A TRIAL TRIP
The extraordinary appearance of Nat Wingate was, of course, observed by
Mr. Somers, but the gentleman did not have his curiosity immediately
gratified. He was surrounded by the members of the Rambler Club, and
the hearty expressions, appreciative of his kindness, which poured from
the boys' lips must have been very gratifying.
He explained that the mysterious letter had been written by his chief
clerk, and further told them that for a long time he had contemplated
the purchase of a motor boat.
"I thought, boys," he added, "that it might be well to hasten its
acquirement, in order to afford you the opportunity for a safe
and pleasant trip. And I am sure you will consent to allow me the
occasional use of it."
Bob's answer was to seize his father's hand and wring it heartily.
Mr. Somers deplored the unfortunate result of Nat Wingate's hasty
temper, and laughed when the boys told him about his threat to form a
rival organization for the purpose of following and annoying them.
"I hardly think that his uncle would humor him to the extent of
supplying a motor boat," he remarked, dryly. "It is scarcely worth
while to pay any attention to his foolish language. And now let us take
the 'Rambler' on a little trial trip."
"Hurrah! Come on, boys," shouted Bob. It is certain that each boy felt
a thrill of delight when he stepped on board.
The "Rambler" was about twenty-five feet long, rather wide of beam,
built more for safety and convenience than speed. It was covered for
more than half its length, and provision made for drawing down awnings
at the sides. In the forward part was a cuddy sufficiently large to
accommodate whatever supplies might be needed for the trip, while
beneath the shelter were several seats, which also served as lockers.
The wheel was situated immediately back of the cuddy, from which point
an unobstructed view was to be had. Conveniently near to it stood
the motor. Few working parts were visible, pistons, crank shaft and
other details of the mechanism being enclosed within the castings.
Two vertical cylinders and a small, but heavy fly-wheel were the most
prominent features.
It seemed hard for the boys to realize that such a small, compact
apparatus could drive the boat at any speed.
Mr. Somers, however, assured them that it was of many horse-power.
"Of course," he said, "this is a gasoline motor. You all know that
gasoline is highly inflammable, and consequently dangerous to handle.
Its vapor mixed with air is explosive, so you must understand the
necessity for extreme care in its use."
Continuing, Mr. Somers delivered a short lecture, which was eagerly
listened to. He told the boys how the power was derived from the
explosions of gasoline vapor mixed with air, the charges being fired by
an electric spark. Their attention was drawn to the valves controlling
the supply of gasoline, the batteries and connecting wires.
Continuing, Mr. Somers said: "An engine of this kind has no power to
start itself. It is necessary that the fly-wheel should be given
several turns. This forces the explosive mixture into the upper part of
the cylinders and ignites it, which starts the engine. Here, Bob, is a
book of instructions."
"Can't we start right away?" asked his son, eagerly.
"Certainly!--Tom, cast off the lines. Dave, your arms look pretty
strong; give the wheel a couple of turns."
"All right, sir!" responded Brandon, as the two proceeded to carry out
directions.
A sharp detonation came from the motor, followed by a steady and rapid
succession.
The effect was immediate. With a gentle, rocking motion, the "Rambler"
began to glide forward, while the water at its stern was churned into
foam and the ripples lapped against its sides.
"Hurrah!" cried Bob, enthusiastically. "This is what I call great!"
"Nothing could be finer," chimed in Dick. "See how far we have come
already."
When the boys looked around, they were surprised to see what a distance
separated them from the wharf.
Bob, at the wheel, managed it skilfully. The "Rambler" described a wide
curve and was headed down-stream.
Close at hand rose the dark, wooded slope of Fir Island, a low, rounded
hill that divided the stream into two channels. They watched its form
becoming clear and distinct, and compared the trip with others that
were made in the "Lively."
To say that the performance of the "Rambler" was up to expectations
is expressing it very mildly. The island was reached and passed in an
astonishingly short space of time.
"A daisy trip ahead of us, that's sure," cried Bob. "Doesn't it skim
along smoothly, eh, Chubby? No trouble at all to run it."
"You are pleased, then, boys?" queried Mr. Somers, with a smile.
"No words for it," drawled Dave.
"You must, as the poet laureate, include the 'Rambler' in one of your
verses."
Dave smiled.
"Very likely I will," he said.
"Just see what a distance we've come already!" exclaimed Dick Travers.
"Never thought motor-boating was as fine as this," put in Tom Clifton.
"Can't blame Nat Wingate for wanting to join the club. Maybe he isn't
sore, fellows," and Tom laughed at the recollection.
"Pretty bad day for Nat," remarked Dick. "He'll get square with old
Zeke Tipson."
"And with us, too, if he gets a chance," said Bob.
"I am just as well pleased that young Wingate is not going with you,"
declared Mr. Somers. "He seems to be a trouble maker."
The cheerful chug-chug of the engine was music to their ears, and Bob,
at the wheel, could scarcely contain his delight, as the "Rambler"
glided smoothly over the rippling surface of the river. Mr. Somers,
too, seemed to enjoy the experience, and continued to give them bits of
helpful advice.
The stream at this point was about a quarter of a mile wide, and they
were afforded a series of ever-changing views. Wooded hills rose on
either side, bathed in the white, sparkling light of an early summer
morning, but the monotony was relieved by ravines, fields and areas
of deep shadow. There were a few sailing craft about, while, upon the
opposite shore, several clumsy canal-boats were slowly making their way
up the river.
In a little over half an hour, the "Rambler" had traversed four miles.
"Well, boys, what do you think of it?" inquired Mr. Somers.
The chorus of enthusiastic replies more than convinced the gentleman
that the five boys were thoroughly delighted, and he was almost sorry
to give the order to turn back.
"I am not able to spare any more time from business," he said. "You may
come out again to-morrow."
"And when shall we start on our trip, father?" asked Bob, anxiously,
while the rest of the Ramblers listened in expectant silence.
"Well, let me see--to-day is Tuesday; I think that the first of
next week would be soon enough. By that time, you should be so well
acquainted with the boat that I need have no fears regarding your
safety."
Notwithstanding the impatience of his hearers, they could only accede
to this reasonable demand with good grace.
Landing at the little wharf was not accomplished as easily as Bob
hoped, but Sam Randall stood by with the fenders, while Tom and Dick
secured the lines.
Even when Mr. Somers took his departure, the Ramblers could not tear
themselves away from the boat.
"And just think, we were going in the 'Lively,'" observed Dick Travers,
in a tone of deep disgust.
"Don't you dare to slander that grand old hulk," laughed Dave. "I've
written two poems about her already."
"When we are on this trip, you'll have to write poems, and read them,
too," exclaimed Sam, "otherwise you shall be deposed from position of
poet laureate and made to cook."
"In that event, the journey would come to a disastrous end," returned
Dave, smilingly; "doctors are few and far between in the region where
we are going."
Meanwhile, as they enjoyed themselves in conversation and planning, the
time slipped rapidly away. It was now fast approaching one o'clock,
so they took a final glance at the "Rambler," and began their journey
homeward.
None of the five caught a sight of Nat Wingate that day. But it fell
to the lot of Dave Brandon to encounter him early on the following
morning. While on his way to meet the other members of the club, he
found Nat reclining on the big boulder, which had become a sort of
favorite haunt with him. He was engaged in earnest conversation with a
chum named John Hackett.
To Dave Brandon's intense surprise, Nat greeted him without any show of
ill feeling.
"Oh ho, Davy!" he exclaimed, with a peculiar glance at his companion.
"Oh ho! So you are really going on that little trip to the wilds?"
"Certainly," responded Brandon.
"They'll have a great time, eh, John? Awful prospect ahead for the
birds and beasts of the forest."
"Wish I could go, too," drawled John. "Not taking in any new members,
are you?"
"No! It's an exclusive organization--only the élite admitted," laughed
Nat. "And such luck, too, to have a beautiful little boat just thrown
at them, eh?"
"Wonder if any other fellows around here could ever have a piece of
good luck like it," grumbled John. "I say, those motor boats must be
great--no sails to bother with, or oars to pull."
"That will just suit Dave," commented Nat. "Guess you'll lie on your
back and read poetry all day?"
"Very likely," smiled Dave; "and perhaps write some, too."
"Worse and worse. Hope no one will be compelled to read it." Nat gave a
comical grimace, while John Hackett burst into a loud laugh.
When Dave took his departure, he could not help wondering at Nat's
cheerful demeanor, and mentally concluded that he must possess a much
better disposition than the Ramblers had given him credit for.
On meeting his friends at their appointed rendezvous, he was surprised
to find among them the dignified Professor Hopkins, glancing over the
rims of his spectacles in his usual awe-inspiring manner.
"Well, David," he said, "you have kept us waiting just a fraction over
five minutes." Then he added: "Mr. Somers kindly asked me to take a
trip on the motor boat. That accounts for my presence here."
Professor Hopkins was principal of the Kingswood High School, and might
be described as a typical pedagogue, having a very stately bearing and
a scholarly manner.
He expressed his admiration for the "Rambler," which appeared to the
boys handsomer than ever, but seemed rather fearful of venturing on
board.
"Are you quite sure that it is safe, Robert?" he asked, nervously. "You
know I can't swim. Be careful, it's tipping over."
With much assistance, the professor was finally led safely on board,
and a trip up the river began.
Bob found no difficulty whatever in handling the engine, and the ten
mile trip passed without incident.
Professor Hopkins took occasion to talk to them about their proposed
long journey.
"Remember," he said, "that each boy cannot invariably have his own
way. In matters where differences of opinion arise, there should be no
disputes, but the quietest and most thoughtful judgment exercised. You
must meet each other half way, and be prepared to follow the guidance
of your recognized leader."
These words were spoken as the boat was being headed in shore on the
return trip, and the speaker almost immediately afterward declared
that they must be extremely careful in regard to their dealings with
strangers. "Treat all people pleasantly," he said; "avoid rough-looking
characters, and say little about your plans to any one."
The boys listened attentively, in spite of the professor's solemn
manner and the fact that they felt perfectly able to take care of
themselves.
"Who is that standing on the wharf?" spoke up Sam, at length, as he
shaded his eyes to get a clearer view. "Looks like Mr. Wingate."
"So it does," affirmed Tom Clifton, in surprise. "I don't believe I
ever saw him down here before."
"Nat has evidently told him about the 'Rambler,' and he wants to find
out if it is really true," suggested Dave. "Strange that he should have
so much curiosity."
"Your boat is already becoming quite famous," observed Professor
Hopkins. "Doubtless Mr. Wingate and his nephew would appreciate a
little trip on board of her as much as I have."
"Very likely," answered Bob, with some hesitation; "and I think, if it
is Mr. Wingate, that he has been favoring us with an inspection through
a field-glass."
The object of their attention did not linger on the wharf. Before they
could make sure of his identity, he began to walk rapidly away, and was
almost immediately lost to view in the woods.
The thought of stepping ashore upon a wharf that was much too high for
convenience caused Professor Hopkins quite a good deal of apprehension,
and the excellent teacher did not breathe freely until he stood once
more on solid ground.
"It's certain that you fellers ain't no sailors," exclaimed a hoarse
voice close by, and Zeke Tipson came lazily forward.
"Sir! Did you address me?" asked the startled professor, glancing in
surprise at the uncouth figure before him.
"That's just what I done; and I says again, if your ears ain't good,
and things has to be said twice, which is sometimes the case,--that you
ain't no sailor."
"Why, sir, I may say--er--that your observation seems to me uncalled
for," said Professor Hopkins.
"When I sees a thing, and knows a thing, I says it right out in
meeting. This here country guarantees the right of free speech, and I'm
inclined to like it. I don't know who you be, but I says, for a third
time, you ain't no sailor."
"Who is this--this gentleman?" inquired the professor.
"A man what's just as good as the next one, even if he can't wear no
fancy trimmin's. Do you know what I says to the pop, or uncle, of that
there little spindle legs that went in bathing yesterday? I says--"
But Professor Hopkins, with his head held erect, passed on, the boys
trooping at his heels, leaving the "Major" to gaze after them in a
state of profound indignation.
"It was Mr. Wingate, as we thought," whispered Sam to Dave Brandon.
"Perhaps he came over to complain about that little incident which
proved so disastrous to Nat."
This seemed to be the general opinion among the boys, but Bob Somers,
whose curiosity had been thoroughly aroused, felt an irresistible
temptation to remain in the vicinity, and, after excusing himself, left
the party.
He cautiously made his way back through the woods to a thick clump of
bushes by the edge of the clearing, where, completely hidden from view,
he was enabled to keep an eye on the "Rambler" and its surroundings.
Five minutes elapsed, when a tall figure came into sight and walked
with an elastic step to the wharf.
"Good gracious, I'm glad I returned--there is Mr. Wingate now,"
muttered Bob, in some excitement. "He just waited long enough for us to
get safely out of the way. What in the world is he doing?"
The slim form of Nat's uncle could presently be seen, with note-book in
hand, leaning over and apparently examining the motor boat in a most
earnest manner.
For a moment, a wild suspicion entered Bob's head that some trickery
was being planned, but he instantly dismissed it as unworthy of
consideration. Whatever Mr. Wingate might be in his business actions,
it could scarcely be possible that he would be led by a piece of boyish
misunderstanding to help his nephew in any underhanded work.
The proceeding, however, was highly mysterious, and Bob, screening
himself by the trees and bushes, watched his every move with the
greatest curiosity.
Mr. Wingate made frequent entries in his note-book, now and then
turning and glancing in all directions, as if fearful that his actions
might be observed.
Finally his mission seemed to be accomplished. He slipped the book in
his pocket and began walking rapidly in the direction of the lonely
watcher.
Bob gave vent to a slight exclamation, threw himself behind a mass of
underbrush and anxiously awaited the other's approach. Fortunately for
the lad's peace of mind, Mr. Parsons Wingate passed quickly by, totally
unaware of his presence.
"Whew! a mighty close shave," soliloquized Bob, scrambling to his feet
when he felt that the course was clear. "I'll wager it was something
more than curiosity that brought him here, though I'd like to know why
he fears being seen."
Of course, all conjecture on the subject was useless. At the first
opportunity, Bob told his fellow members about the incident and various
explanations were offered.
But Mr. Wingate, and, indeed, almost everything else was lost sight of
in the whirl of preparation for departure.
The "Rambler" had yet to be stored with the necessities for the
voyage, and lists were gone over very carefully to see that nothing
was omitted. As it was their desire to camp out on shore whenever
practicable, two tents were included in the outfit.
When lockers and all available spaces were stored to their utmost
capacity, Dick Travers and Tom Clifton proposed that they should sleep
on board the "Rambler."
"It won't do to take any risks," they argued, and to this all agreed.
Though time seemed to move so slowly for the eager boys, Monday morning
at length arrived. The sun had scarcely risen over the eastern hills,
sweeping away the mists in the valleys, and awakening with its cheerful
beams the life of the woods and fields, when five Kingswood boys, from
whose faces all signs of sleepiness had been chased away by eager
anticipation, were swallowing breakfasts as hastily as possible in
their respective homes.
Good-byes were said; then, like the boys of '76, they "shouldered their
guns and marched away."