THE DOG WITH THE BUSHY TAIL
The trouble was all over long before Mamma Cameron came down; and to
Carolyn's relief nobody seemed to think her dog was much to blame save
the cockatoo looking man, Mr. Oliver Littlefield.
Captain Ozias patched up the broken straps of his cousin's wooden leg,
finished shaving himself, and stumped off with "Oly" as he called his
cousin, toward the beach. It seemed that the two old men lived together
in a little house that belonged to Mr. Oliver Littlefield, and had done
so ever since Captain Ozias had retired from the sea.
"He's as dumb and helpless about housekeepin'," Carolyn heard one of
the women say, "as though he had lost a hand instead of a laig. If
'twarn't for Cap'n Ozy, Oliver Littlefield'd never have a decent mess
o' victuals."
"That's right," agreed another of the hotel "help." "If Cap'n
Littlefield hadn't come home to the island 'bout the time Oliver's wife
died, I reckon he'd ha' starved to death down there in that little
house o' his. For nobody would ha' gone there to housekeep for him.
He's jest as pleasant to get along with, Oly Littlefield is, as a wild
tagger."
Captain Littlefield came clumping back to the hotel before Carolyn went
in with her mother to breakfast, and with rather a rueful grin on his
mahogany face.
"Jes' like I told you," he said to Mr. Ben Truefelt. "Never see sech a
gump in all my born days. He was all out o' merlasses an' couldn't find
the stopper to the 'lasses jug. Went plumb crazy 'bout it, as usual.
I found the 'lasses jug stopper stickin' in the vinegar jug, an' the
vinegar jug plug on the dresser right in plain sight. It does git past
me how the good Lord makes some folks so helpless. They might's well
stay in swaddlin' clo'es all their lives an' be done with it."
All this might be very interesting, thought Carolyn, but it did
not explain the great mystery. And that mystery had doubled within
the hour. If the little girl had desired to know how Captain Ozias
Littlefield lost his leg, how much greater was her longing to know how
both he and his cousin had lost their legs! Captain Littlefield wore
a timber extension on the stump of his right leg, while Mr. Oliver
Littlefield wore a similar extension on the stump of his left leg.
How did they both come to lose their limbs? It was amazing!
"Oh, Mr. Ben!" she finally called to Mr. Truefelt, addressing him as
most of the hotel employ s did. "Oh, Mr. Ben," she went on, "how ever
did Captain Littlefield and his cousin _both_ come to lose their legs?"
"Mighty careless of 'em, wasn't it, Miss Carolyn?" returned the young
man, chuckling. "So you are curious about the 'Double O's,' are you?"
"The 'Double O's'?" repeated the little girl.
"That is what we call them. Oliver and Ozias--Oly and Ozy. And they are
both just as funny in their different ways as they can be. But how they
happened to both have wooden legs--well, that I could not tell you,
for I don't know. I'm not altogether sure that they were not born with
them."
"Born with wooden legs?" gasped Carolyn. "I--nev-er--did--_hear_ of
such a thing! I don't believe that can be so, Mr. Ben."
"Well, to tell the truth, my dear," said Mr. Ben Truefelt, "neither did
I ever hear of folks being born that way. It would be curious, wouldn't
it? But the first I can remember of either of the Double O's, they had
those timber-toes strapped to 'em. And I never heard say how they got
'em. Why don't you ask them?"
"Oh, I couldn't do that! Not on such short acquaintance!" murmured
Carolyn.
"No?"
"_Could_ I?"
"I don't know just how well you think you've got to know a person
before you can ask him how he came to have an artificial limb," said
Mr. Ben seriously. "Perhaps it would be best to refrain from any such
inquisition of Mr. Oliver Littlefield. Mr. Oliver is noted for his
short temper. But Cap'n Ozy is all right. You might ask him almost any
time, I should say. He is quite domesticated," concluded Mr. Ben.
But for the moment, and suddenly, Carolyn May's thought was switched to
something entirely different. She sighed.
"I felt real 'quainted with my pale lady almost at first," she said.
"You don't know my pale lady, Mr. Ben, and her baby. Oh, dear! They
can't come to Block Island."
"Why not?" asked Mr. Ben, smiling down upon her. "We still have some
rooms vacant at the Truefelt House."
"Oh, dear me, no!" said Carolyn, shaking her head. "They couldn't come.
Not this summer. You see, they are too poor."
"Oh!"
"Yes. He isn't earning enough for them to go away for a vacation. But
the doctor says she and the baby should get out of the city. It's
dreadful. You ought to see that baby. He's such a skinny little thing."
Ben Truefelt glanced up to see Mrs. Cameron standing by them. He bade
Carolyn's mother a courteous good-morning and asked her how she had
slept with rather boyish diffidence. Then he added, quickly:
"Oh, Mrs. Cameron, mother told me she thought you were interested in
one of my college friends who clerked for us here at the Truefelt House
for a season. It was after our junior year. He was in my class, good
old Grif was."
"'Grif'?" repeated Carolyn's mother.
"That's what we called him," Ben Truefelt said with a smile. "And
'Griffin Junior.' Very disrespectful of us, Mrs. Cameron. But college
boys aren't strong on respect, you know. The newspapers called Grif's
father 'the Griffin of Wall Street,' so we called him 'Griffin
Junior.'"
"Do you speak of Mr. Joe Bassett?" demanded Carolyn's mother.
"Yes, Mrs. Cameron."
"I chanced to overhear what my little girl was saying to you," she
continued. "Do you know, Mr. Truefelt, she was speaking of Joe
Bassett's wife and child?"
He stared at her, his very good brown eyes opening more widely and the
smile quite gone from his face.
"You do not really mean that, Mrs. Cameron? This 'pale lady' the little
girl speaks of and the 'skinny' baby? Can they be Joe Bassett's wife
and child?"
"Exactly. Did you not know that he married two years ago against his
father's command, and was disowned?"
"Good old Grif? Never!"
"Not only that, but there was something about his break with his
father," said Hannah Cameron cautiously, "that has put him in bad
odour. Nor has he been successful in anything that he has undertaken.
I happen to know that he is about to lose his position on the New York
_Beacon_, where he has lately been working as reporter. He is not a
good reporter."
"By George!" exclaimed Ben Truefelt with vigour, "he made a mighty good
hotel clerk, and I wish I had him right now."
"That is my reason for speaking to you," went on Mrs. Cameron quickly.
"His wife and child are suffering in the hot city. I believe he loves
them. If they could all three come here--"
"If Grif will do it, I'm sure mother will agree," the young man said.
"You understand, do you not," said Carolyn's mother, "that I do not
recommend Mr. Bassett? I cannot vouch for his character."
"Why, nobody need recommend Grif to me, Mrs. Cameron. I know him. I
can't imagine why he broke with his father; but whatever Grif says will
go a long way with me. You see, I knew him for years. And if there is
any time in life when fellows get to know each other, it is in those
college years."
"I am glad to hear you say that," Hannah Cameron observed. She had not
felt that her husband's decision regarding the Bassetts was altogether
right. "I hope you will get them here quickly. I will give you the
address, and you might send a special delivery letter--"
"I'll do better than that," said Ben Truefelt eagerly. "I'll go right
over to the Weather Bureau and cable. I'll tell him to drop everything
and bring his wife and child right over here. Think of old Grif a
family man!" added the young fellow, boyishly.
"We'll find a place for Mrs. Bassett and the baby with some of the
islanders over on the West Side, where board is cheap. They'll get
plenty of fresh milk and eggs and fish and vegetables. I'll go and tell
mother. I'm a thousand times obliged, Mrs. Cameron."
Carolyn had been playing with Prince during this conversation. Now her
mother called the child to come in to breakfast.
"What would you say, Carolyn May," she asked the little girl, "if your
pale lady and her baby and her husband should come here for the summer?"
"Oh--ee! Truly, Mamma?"
"Truly."
"My! wouldn't that be nice?" exclaimed Carolyn. "And I could push the
baby around in his carriage--Oh, no, I couldn't! He hasn't any carriage
now!"
"Perhaps we can find means of supplying that deficiency," said her
mother.
Mr. Ben Truefelt came back from the cable office, where the weather
signal flags were displayed on a pole, about the time Carolyn and her
mother were ready to go for a stroll to the post-office. He bore the
reply to his cable in his hand, and flourished it joyfully.
"See here!" he cried. "It's all settled. The dishwashers and the rest
of the crew can walk out on us all they please. I'd rather wash dishes
and wait on table than be clerk. Grif is coming."
He held out the message so that Mrs. Cameron could read it:
"You're on. Thursday boat."
"I cabled him fifty on account, and it seems he didn't take long
to make up his mind," said Mr. Ben. "I guess he isn't in love with
reporting."
He went on to tell Mrs. Truefelt of what he considered their good
fortune, while Carolyn May and her mother, with Prince off his leash,
went down into the Old Harbour, as the village around the docks was
called.
Picture postal cards were the very first thing to buy. Carolyn wanted
to purchase a number of every island scene she saw, and send them
broadcast through the mails to all her friends in New York and the
Corners and around Sunrise Cove. Fortunately for the over-burdened
post-office department her purse would not compass her desire, so she
had to content herself with a much more modest selection.
"Well, when my papa comes, he can buy 'em all," sighed Carolyn. "We'll
send the rest then. I do want to send that picture of the ocean to Amos
Bartlett. You know, he's the boy that told Miss Minnie in school that
he didn't believe the world was round, 'cause if it was, the ocean
would slide off. And that picture will show him that the ocean hasn't
slid yet."
Prince was having a joyous time running at large; but being a good
tempered dog he paid little attention to the island dogs that chanced
to challenge him. As they walked past a fish cleaning shanty, however,
Prince made a discovery that quite startled him.
There was a big basket on the stone before the door of the hut that
seemed filled with wet seaweed. The inquisitive Prince was about to
run his muzzle inquiringly into this sea herbage. Suddenly out of the
middle of it appeared a pair of clashing claws, just the colour of the
seaweed.
Prince jumped back and barked. The lobster waved its claws in a most
threatening fashion, and Carolyn could now see all its hard-shelled
body nestling in the seaweed. The pointed, funny nose, with its long
feelers waving about, was plainly visible; and the jointed claws
clashed a challenge that Prince was altogether too wise to accept.
"There, now, Princey Cameron," exclaimed Carolyn, "see what you've
done! You've woke up that poor fish when maybe he wanted to sleep. And
he came near to catching you. You'd better not fool with him. Come
away!"
Her mother was walking on, her parasol spread to shelter her from the
sun's rays that were now getting uncomfortably warm. But Prince had
suddenly a new source of interest. A big dog with a bushy tail came
dashing across the road and stopped abruptly beside Prince and the
lobster basket.
The bigger dog's plume was waving gently, but whether in friendly
greeting or not, was hard to decide. His eyes were red and fierce, and
he was much bigger than Prince.
"I _do_ wish you'd come away, Princey!" said the little girl anxiously.
"I b'lieve he's one of those treachersome dogs that you never know what
they mean--There!"
The dog with the bushy tail snapped at Prince without any provocation
whatever.
"Oh! You stop that!" cried Carolyn, stamping her foot.
Prince had growled a warning and jumped; then he put his nose to the
snarling muzzle of the bushy-tailed dog. The latter was not very brave.
He was just a bully, after all. He backed away from Prince and his tail
drooped. Unfortunately it drooped directly across the lobster basket.
The lobster played no favourites. It made no difference to it which dog
was punished for arousing him. It reached up both claws and clamped
them with true lobster-like tenacity to the bushy tail.
Then was there a great to-do. Yelp upon yelp was emitted by the dog
with the bushy tail as he started for home with a three pound lobster
attached to his tail. The dog went so fast and so wildly that the
lobster never hit the ground for twenty yards, and then only to bound
into the air again and sail on with the panic-stricken animal.
The owner of the lobster plunged out of the shack, wildly demanding:
"Who's that? Who took my lobster?"
"I'm sure, Mister, you can't blame Prince," said Carolyn May, with
severity. "_He_ wouldn't steal your lobster, anyway. And of course he
hasn't got a long enough tail for a lobster to get hold of."