_In Which Phillis Tells Me of Her Dream_
I thought Mr. Barney had finished his story, he was so long silent. I
saw, however, that he was still thinking of his brother, and I was not
sure whether he was expecting a word of sympathy, or not. I reckoned he
had been talking more to relieve his mind than for any other purpose.
And finally he went on with it:
“Alf and I talked it over as we walked down to the docks. I told him
I was sick of Uncle Jothan’s nagging. I wished he’d pick the one he
wanted and close the discussion. I believed the price we’d have to pay
for his money was too great, anyway.
“‘But money’s a good thing,’ says Alf. ‘And Uncle Jothan has got a good
deal of it.’
“‘I believe too much money spoils folks, Alf,’ says I.
“‘We could stand some spoiling,’ he returns, laughing.
“‘Look at uncle himself,’ says I. ‘He’s spoiled.’
“‘I’m not afraid of being spoiled by it,’ says Alf.
“‘I believe it would hurt you as quick as anybody,’ I told him. And
that riled him, though I had no thought that it would.
“‘Speak for yourself, Jim,’ says he. ‘Money’s worth going after.’
“‘We’ve had everything equal so far, Alf,’ says I. ‘I’m not hungry for
his money.’
“‘And I suppose you think I am?’ and then I saw he _was_ miffed.
“‘The one that tries to get the best of the other for the sake of Uncle
Jothan’s money, will show he’s hungry,’ I said.
“‘Then call it what you like, Jim!’ he cries. ‘I’m going after it.’
“‘How?’ says I.
“‘I’m going to beat you back to Baltimore,’ says he.
“‘I’ll be hard to beat,’ I told him.
“‘Wait and see!’ cried Alf, and with that he flung off from me and went
his way to the Seamew alone.
“I had to do an errand. When I got aboard the Gullwing the two
schooners were just about to pull out. It was then old Cap’n Si made
his bet with Cap’n Joe. I believe Alf put him up to it. When I saw
Alf in Buenos Ayres I told him so, and he didn’t deny it,” said Mr.
Barney, sorrowfully.
“When we met in the other ports we had words. I’m blamed sorry now, but
it’s too late to patch it up. I’ll tell you honest, Webb, I don’t care
who gets Uncle Jothan’s money and the job with the firm; but I’m going
to not let Alf beat me to Baltimore if I can help it.”
He went aft then without another word; but I did a good deal of
thinking about the friction between the two Barneys. Privately I liked
Mr. Jim Barney the better of the two; but it was a wicked shame that
the head of Barney, Blakesley & Knight should have set the twins by
their ears in this way. Money was at the root of the trouble. Mr.
Jothan Barney seemed about to devote his wealth to as bad a cause as my
grandfather had tried to devote _his_ property.
The Gullwing struck a streak of headwinds soon after this and we
wallowed along without making much headway. That made us all feel
pretty sure. It was a chance that the Seamew might have forged so far
ahead of us that she had escaped these contrary winds entirely.
Captain Bowditch was on deck almost all the time. His better seamanship
began to be displayed now. He took advantage of every flaw in the wind.
He had us making sail, and reefing down, most of the time, and Bob
Promise grumbled that we topmen had better stay up there in the rigging
all the time, and have our meals brought to us by the cook.
We saw nothing of the Seamew, and that added to our anxiety, too. Days
passed and we crossed the line, under the heat of a tropical sun that
fairly stewed the pitch out of the deck planks. Dao Singh seemed the
only person aboard that accepted the heat with good temper.
We rigged an awning for our passenger, and Phillis lived under it
both day and night. She was getting plump and hearty, however; surely
the voyage was doing her no harm. And she was the sweetest tempered,
jolliest little thing one could imagine. It cheered a fellow up and
made him ashamed to be grouchy, just to be near her.
She liked Thankful Polk, and he amused her by the hour. The officers
were pretty easy on Thank and I as long as we were with her. To me she
clung as though I really was her brother--and I was proud that she so
favored me.
Phillis told me much of her life in India--as far back as she could
remember it. She had come out from England when she was very small. On
her last birthday she had been twelve. But little that she could tell
me would help in finding her relatives--if she had any.
Her father, Captain Erskin Duane, had not been in active service. Not
as far as she knew, at least. He had been an invalid for months; but
had died very suddenly. There seemed to have been few army friends, and
the people she had sailed with from Calcutta she had hardly ever seen
before the captain’s death.
I had tried pumping Dao Singh about the private history of the little
girl; but either he knew nothing about the captain’s affairs, or he
would not tell me. He was as simple, apparently, as a child about his
own expectations. He had insisted upon accompanying the little Memsahib
in her voyage “because she needed him.” _Why_ he thought she needed him
he could not, or would not, explain.
For my part I told Phillis everything about myself, and recounted, from
time to time, all the adventures through which I had been since leaving
Bolderhead. I told her much about my mother, too, and about Darringford
House, and our summer home on Bolderhead Neck.
I assured her that I should take her at once to my mother when we
landed and that I knew my mother would be delighted to give her a home
with us. This seemed to please the little girl greatly.
“Then we shall really be brother and sister, sha’n’t we?” she cried.
“Of course,” I said.
“That will be splendid! For, do you know, Clinton, I think you are the
very nicest brother I could have picked out. You are just as nice as I
dreamed you would be.”
“There!” said I. “You have said that before. How do you mean, that you
_dreamed_ about me?”
“So I did. Only it was a dream that came true.”
“You mean that you dreamed of me when you were aboard that boat?”
“Oh, no! it was long before that. It was soon after we left Calcutta
that I saw you,” she said, confidently.
“Why, Philly!” I exclaimed. “That’s impossible, you know.”
“But I _did_ dream about you,” she returned, seriously. “I knew that I
was in a little boat. I thought I was all alone on the great ocean. And
I was frightened, and sick--just as I _was_ frightened and sick when
the time came. But you came to me, and told me you would save me, and
you held me in your arms just as you _did_ hold me afterward all the
way to this ship.”
She was so positive that she had dreamed it all before, that I saw
it was no use to gainsay it. And then, why should I contradict her?
Perhaps she had had some secret and wonderful assurance that she would
be saved from the wreck. I did not understand the clairvoyant part of
it, or whatever it might be; so I did not touch upon the subject again.
It was after that that the great gale struck us and the staunch
Gullwing was battered continually for a week. We ran almost under bare
poles for a time, and fortunately the gale favored us. But we lost our
mizzen topmast completely and some of our other rigging was wrecked.
Phillis had to remain below during this storm, and she was sick again.
She cried so for me that the captain--kind old man that he was--let
me go down to her whenever I could be spared from the deck. The child
seemed to feel that she was perfectly safe if I was with her.
Her constant trust in me made a strong impression upon my mind. Nor was
it an unpleasant impression. Nobody had ever leaned before on me as
this child did--not even my mother. It made me feel more manly and put
me on my very best behavior.