CAPTAIN DAVE
"I WOULD never have believed that real scouts could have failed so
miserably in a mere washing," complained Grace; "in fact, I am almost
wondering if we should not go into ashes and broadcloth, and ask to be
trained laundresses. It seems to me rather humiliating."
"Ashes and broadcloth," repeated Cleo thoughtfully. "Oh, you mean
sackcloth and ashes. That's in a different department--Con Grazia, also
a different priced goods. But I don't believe we need worry about the
laundry work. Mother thought we were perfectly heroic to undertake the
task, and she was pleased to death to see the lines of sparkling linens
waving welcome to her as she hailed in from the train. Also, she
admitted the same starch mistake we made, that of stiffening
handkerchiefs when she first tried out the process. So perhaps that's a
regular human weakness and not peculiar to raw scouts, rookies, I
suppose I should say."
"I am so glad your mother approved, Cleo. I feel better now. I must
confess I was rather crestfallen after all our noble, heroic,
spectacular stunts. But sufficient unto the day is the trouble thereof,
as some one has remarked. Now Cleo, I want to tell you something," and
she settled down deeper in the porch cushions at "Rosabell." Also she
kicked off a new pair of pumps to remove pedal distractions. "You know
Cleo, I have heard that a lot of small fires do start up mysteriously
around here. And no one has been able to run down the fire bug. I heard
some men down at the Post Office talking about a run the fire department
had last night. Away out some place just for a chicken coop. They seemed
peeved, as Louise would say. Now I feel we have a clue in that bottle
note, but after all our other experiences perhaps it would be better for
just you and me to go at the mystery first. More hands always seem to me
like more mixups."
"Really, Grazia, you alarm me with your wisdom," replied Cleo, affixing
a very foolish giggle to the alarm signal. "I just wonder what will
happen if you go getting so mighty wise all of a sudden. But I do think
you are right just the same. Many hands mean mighty mixups. That's
alliteration. You see I'm sticking to lit."
"I wish you would stick to common sense, Cleo. I am not wishing any hard
work on the scouts for this glorious summer, but I feel, I
instinctively feel, as Julia says, there is something queer to curiosity
in the fire-bug business. Also, I have found my old Jack Tar friend,
that I promised myself when we came down. And he is captain of the Life
Saving Station just as I planned. Only--well--it really isn't essential,
but his whiskers are not quite as long as I planned them to be. But
Cleo, I want you to meet old Neptune. His name is Dave Dunham, and he
seems to love me already. Come on down and have a talk with him. He has
a place like a scene in an old fashioned drama."
"I'd love to go, Grace, and I am just keen on an ocean breeze this A. M.
So gather up your pumps, also your feet, and let us away," decided Cleo.
The weather was still cool, and true to their promise the girls were
wearing their scout uniform, all khaki, with the thin blouse, so that
running along to the life saving station they seemed quite a part of the
picture. The real marine sky--that green blue with white clouds as soft
as the very foam they roll over, gave the day a finish fit for the true
artist's eye, but Cleo and Grace did not stop to admire the tints and
tones, whether marine or general seascape.
"How cozy," whispered Cleo as they stepped into the front room of the
station, which was fitted up with such comforts as might be essential to
the life of the Coast Guard. The big round pot stove was obviously the
most conspicuous thing in the room, and beside it such furniture as the
long table with its faded red cover, the big wooden chairs, with
bindings of wires and telegraph glasses for castors (rheumatic cures, we
recall), all these articles fell into the shadows of that big round
stove, with its new coat of shiny black iron paint.
"Captain Dave!" called Grace, after looking about for the host. "Are you
in?"
"Sure thing, I'm in, right here, comin'," returned a voice which
preceded the figure of Captain Dave.
"Good morning, Captain," Grace greeted him. "This is my chum, Cleo
Harris, you remember I spoke of her. We are all Girl Scouts, you know,"
as he eyed the uniform and both girls raised their hand in salute.
"Maybe you can give us something to do with all of your life lines, and
buoys and such things. We don't know much about life saving on the deep,
although we have tried it on dry land," said Grace.
"Welcome," said the old sailor simply. "We don't have hard work this
time of the year, but we need the rest after winter. This was a heavy
one. More storms than in thirty years," he declared, pulling out two of
the heavy wooden chairs, running his hand over them to make sure they
were free from dust, then indicating the girls should make themselves
comfortable, while he proceeded to occupy a still larger chair that
commanded a view of the sea from the broad window.
"Captain, what do you think of all those small fires we hear folks
talking about?" asked Grace in her direct way. "Do you suppose some
mischievous boys are starting them?"
The captain turned his head to the direction in which he was emitting
his clouds of smoke, paused for a minute, then shook his head.
"I dunno," he replied. "I know most of the youngsters around here, and
I've never known them to do a thing like that. There was seven good hens
burned in that little fire last night, and old Dick Malloney has to
depend on selling eggs to get his coffee. It's a shame!" and he allowed
his heavy chair to spring forward with a pronounced thud.
"We have only been down a week," remarked Cleo, "but I have noticed
smoke almost every morning out in those woods over the river. I suppose
some one lives that way, do they?"
"You mean on the island," he explained. "That's Weasle Point, sticks out
into the bay and just west is the island; not more than a clump of trees
on a few rocks, but big enough to stand the wear, so it is called Luna
Land, but children make it Looney Land," he explained. "A couple of huts
in there, but no place for you girls to go visitin'," he finished, as if
divining the plan already shaping itself in the minds of Grace and
Cleo--a trip to Looney Land.
"Why Looney Land?" asked Cleo. "Queer folks out there?"
"Dunno as any folks is out there, but places get named somehow, just
like they get trees, no plantin' just come that way. Looney Land doesn't
mean anything that I know of except the moon seems to set over there.
But one thing I do know," and he made this very plain, "it's a good
place for girls to keep away from."
Grace and Cleo exchanged glances. It occurred to each that the forbidden
land was very apt to become attractive, but neither said so, nor asked
how Looney Land was to be reached.
"You have awful storms in winter, don't you?" asked Cleo, fingering an
oil skin coat, and noticing the big shiny hat that hung with it on a
wooden peg. "And I suppose you have wrecks occasionally."
"Yes, more than we enjoy," replied Captain Dave. "Had a bad one two
years ago. See that little pole stickin' up out there beyond the pier?
That's all that's left of the Alameda, and a fine vessel she was, too."
"Lives lost?" asked Grace mechanically.
"Oh, yes indeed, yes indeed," replied the captain. "Some folks around
here yet that was thrown ashore from that wreck. I mind one light haired
woman, and a youngster--little girl. We took them in here from the line,
you know how we swing the rings out on the line, and draw the poor
things in? Well this woman was so frozen we could hardly get the child
from her arms. She died next day, just as we got her to the hospital."
"What was her name--the girl's name, I mean?" asked Grace, interested
now that "life" had been discovered in the specter of the wreck.
"Oh, some simple name--don't know as I recall it rightly. They usually
tag on another. We have quite a few folks pass in and out of this
station in thirty years--I've been here more than that, and I don't keep
no record of my visitors. They are mostly glad to come and glad to go,"
and the captain lighted a fresh pipe, by way of turning over a new leaf
in his story.
"I suppose there were the usual papers for the little girl from the
wreck," prompted Cleo. "They always turn out to be somebody of account,
lost at sea and found years later on land. You know how stories have a
way of shaping themselves, Captain," she apologized, "and I am sort of
interested in stories."
"You'll find plenty around here, without concocting them," the seaman
promised. "Not a broken oar in that loft but is a record of some boy's
courage, and not a boat do we break up for firewood but with it goes
many a story of heroism that never was printed," he added eloquently.
"And you think we ought to keep away from Looney Land?" Cleo forced
herself to ask, being a trifle reticent about recalling the question
Captain Dave had so decisively spoken upon.
"Oh, I don't know as there's any great harm in the little splash of an
island," he replied. "But when young 'uns keep saying 'look out' and
'don't go near,' I allus' believe they know what they're talking about.
I hain't never hearn any grown up say rightly the place is pested, in
any way, but the young 'uns just naturally shuns it, and kids often make
a mighty good barometer--can tell when a gale is brewin'."
At this the captain showed signs of having some work to do, so the girls
arose and thanked him for his hospitality. They had enjoyed the visit,
and on leaving, captain Dave promised to let them see a life drill some
afternoon.
"Isn't that queer about Looney Island?" asked Grace, directly they
reached the board walk. "Luna Land is a pretty enough name, especially
as Captain Dave says the moon sets over there, but 'Looney Land' is
different," she declared. "We will surely have to explore those parts,
Cleo, even if we do have to take a life saver's kit along with us."
"And did you notice Weasle Point? Of course our fire-bug must belong
somewhere out in that sand-bar, and just as much of course, we will have
to find out all about the queer diggin's. Better not tell Julie, she is
so nervous, and I'm sure Margaret would want to fetch along our only
two town police officers, she is so practical. There they are--the
girls, I mean. See them just turning around 'B' street?
Coo-ee--Whoo-ee!" called Cleo, her hand cupped to her lips to send out
the yodle.
Cutting across the little stretch of green that bound Glimmer Lake,
Margaret and Julia were soon on the board walk.
"Oh listen!" shouted Julia. "Listen!" she repeated in that useless way
girls have of holding off news.
"We are listening, of course," replied Grace, "but get your breath or
you'll choke. What's the excitement!"
"That funny girl with the tongue," Margaret managed to say, before Julia
could get her breath. "She's the queerest thing. She followed us all the
way from the village. We turned corners, and so did she; we hurried, and
she hurried, and when we stopped, she stopped. Isn't that too impudent
for words? I think we ought to report her," declared the indignant
Margaret.
"Report her for doing the things we do?" laughed Cleo. "Why, Margaret,
who would think you were a first class scout? I'm surprised," and the
girl's voice mimicked the severe tones of a prim elder.
"Just the same," Julia insisted, "I can't see why she should be allowed
to plague us and molest us in the streets." Julia was not quite sure
"molest" was the word, but it had an important sound and all the girls
seemed impressed by it.
"Aren't we special officers?" protested Grace. "Why shouldn't we do our
own--our own policing? Let's form ourselves into a squad, and track down
the culprit," and she rolled her tongue, as well as her eyes.
"Let us sit down and talk it over," suggested practical Margaret. "I'm
ready to drop from all the paces we made samples of to suit our
trailer."
"Where did she go?" asked Cleo.
"Ducked into a little shanty with a laundry sign on the fence," replied
Julia, "and we were so glad to be rid of her we just raced all the way
down B street."
"And look!" said Margaret. "There's our other hero. The boy with the
books. See, he is making for a quiet bench, and look! That's yellow
paper sticking out of his pocket. Let's watch him! Maybe he will get our
bottle letter."
But the studious boy with the books and papers made straight for the
bench, and finding a seat proceeded to read. He didn't even notice the
girls when they brushed past him.