there, some fishermen in a smack and a young chap in a gasoline
schooner. Guess they are all peaceable folks, though. Might get another
girl or two to go in with you. Plenty of room. We live on board her two
months every summer, two families of us, six in all."
If the girls had been captivated at once by this novel plan, once they
had climbed aboard the yacht, they had been thrilled and delighted at the
sight which met their eyes.
"She--she's a regular little floating palace!" Lucile had stammered.
"Tut! Tut!" Mr. Holmes had remonstrated, "not quite a palace, though
comfortable enough, and not floating at all, at the present moment."
"It will be a cruise--the winter cruise of the O Moo," Lucile had
exclaimed in delight.
Had she but known how real these words would be to her some time
hence--"The winter cruise of the O Moo"--she might have shuddered with
fear and been sorely tempted not to accept her new home.
The power of divination was not one of her talents, so, with Marian at
her side, she had proceeded to lift the heavy canvas which enshrouded the
yacht's deck, and, having crept ...
A truly wonderful cabin it was, all done in dark oak, with broad panels
of green canvas along the walls, equipped with heavy oak tables and
heavily over-stuffed chairs and lounges. It presented the appearance of a
splendidly furnished but rather eccentric living room.
Here at one end the touch of a lever sent an electric range springing up
from the floor. A second lever lowered a partition between this suddenly
improvised kitchenette and the living room. Two cupboards to the right of
this kitchen displayed dishes and cooking utensils. The opposite wall
furnished a table which folded up when not in use. Behind this was a
fully equipped kitchen cabinet.
"Convenient when in use, out of the way when not needed," had been the
doctor's only comment.
This kitchen was forward. Aft were to be found four double berths.
Modeled after the upper berths of a Pullman sleeper, these gave the
maximum of comfort and when folded up occupied no space at all.
"It's wonderful!" had been the most the girls could say. "And, oh! Doctor
Holmes, we'll pay you rent for it. You surely must allow us to do that,"
Marian had exclaimed.
"Nonsense!" the good doctor had exclaimed. "Worked my way through school
myself. Know what it means. All I ask is that you pass the good work on
to some other fellow who needs a boost when you are through with school
and making money."
So here they were, and had been for two months, all comfortably
established in the cabin of the O Moo.
Dr. Holmes had suggested that they might be able to accommodate another
girl. They had become acquainted with Florence Huyler, a freshman in the
physical culture department, and had decided at once that she was just
the girl to join them.
Florence had not waited for a second invitation and here she was sleeping
in the berth to Lucile's right. Just why she should have seemed most
fitting as a companion for such an adventure I can best tell you as
events progress.
The long hike back and forth to the university and the art school had
been a bit tiring at first, but in time they had come to enjoy it. Then
winter had come and with it ice on the lagoon. Only yesterday they had
had their first wonderful race over its shining surface. Her
recollections came slower and slower and she was about to drift off into
a dream when there came again that strange rat-tat-tat.
Once more she sat bolt upright to peer into the darkness; once more she
asked herself the questions: "What can it be? Should I waken Marian and
Florence?"
She did not waken them. To do so would seem, she thought, a trifle silly.
The yacht stood upon a car with iron wheels which rested on a track
raised five feet above the ground by a stout trestle work. The sides of
the yacht towered above this trestle. Altogether the deck of the yacht
was fully twenty feet from the ground. They ascended and descended by
means of a rope ladder. This ladder, at the present moment, lay on the
deck. No one could enter their cabin unless he were possessed of a ladder
and any person attempting this would at once be detected and might be
arrested for it, so why be afraid?
But, after all, that sound was puzzling. She wanted to know what it
meant. For some time she contemplated slipping on her dressing-gown to
creep out on deck and peer over the side. But the wind was chill and
still rising. The flag-rope was whipping the mast with ever-increasing
fury.
"Cold out there," she thought with a shiver. "Glad the O Moo is in dry
dock and not on the water!"
A sudden thought brought a new fear. Of a whole line of schooners and
yachts on that track in the dry dock, the O Moo was the one closest to
the water. What if she should slip back into the water and be driven out
into the lake! Lucile shivered again. Then she smiled. How absurd. Did
not a heavy cable hold her in place? Were not the wheels of the car, on
which she rested, blocked? How then could she glide back into the lake?
Fortunately, it did not occur to her that this very tap-tap-tapping might
be the knocking of a hammer which was driving those blocks from their
positions before the wheels of the car.
Since this thought did not come to her and, since the tapping did not
come again, she at last snuggled down among the blankets and fell asleep.
Hardly had she wakened in the morning before she recalled this strange
incident of the night. Hurriedly slipping into a middy suit and slippers,
she raced up the short gangway and across deck, tossing the rope ladder
over the side. The next moment she might have been seen walking slowly
about the hull of the yacht. She was searching for traces of the strange
tapping.
Having passed along the south side, she climbed through the trestle and
made her way along the north side. She was about to conclude that the
night's experience had been purely an imaginary one when a white spot
near the prow attracted her attention.
She caught her breath as her hand reached for it. It was a square bit of
paper held in place by four tacks which had apparently been driven into
the hull with great deliberation.
"That explains the tapping," she whispered to herself. "Sure had their
courage right along with them. Thought we'd be afraid to interfere, being
just girls, I suppose. Wonder what it is."
She reached up and pulled the paper free from the tacks. As soon as she
had it in her hand she realized that written on it was a message. She
read it--read it twice--then stood there staring.
The paper was of a peculiar rice-straw variety. The words were written in
a strangely artistic fashion. Fine as the tracing of a woman's pen, each
letter stood out distinct, done in curves of wonderful perfection, the
work of a master penman.
But she did not pause to admire the handwriting; it was the meaning of
the words that startled her as she read:
"You must not stay here. You shall not stay. I have said it."
It was signed only with a crosslike figure, a bizarre sketch that might
well have represented the claw of a bird--or a dragon, Lucile added with
a little intake of breath.
"I must show the girls," she exclaimed, and nimble as a squirrel, was
away over the trestle and up the rope ladder.
When the other girls had heard Lucile's story and had read the note they
were more astonished than alarmed.
"Huh!" exclaimed Florence, gripping an iron rod above her and lifting her
full hundred and sixty pounds easily with one hand. "Who's telling us
whether we can stay here or not?"
"I'd say they better not let you get near them," smiled Lucile.
Florence laughed and, releasing her grip on the rod, sat down to think.
"Doesn't seem possible it could be anyone living in the other boats," she
mused. "I've seen that young man they call Mark Pence, the fellow who
lives in the gasoline schooner, just once. He seems to be decent enough."
"And the old fishermen," put in Marian, "I hired two of them to pose for
some sketches last week. Nice old fellows, they are; a little rough but
entirely harmless. Besides, what difference could it make to them whether
we live here or not?"
"There's the Chinamen who run a little laundry in that old scow," said
Lucile thoughtfully, "but they are the mildest-mannered of them all, with
their black pajama suits and pigtails."
"And that's all of them, except Old Timmie and his wife," said Florence,
rising and pressing the lever which brought the electric range into
position. "And as for Timmie, I'd as soon suspect my own father."
"We'll tell him about it," said Lucile. "He might help us."
They did tell Timmie, but he could throw no light on the subject. He
appeared puzzled and a little disturbed, but his final counsel was:
"Someone playing a practical joke on you. Pay no attention to it. Pay no
attention at all." The girls accepted his advice. Indeed, there was
nothing they could do about it.
"All the same," was Lucile's concluding word, "I don't like it. Looks as
if someone in this vicinity were doing something they should not do and
were afraid we'd catch them at it. I for one shall keep an eye out for
trouble."
The other two girls agreed with her, and while they did not alter their
daily program in the least, they did keep a sharp lookout for suspicious
characters who might be lurking about the dry dock.