David would have liked to have taken to his heels and beaten it down the
road to the bay, but he was not allowed to do this. Not only the Tigers,
but all that section of New Hampshire appeared to think that he had
vindicated the honor of the country against the big cities, represented
in this case by the boys of Camp Amoussock. Horny-handed farmers
insisted on coming up and shaking his hand, slapping him on the back,
inviting him to supper. And what tickled Ben more than anything else was
to see the girl who had exclaimed, “I thought this fellow looked like he
could knock a home run!” push her way through the crowd and thrust out
her hand at David.
Ben nudged Tom. “Look at our brave boy now.”
The girl was saying, “I knew you looked like a winner. I’ve got a kid
brother at home; he’s got a sore foot and couldn’t get over here; but
I’m going to tell him how you soaked that ball and hit the old cow, and
maybe he won’t be excited! What’s your name? He’ll want to know.”
No beet was ever redder than David’s face as he gave a sheepish grin.
“David Norton,” he said. And as the girl insisted on shaking hands he
touched her fingers gingerly. “Much obliged,” he stammered. “Hope the
kid’s foot gets well again. Funny about that cow;—hope it didn’t hurt
her.”
“I wouldn’t care,” said the girl, “if it broke one of her ribs. But
don’t you worry, Mr. Norton. I’m right glad to have met you.” And she
pushed her way out of the throng again, delighted to be able to tell her
kid brother that she had shaken hands with the hero of the day.
“You may be a mighty batter,” said Ben, when David was able at last to
rejoin his friends, “but when it comes to the girls you’re a beautiful
imitation of a wooden Indian. You shake hands like a pump.”
“Oh, cut it out,” growled David, who always stood more or less in fear
of girls, and hated to be teased about them. “I suppose you’d have made
her some kind of a pretty speech; asked her to dance, perhaps.”
“I’d have looked as if I liked being told how fine I was. Oh, what a
shame it is that nobody ever says such things to me,” sighed Ben, “when
I’m the one that could really appreciate them!”
Sandy Hapgood now came up, and David, eager to be rid of any more talk
about the game, hurried his friends away. “Looks like a thunderstorm,”
he said, squinting at the sky, where dark clouds were rapidly rising.
They passed the meadow, where the cow was now peacefully chewing her cud
again. She cast a reproachful eye at the boy in the baseball suit.
“That’s the longest hit that was ever made on our field,” remarked
Sandy. “And against Lanky Larry, too! Oh boy! Did you see Lanky after
the game? He looked—well, he didn’t look so all-fired stuck on
himself.”
“He’s a fine pitcher,” said David; “a mighty good one.”
They quickened their steps, for big drops of rain were beginning to
fall. They turned in at the Hapgood farmhouse and stopped long enough
for a word with Sandy’s mother. Tom swung the basket of provisions on
his arm.
“Don’t you think you’d better wait a short spell,” said Mrs. Hapgood.
“Looks to me as if we were in for a right smart shower.”
They looked at the sky—pierced now with frequent sharp jabs of
lightning.
“It’s not raining hard yet,” said Tuckerman. “How about it, boys?”
“Let’s beat it,” said Tom.
Out in the road again they jogged down to the water, where the _Argo_
was fastened. Casting her adrift, Tom took the tiller.
It was a real summer thunderstorm that had come up quickly—spurts of
rain and banks of black clouds—at the end of the warm day.
But the boys were used to a wetting, and Tom had often sailed through a
heavier downpour than this. David stretched himself out on a seat in
luxurious comfort. “A shower-bath feels good,” he murmured. “All I want
now is a good swim.”
The wind, however, wouldn’t stay in any one quarter; it kept jumping
about as if it were trying to box the compass and succeeding pretty
well. Tom had to keep changing course. The _Argo_ zigzagged about like a
darning-needle flying over a pond. And the thunder kept crashing louder,
and the lightning opening bigger and bigger cracks in the violet-black
of the sky.
“Hello, there’s a canoe!” sang out Ben suddenly.
Ahead of them, an eighth of a mile from shore, a cockleshell craft was
dancing over the waves. There were two people in it, one at either end,
and each was paddling fast.
“Ticklish business,” said Tuckerman. “There’s white water off that
point. See how it jerks about. I say, Tom, couldn’t we get up near
them?”
“Righto,” answered the skipper. “Confound those blooming gusts!”
If the _Argo_ was having her hands full in standing up to the constant
squalls that kept chasing over the water, the canoe was finding the
struggle an even more difficult task. She careened, righted, almost
disappeared in a wave. The _Argo’s_ crew were now all at the rail,
except the skipper, watching the little craft battle her way along.
Then Ben sang out: “Why, it’s Lanky Larry and the Amoussock captain!
Gee, but that water’s rough!”
A lightning flash so vivid that it seemed to daze the crews of both the
boats, was followed by a roll of thunder that shook the sea and the sky.
Next instant the waves leaped up as if in a frenzy of fright. A great
roller caught the canoe and twisted her nose about; another slapped her
amidships; a third—All that the crew of the _Argo_ saw was a swirl of
wild waters where the little craft had been.
Tuckerman muttered something. Tom, with a shout of warning, brought the
_Argo_ about. Now there were to be seen in the water two heads, two
tossing paddles, and the upturned bottom of the canoe.
The point of land was not far distant, and for some reason the boys in
the water were striking out in that direction, possibly because they
thought the sailboat, in such a squall, could not keep her course.
While Tom manoeuvred the _Argo_, the other three watched the swimmers.
Both were making fair headway, the Amoussock captain somewhat in the
lead. Then suddenly Larry threw up his hands and disappeared.
Tom swung the sailboat around, and almost instantly Ben and David, coats
and shoes stripped off, dove into the water. For the moment the sea was
calmer, and the two made the most of their chance. Hand over hand, in
great spurts, they drew closer and closer to the place where Larry had
vanished.
Tom said things to the sail, which would not fill as he wanted.
Tuckerman clutched the rail, his eyes never leaving the swimmers. And at
last—an eternity, it seemed to the watcher—the two boys reached the
spot. A moment later, and in some way they had managed to draw Larry up
between them.
By now the Amoussock captain had turned and was swimming back; and by
now Tom had contrived to make the _Argo_ behave. With a rush she arrived
where the boys were struggling in the waves. Ben clutched at the side;
with his other hand he helped David lift Larry up into Tuckerman’s arms.
Larry was hauled aboard. David and Ben climbed in. The other boy was
pulled up from the water.
The _Argo_, restive, cavorting, commenced to dance again. “Can’t stop to
pick up the canoe,” muttered Tom. “Thank Heaven, Lanky’s all right!”
Larry, very white and shivering, was rubbing the muscles of his legs.
“It was a cramp,” he explained. “Doubled me up in a minute.”
Tuckerman put his coat around Larry’s shoulders. “Never mind, never
mind,” he kept murmuring. “We’ll have you up at my house in a couple of
jiffies.”
And, the wind blowing great guns, but keeping in a fairly steady
direction, the _Argo_ soon reached the island. By that time Larry,
assisted by Tuckerman, had managed to rub the kinks out of his leg
muscles, and was able to hobble ashore.
Cold, and drenched, and all of them shivering more or less, the party
went up to the house. “The kitchen’s the place,” said Tuckerman.
“There’s plenty of firewood there.”
Shortly the logs were blazing on the wide kitchen hearth, and Tuckerman,
finding a tin of coffee in a cupboard, was making a steaming drink. Tom
in the meantime had brought an armful of Christopher Cotterell’s clothes
from a room abovestairs, and the boys who had been in the water put on
dry things.
“Well,” said Larry, when he was warm and dry, and had swallowed
half-a-cupful of Tuckerman’s steaming hot coffee, “I knew this David
fellow was a good sport when I tried to strike him out this afternoon;
though I tell you it made me mad when he stung that ball for a homer.”
“Don’t mention it,” said David. “A fellow’s got to do his duty.”
“You do yours, all right,” nodded Larry. “I guess we’ll have to forgive
him now, won’t we, Bill?”
Bill Crawford, the Amoussock captain, gave his knee a great slap. “We’ll
have to elect him to the club of good scouts, Lanky. And the rest of
this bunch, too.”
“Pass the coffee pot,” said David.
Stretched at his ease in a cane-bottomed kitchen chair, Larry’s eyes
roved around the room. “I thought there wasn’t anybody on this island
this summer,” he said. “That’s the story they tell at the camp.”
“Oh yes, it’s deserted,” said Ben, “except for Professor Tuckerman and
his three able assistants.”
“What is the Professor doing here?” asked Bill Crawford.
There was a momentary silence, broken by Ben’s solemn voice. “He’s busy
polishing up the knocker of the big front door. I don’t know whether you
noticed it when you came in, but there is a beautiful knocker, made of
pure brass. He shines it every day.”
An amused snicker from Bill was followed by Larry’s asking another
question.
“This is the Cotterell house, isn’t it? There’s some old yarn about it,
seems to me I’ve heard.”
“Did you ever hear of an old house that didn’t have some yarn attached
to it?” demanded Tuckerman.
“Change the subject, Lanky,” sang out Bill. “’Tisn’t fair to pry into
the family’s secrets.”
“Right you are.” Larry stretched his arms. “Well, the question before us
is how are we going to get back to camp before they find that canoe, and
us missing?”
Tom went to the kitchen door and looked out. “The storm isn’t over yet,”
he announced. “Couldn’t you lads stay to supper? If you will, I’ll sail
you back afterwards. Likely as not the water’ll be smooth as a mill-pond
in an hour or so.”
“They won’t be looking for you at your camp yet,” said Tuckerman.
“They’ll think you landed somewhere, and are waiting for the squall to
blow over.”
“We’ll stay to supper,” said Bill. “It would be a shame to have you
fellows get wet again on account of us.”
David jumped up. “We’ve got provisions stowed away right here in the
kitchen.” Rolling up his sleeves, he gave directions to his assistant
cooks.
The kitchen of Cotterell Hall had never seen as much activity as it did
in the next half hour, with the result that a sumptuous feast was soon
set out on the table.
They ate as if they hadn’t tasted food for a week, cleaned up, and
trooped out to the front door. The squall was over, a light wind was
blowing—not enough to ruffle the water—and stars were beginning to
shine in a cloudless sky.
The _Argo’s_ sail was raised, and the skipper sent her across the bay to
the place where the canoe had upset. Search soon found the canoe rocking
in the surf on a sandy beach of the mainland. She was righted and her
painter fastened to a cleat at the stern of the sailboat, and the _Argo_
took a course alongshore. Presently, rounding a point, the crew saw a
bonfire at Camp Amoussock lighting a stretch of woods.
They all went ashore, and found the Camp just about to start out on a
search for the missing boys. The visitors had to stay a while and be
entertained by their hosts, and it was not until the moon was high in
the sky that the _Argo_ again pushed her nose across the water, a
southernly breeze filling her sail.
As they came abreast of the western end of their island another
sailboat, looking like a great white moth in the moonlight, went
scudding away over the silver sea.
“Hello,” said Ben, “what is she doing here? Poaching on our preserves,
it seems to me.”
“The harbor’s free to everyone,” said David. “I don’t suppose even
Crusty Christopher objected to people sailing boats on the water, if
they didn’t try to land on his shore.”
“Lanky knew there was some old yarn about the Cotterell house,” Ben
continued, paying no attention to David’s remark. “And if he knew, why
shouldn’t others?”
“Well,” said Tom, “what’s the answer?”
“The answer is that we’re likely to have callers. Not the kind that
leave their visiting-cards, but the sort that snoop around when nobody’s
home.”
“Thieves?” questioned David.
“No,” said Ben, “I didn’t mean thieves exactly. Detectives come nearer
to what I meant.”
Tuckerman chuckled. “Benjamin, you’re a wonder! You never let go of an
idea once you get your teeth in it, do you? I’d forgotten all about the
treasure. I was studying the stars, and Dave was thinking about
baseball, and Tom about the course he’s steering; but you—why, you were
puzzling your wits about Sir Peter and the mahogany man, and goodness
knows what else. Keep it up, Ben my boy. That’s the road to success.”
And Ben, thinking of what he had found that morning, grinned but said
nothing. If he could only work out the scheme he had in his mind, he
felt that he would be prouder than if he knocked home runs against the
very best baseball pitchers in the major leagues.