There was little sleep on Tarpaulin, either for rescuers or rescued,
until the small hours of the morning. The cabin was crowded to its
utmost capacity, as the fish-house was too cold for the drenched,
wearied men. Filippo kept a hot fire going until long after midnight,
and served out coffee galore. During his intervals of leisure he and
Frank conversed in liquid Sicilian.
Outside, the storm roared and the surf boomed on the ledges about
Brimstone; beyond in the blackness lay the wrecked _Barona_, hammering
to pieces.
Gradually conversation ceased and the camp grew quiet. The boys and
their unexpected guests, sandwiched closely together on the floor and in
the bunks, drifted off into fitful slumber. But John P. Whittington's
eyes remained wide open.
He was outstretched in Percy's bunk. His clothes hung drying before the
stove, and he had on an old suit of Jim's, as nothing that Percy wore
was large enough to fit his father's square, bulky figure. Beside him
lay his son, sound asleep. John P. marveled at his regular breathing.
Occasionally he touched the lad with his hand.
All his thoughts centered about Percy. He could not but feel that this
brown, wiry fellow who had saved his life was a stranger to him. He
could see with half an eye that a great change had come over the boy
during the summer; he had grown quieter, stronger, far more manly.
Yes, Percy had stuck. John Whittington had only half believed that he
could or would; and he had spent a good many valuable hours worrying
over what he should do with his son if he didn't stick. The result
showed that all those hours had been thrown away; but somehow the
millionaire couldn't feel very bad about the waste.
He began to wonder if Percy might not have done better in the past if
his father had put in a little more time with him personally and spent
less in mere money-making. He had tried to shift his responsibility off
on somebody else, had hired others to do what he should have taken pains
to do himself. That was a big mistake; John P. Whittington could see it
plainly now. And it had come near being a pretty costly error for him,
for Percy. Well, those days were over. Percy had turned squarely about
and was doing better. Whittington, senior, determined to do better, too.
Little by little the gale blew itself out. By daybreak the sky was clear
and the wind had gone down, but the high rollers still wreaked their
wrath on the shattered yacht and thundered on the point. A fiery sun
shot its red rays over the slumberers in the crowded cabin. Filippo
roused yawningly, built the fire, and busied himself about breakfast.
Soon everybody was astir. The millionaire's clothes were now dry, and
he dressed with the others. Save for a slight stiffness and a few
bruises, he was all right.
After breakfast he went up on Brimstone with Percy and the others to
take a look at the _Barona_. The steel hull lay on its side on the
foaming reef, a battered, crumpled shape, sadly different from the trim
yacht that had left New York so short a time before. A miscellaneous lot
of wreckage was swashing in the surf at the base of the point, and Jim
and some of the crew were salvaging what they could; but it was not very
much.
Standing in safety on the promontory in the sunlight of the pleasant
morning, John P. Whittington gazed long at the wreck.
"Well," he remarked at last to the captain, who stood beside him, "I
guess I see where I'm out fifty or seventy-five thousand dollars. Might
as well take my medicine without a whimper. It was all my fault. You
wanted to run into Portland when the storm was making up, but I thought
we'd better try for some port nearer the island. I've gotten so into the
habit of having men do as I want them to that I thought the wind and sea
would do the same. But I've learned they won't. It's been an expensive
mistake, and it came altogether too near being more expensive still.
It's up to me to foot the bills. I'll make it all right with you and the
crew and Sadler."
The sea was going down rapidly. A council was held. The Rockland boat
would leave Matinicus at half past one, and, as Jim felt that the
_Barracouta_ could easily make the run to the island, it was decided to
send the crew back to New York that very day. The captain and the mate
arranged to remain on Tarpaulin until a wrecking-tug from Boston should
arrive.
Mr. Whittington, yielding to the persuasions of Percy and the invitation
of the other boys, consented to take the first vacation of his life and
stop with them a week or ten days, when their season on the island would
close.
While the crew were preparing to embark, Filippo approached Jim with his
newly found brother.
"I like to go with Frank," he said.
"Sorry to have you leave, Filippo," returned Jim. "But I know just how
you feel, and I don't blame you a bit."
He called Stevens and Lane aside. Presently the latter went into the
cabin and reappeared with a roll of bills. Jim handed them to the
Italian.
"Here's one hundred dollars, Filippo, your share for your summer's work.
You've earned it fairly. If there's anything more coming to you, after
we figure up, I'll send it on. What will your address be? We hope to see
you again some time."
Filippo was overcome. Tears of gratitude filled his eyes as he stammered
his thanks. It was arranged that letters in the care of the Italian
consul at Boston would always be forwarded to him.
Jim and Throppy took the departing party over to Matinicus on the
_Barracouta_, getting them there in ample time for the Rockland steamer.
The sloop was back at Tarpaulin by four o'clock.
Meanwhile John P. Whittington had started on his vacation. Though his
time ran into thousands of dollars a week, he felt he could profitably
spend a little of it in getting acquainted with his boy. One of the
first things his keen eyes noted was the absence of the cigarettes.
"Knocked off, eh, Percy? For how long?"
"For good, Dad!"
The millionaire suppressed a whistle; something had certainly struck
Percy.
The next morning, his sturdy figure garbed in oilskins, he started out
with his son and Jim for Clay Bank. He had to acknowledge that rising at
midnight was a little early, even for a man accustomed to work as hard
as he had always done.
Out on the shoal he was a silent but interested spectator while the
trawl was being pulled and the fish taken aboard. An old swell was
running, and he speedily discovered that seasickness was another thing
his will could not master. That afternoon he watched Percy skilfully
handle the splitting-knife and later do his part in baiting the trawl.
On the morning following he went out lobstering, and found as much to
interest him as on the day before. Everything was new to him. He
discovered that even a man experienced in big business can learn some
things from boys. Soon his sleep at night was as sound as his son's.
He made a trip to Matinicus in the _Barracouta_, and talked prices with
the superintendent of the fish-wharf and the proprietor of the general
store.
"Have a bottle of lemon, Dad?" invited Percy.
Mr. Whittington was on the point of refusing; he did not care for soda.
On second thought, however, he drank it soberly.
Percy appreciated his father's acceptance of the proffered courtesy.
"It's the first time my money ever bought anything for you."
The experience was a novel one for them both.
Just after light one morning the wrecking-tug from Boston appeared. A
brief examination of the _Barona's_ hull by a diver showed that the
havoc wrought by the sea and rocks had been so great that but little of
value could be saved. So the tug started back that very afternoon, and
the captain and the mate of the yacht went with her.
The weather was now much cooler, and the boys were glad that their stay
was to be short. Wild geese were honking overhead in V-shaped lines on
their way south. Mr. Whittington accompanied the others on a gunning
trip to Window Ledge, and came back with a dozen coots. He smacked his
lips over the coot stew and dumplings prepared by Jim. Throppy
dismantled his wireless and packed up his outfit to send away.
On their last Thursday at Tarpaulin Uncle Tom Sprowl came in on the
smack with Captain Higgins. He had boarded the _Calista_ at York Island.
Everybody, including Nemo and Oso, was glad to see Uncle Tom. His
rheumatism was fully cured and he was spry and chipper. He was more than
satisfied with what the boys had accomplished during the summer, and he
planned to continue lobstering after their departure.
He noted the change in Percy.
"Told Jim your son needed salting," he confided to Mr. Whittington.
"He's all right now."
The afternoon before they were to leave the island Roger reckoned up his
accounts. They showed that after Uncle Tom's share had been deducted,
Spurling & Company had a thousand dollars to divide. Of this, one
hundred dollars had already been paid to Filippo.
Lane handed Percy one hundred and fifty dollars.
"I don't want him to take that," objected Mr. Whittington.
"We shouldn't feel right if he didn't," said Jim.
"Dad," spoke up Percy, "I want it. I've earned it. Look at those hands
and arms. It's the first money I ever had that you didn't give to me.
I'm going to have one of the bills framed behind glass."
"He's earned it, fast enough," corroborated Jim. "Let him take it, Mr.
Whittington. We'll all feel better about it if you will."
So the millionaire gave his consent, with the mental reservation that in
some way he would make it up to the others later.
"What are you going to do with all that wealth, Percy?" he asked. "It
won't keep you very long in gasolene."
"Send half of it to Filippo for his brother Frank," replied Percy,
promptly. "He lost about all he had when the _Barona_ was wrecked."
Later that afternoon Mr. Whittington took Jim aside out of Percy's
hearing.
"Honestly, between us, how has the boy done this summer?"
"I wouldn't ask to have anybody take hold any better than he has since
the middle of July."
The millionaire looked gratified.
"I'm more than pleased at the way things have turned out, and I don't
know how I can ever repay you. Can't I help you somehow in money
matters?"
Jim shook his head decidedly.
"No, thank you, Mr. Whittington. As I told you at the beginning of the
summer, we're making our own way. Percy is entitled to every cent we've
paid him, and I can honestly say we're glad he's been with us."
A half-hour afterward Mr. Whittington found his son alone.
"How about those college conditions, Percy?" he asked.
"Just finished my work on 'em before the wreck, Dad. I'm ready to take
my exams the minute I strike college. It's been a hard pull, harder even
than the fishing and lobstering, and it's kept me hustling; but I
believe I've won out. Studying isn't so bad. All you've got to do is to
make up your mind to get your lessons, and then get 'em."
"That's so in other things besides studying, Percy. You'll find it out
later on."
"I guess I don't need to tell you," continued his son, "how much I owe
to Jim Spurling and the others. They're the whitest bunch I ever ran
with, and I wouldn't have missed my summer with them for anything."
"Something different from what you felt three months ago, eh, Percy?
Remember our talk at Graffam Academy, Commencement night?"
"Rather guess I do! And, believe me, I sha'n't forget it in a hurry. By
the way, there's one fellow I owe a good deal to that I haven't told
you about yet."
He related to his father the story of his two encounters with Jabe. The
older man listened with grim but satisfied attention.
"Licked him at last, did you? If you hadn't, I should want you to look
him up and do it now. It's a Whittington habit to carry through what you
begin. Well, Percy, you've certainly made good."
A glimmer of pride, the first he had ever shown in his son, crossed his
face.
"I blamed you for junking your auto. Now I've gone and junked a yacht
that'll cost me more than fifty times as much. Well, there's no fool
like the old fool! But it's been worth it."
He gave his son a look in which affection mingled with pride.
"It was quicksilver, kill or cure; and I'm mighty glad it's been cure."