'FRISCO KID AND THE NEW BOY
'Frisco Kid was discontented--discontented and disgusted. This would have
seemed impossible to the boys who fished from the dock above and envied
him greatly. True, they wore cleaner and better clothes, and were blessed
with fathers and mothers; but his was the free floating life of the bay,
the domain of moving adventure, and the companionship of men--theirs the
rigid discipline and dreary sameness of home life. They did not dream that
'Frisco Kid ever looked up at them from the cockpit of the _Dazzler_
and in turn envied them just those things which sometimes were the most
distasteful to them and from which they suffered to repletion. Just as the
romance of adventure sang its siren song in their ears and whispered vague
messages of strange lands and lusty deeds, so the delicious mysteries of
home enticed 'Frisco Kid's roving fancies, and his brightest day-dreams
were of the thing's he knew not--brothers, sisters, a father's counsel,
a mother's kiss.
He frowned, got up from where he had been sunning himself on top of
the _Dazzler's_ cabin, and kicked off his heavy rubber boots. Then
he stretched himself on the narrow side-deck and dangled his feet in
the cool salt water.
"Now that 's freedom," thought the boys who watched him. Besides, those
long sea-boots, reaching to the hips and buckled to the leather strap
about the waist, held a strange and wonderful fascination for them. They
did not know that 'Frisco Kid did not possess such things as shoes--that
the boots were an old pair of Pete Le Maire's and were three sizes too
large for him. Nor could they guess how uncomfortable they were to wear
on a hot summer day.
The cause of 'Frisco Kid's discontent was those very boys who sat on
the string-piece and admired him; but his disgust was the result of
quite another event. The _Dazzler_ was short one in its crew, and he
had to do more work than was justly his share. He did not mind the
cooking, nor the washing down of the decks and the pumping; but when
it came to the paint-scrubbing and dishwashing he rebelled. He felt
that he had earned the right to be exempt from such scullion work.
That was all the green boys were fit for, while he could make or take
in sail, lift anchor, steer, and make landings.
"Stan' from un'er!" Pete Le Maire or "French Pete," captain of the
_Dazzler_ and lord and master of 'Frisco Kid, threw a bundle into the
cockpit and came aboard by the starboard rigging.
"Come! Queeck!" he shouted to the boy who owned the bundle and who now
hesitated on the dock. It was a good fifteen feet to the deck of the
sloop, and he could not reach the steel stay by which he must descend.
"Now! One, two, three!" the Frenchman counted good-naturedly, after the
manner of captains when their crews are short-handed.
The boy swung his body into space and gripped the rigging. A moment later
he struck the deck, his hands tingling warmly from the friction.
"Kid, dis is ze new sailor. I make your acquaintance." French Pete
smirked and bowed, and stood aside. "Mistaire Sho Bronson," he added
as an afterthought.
The two boys regarded each other silently for a moment. They were evidently
about the same age, though the stranger looked the heartier and stronger
of the two. 'Frisco Kid put out his hand, and they shook.
"So you 're thinking of tackling the water, eh?" he said.
Joe Bronson nodded and glanced curiously about him before answering:
"Yes; I think the bay life will suit me for a while, and then, when I 've
got used to it, I 'm going to sea in the forecastle."
"In the what?"
"In the forecastle--the place where the sailors live," he explained,
flushing and feeling doubtful of his pronunciation.
"Oh, the fo'c'sle. Know anything about going to sea?"
"Yes--no; that is, except what I 've read."
'Frisco Kid whistled, turned on his heel in a lordly manner, and went
into the cabin.
"Going to sea," he chuckled to himself as he built the fire and set about
cooking supper; "in the 'forecastle,' too; and thinks he 'll like it."
In the meanwhile French Pete was showing the newcomer about the sloop
as though he were a guest. Such affability and charm did he display
that 'Frisco Kid, popping his head up through the scuttle to call them
to supper, nearly choked in his effort to suppress a grin.
Joe Bronson enjoyed that supper. The food was rough but good, and the
smack of the salt air and the sea-fittings around him gave zest to his
appetite. The cabin was clean and snug, and, though not large, the
accommodations surprised him. Every bit of space was utilized. The table
swung to the centerboard-case on hinges, so that when not in use it
actually occupied no room at all. On either side and partly under the
deck were two bunks. The blankets were rolled back, and the boys sat on
the well-scrubbed bunk boards while they ate. A swinging sea-lamp of
brightly polished brass gave them light, which in the daytime could be
obtained through the four deadeyes, or small round panes of heavy glass
which were fitted into the walls of the cabin. On one side of the door
was the stove and wood-box, on the other the cupboard. The front end
of the cabin was ornamented with a couple of rifles and a shot-gun,
while exposed by the rolled-back blankets of French Pete's bunk was a
cartridge-lined belt carrying a brace of revolvers.
It all seemed like a dream to Joe. Countless times he had imagined scenes
somewhat similar to this; but here he was right in the midst of it, and
already it seemed as though he had known his two companions for years.
French Pete was smiling genially at him across the board. It really was a
villainous countenance, but to Joe it seemed only weather-beaten. 'Frisco
Kid was describing to him, between mouthfuls, the last sou'easter the
_Dazzler_ had weathered, and Joe experienced an increasing awe for this
boy who had lived so long upon the water and knew so much about it.
The captain, however, drank a glass of wine, and topped it off with a
second and a third, and then, a vicious flush lighting his swarthy face,
stretched out on top of his blankets, where he soon was snoring loudly.
"Better turn in and get a couple of hours' sleep," 'Frisco Kid said
kindly, pointing Joe's bunk out to him. "We 'll most likely be up the
rest of the night."
Joe obeyed, but he could not fall asleep so readily as the others. He
lay with his eyes wide open, watching the hands of the alarm-clock that
hung in the cabin, and thinking how quickly event had followed event in
the last twelve hours. Only that very morning he had been a school-boy,
and now he was a sailor, shipped on the _Dazzler_ and bound he knew not
whither. His fifteen years increased to twenty at the thought of it, and
he felt every inch a man--a sailorman at that. He wished Charley and
Fred could see him now. Well, they would hear of it soon enough. He could
see them talking it over, and the other boys crowding around. "Who?" "Oh,
Joe Bronson; he 's gone to sea. Used to chum with us."
Joe pictured the scene proudly. Then he softened at the thought of his
mother worrying, but hardened again at the recollection of his father.
Not that his father was not good and kind; but he did not understand boys,
Joe thought. That was where the trouble lay. Only that morning he had
said that the world was n't a play-ground, and that the boys who thought
it was were liable to make sore mistakes and be glad to get home again.
Well, _he_ knew that there was plenty of hard work and rough experience
in the world; but _he_ also thought boys had some rights. He 'd show him
he could take care of himself; and, anyway, he could write home after he
got settled down to his new life.