WHAT BEFELL A "DIGBY CHICKEN"
The second bell for the last meal of the day had again rung, and again
the Breckenridge party waited on the verandah for delinquents. Mrs.
Stark positively declined to enter the dining-room until she had found
out what had become of Montmorency. Mrs. Hungerford as positively
declined to leave Mrs. Stark, and the Judge's temper was again being
sorely tried. Their twenty-mile drive and sight-seeing had sharpened
appetites that already were quite sharp enough and the eminent jurist
wanted his supper. To walk off his impatience, if he could, he paced up
and down the long verandah at a brisk rate, which did not tend to allay
that uncomfortable feeling in his "inner man."
The hotel proprietor left the dining-room, where he personally
superintended the serving of his guests, and joined the Judge, advising
and complaining:
"We've the usual Saturday, week-end crowd in the house and I'd like to
have your party get through in yonder soon's you can, if you please.
I'm driven half-crazy, nights like this, by the demands and exactions
of these transient people. I need every man-jack of the help and
somebody says that Tommy has gone off with your lads. Tommy is small but
he's the best bell-boy in the house and--I'll trounce him well when he
gets back for serving me such a trick. Best get your dinner now, Judge,
or I'll not promise you'll be able to later. Excuse me for urging, it's
in your own interest, and--There comes another load from somewhere! and
I haven't a room to give them. Cots in the parlor, if they choose,
nothing better?"
With that he hurried to meet the newcomers and the Judge said to Aunt
Lu:
"We certainly should go in to table now. It does no good to sit here and
wait. That doesn't bring the runaways any sooner and they'd ought to go
without their suppers if they're so thoughtless of our comfort. Mrs.
Stark, won't you come?"
Then he observed that the lady was weeping copiously. It was now fixed
in her mind that Monty was drowned. She had been told that he had gone
sailing with that other dreadful bugler-boy the Judge had picked up,
and, of course, this was the only explanation of his absence. She
refused to be comforted and would have gone out in a boat herself to
search for her son had she felt this would be of the slightest use.
Indeed, she was fast becoming hysterical, and Mrs. Hungerford shook her
head negatively when her brother begged her to leave her post and come
with him.
"Very well, then, sister, Miss Greatorex and the girls and I will go
without you. Afterward, when the boys come, I'll try to have a special
meal served for you somewhere. If I can! Come, Molly, Dolly; and I'm
glad that you, Miss Greatorex, have some sense."
So they departed and finding that Mrs. Stark was attracting the
attention of the other guests upon the piazza, Aunt Lucretia persuaded
her to cross the street to the pavilion that stood upon the bluff above
the water and that was now deserted.
"From there we can see the boat as soon as it approaches, dear Mrs.
Stark, and I feel sure you've no cause for such anxiety. Doubtless the
boys have been fishing and have not realized how long. It is still
bright daylight yonder and these are glorious moonlight nights. Even if
they stayed out till bedtime they could see all right enough."
Mrs. Stark followed the advice to seek the pavilion; yet simply because
it brought her that much nearer her lost darling. But when a tray of
supper was sent out to the two ladies there she refused to touch it and
her grief spoiled her companion's appetite as well.
After a little time Miss Greatorex and the girls retired to their rooms,
at the Judge's advice. He too had at last become infected with the
anxious mother's forebodings and felt that there was no need for Molly
and Dolly to be also frightened. Then he joined the watchers in the
pavilion, where the other guests refrained from disturbing them,
although it was a favorite resort on pleasant evenings.
Many a boat came back to the various small piers extending from the
shore into the water, here and there, but none was the little "Digby
Chicken." Her owner took his place at the end of the pier and sat down
to wait. Of all his boats she was the newest and prettiest. She had
sailed out into the sunlight glistening with white paint, her new sail
white and unstained, and on her shining hull a decoration of herring
surrounding her red-lettered name. It had been the builder's conceit to
omit the name, the string of painted fish answering for it to all but
"foreigners;" but as it had been built for the use of these "foreigners"
or "tourists" the printed words had finally been added.
Minutes passed. Quarter-hours; an hour; two of them; even three. There
was no longer any moonlight. The distant cliffs and headlands became
invisible. One could only guess where the Gap strove to close the
entrance to an outer world. The hotel verandah became more and more
deserted, and one by one the lights in the upper windows shone out for a
time, then disappeared. Gradually all lights vanished save those in the
lobby and a faint glimmer from a corridor above.
Though wraps has been early sent out to the anxious watchers in the
pavilion, now heavy steamer rugs were brought, to keep out that
penetrating chill. The Judge had on his heaviest overcoat and yet
shivered, himself covering his long legs with a thick blanket. He had
made several efforts to induce Mrs. Stark to go indoors but all had
failed.
The fog that was slowly rising when the boat-owner took his station on
the little quay below had crept nearer and nearer into shore, and
finally enveloped everything and hidden it. So dense it was that from
his bench on one side the circular pavilion the Judge could barely make
out the white pillars on its opposite side. A lamp had been lighted in
the roof but against this Mrs. Stark had vehemently protested, because
it made that wall of white mist seem closer and more impenetrable, and
without it she fancied that her eye could still pierce the distance,
still discover any incoming craft.
About midnight the wind rose and the fog began to thin and scatter. The
boatman on the pier had long ago left it, forced off by the rising tide,
and now sat floating in one of the row-boats fastened there. He had put
on his oilskins and set his oars in readiness for the first sign of
distress on the face of the waters; but he had about given up hope of
his pretty "Digby Chicken." That a couple of touring lads, even though
one had protested that he was a good sailor, that these should come
safely through a night like this seemed unlikely; but now that the wind
was rising and the fog lifting, he drew his boat close under the pole at
the pier's end and lighted the lantern which swung there. There was now
a chance that its gleam might be seen from beyond and there had been
none before.
Then another time of waiting, which ended with the boatman pulling out
from shore. The watchers above had heard nothing, had not even seen him
leave, although the lantern had faintly shown him riding upon the wave,
moored to the pier by a rope.
But now, rubbing her strained eyes to clear their vision Mrs. Stark
broke the long silence with a cry:
"The man! He isn't there? He's gone--to meet them!"
She was as sure of this now as she had been before that her son was
drowned, and Mrs. Hungerford slipped an arm about her waist in pity. She
dared not think what the result would be of a fresh disappointment.
However, their long vigil was really ended. The trained ear of the
boatman had caught a faint halloo from somewhere on the water and had
rowed toward the sound with all his strength and speed. At intervals he
had paused to answer and to listen--and the now swiftly dispersing fog
enabled him also to see--and finally to utter a little malediction under
his breath. It scarcely needed the glass he raised to show him the
"Digby Chicken" riding quietly on the water not more than half a league
off shore. Her sail was furled, she looked taut and trim, and he could
discern a figure at her prow which raised its arms and again hallooed.
"All's well that ends well." But it might not have been so well. The
full story of that night's work did not transpire at once. All that Mrs.
Stark knew was that she had her son once more within her close embrace;
that he had been helped, even carried, up the narrow pier and placed
dripping within her arms. She ascribed his soaked condition to the fact
of the fog and not to the truth; and it was not until daylight came that
he told her that. Then lying warm in his bed, with her hovering over him
in a flutter of delight and reproof, he announced:
"I tell you, Mamma, the only folks that amount to anything in this world
are the poor ones!"
"Very likely, love, very likely. Only don't distress yourself any more.
I can't forgive that wretched little bugling boy for taking you out in
that horrible boat and nearly killing you. You're very apt to have
pneumonia or something--Don't you feel pretty ill now?"
"Mamma, _you can't forgive him?_ What do you mean? Didn't anybody tell?"
"Tell what, lovey. I certainly didn't stop to ask questions. All I cared
for was to get you into bed and a warm breakfast or supper or whatever
it is sent up."
"Then you don't know that but for Melvin Cook I should be lying at the
bottom of the Basin now, instead of in this bed?" demanded Monty,
raising himself on his elbow.
The pallor that overspread his mother's face was answer enough, and he
blamed himself for the question. Even without knowing the worst truth
she had evidently worried herself ill. But the mischief was done and
when she asked: "What do you mean?" he thought it best to tell. Moreover
he was anxious that she should know of Melvin's bravery at once. So he
answered:
"Well, I made a fool of myself. He had tackle and we fished along, just
for nothing hardly, and I got cocky and jiggled the boat. Then when he
said I'd better not but ought to lend a hand in working her and 'learn
sense,' I--Well, I don't remember exactly what happened after that; only
I got up on the gunwale, or edge of the 'Chicken' and the next I knew I
was in the water. It all came over me in a flash that I couldn't swim
and would drown and I shut my eyes and tried to say a prayer. But I
couldn't think, and then I felt something grab me. It was that Melvin.
He'd tossed off his jacket and dove for me and was dragging me to the
surface and the boat. I tried to get hold of him tighter but he kicked
me off and said if I did that we'd both go down. I thought we would,
anyhow, so I did let go and then he got me to the boat, yanking me by
the collar and--that was all for a good while. I--I was pretty sick I
guess. I'd swallowed so much salt water and all. He and Tommy rubbed me
and jounced me around and paid no attention to the boat, that kept
drifting further out all the time.
"I don't remember much else. I lay on the bottom of the thing and the
boys put their coats over me to stop my shivering. Melvin said afterward
that I shivered from fear and shock more than from dripping, too, but
he couldn't stop for that. He had to try to get back to shore and the
fog was rising.
"Tommy told me a good deal, later on when I felt better. He said the fog
got so thick Melvin was afraid to try and sail lest we should bump into
some other craft. So we lay still till--I guess you know the rest. Now I
want to hear, has anybody coddled either of those boys--heroes, both of
'em--as you've coddled me? If they haven't been treated right I'll make
it lively for somebody. Anyhow, I want to get up and dress. I'm ashamed
of myself. When I see how other boys act I think I've been--Well, I
won't call your lovey-dovey hard names! But you hear me say: I'll be a
man after this or--or know the reason why!"
It certainly was a long speech for a sick boy as Mrs. Stark persisted in
considering him; and it left her shaken and most undecided on various
points. Upon one, however, she was fully set; she would cut this Nova
Scotia trip short at once. She would telegraph her husband in Boston and
follow her telegram, bag and baggage, by that afternoon's train. With
this resolve in mind she left the room; merely bidding her son "lie
still till I come back."
Then she descended to the hotel office and called for a telegraph blank.
This was courteously provided; also pen and ink with which to inscribe
it, which she promptly did, then the following dialogue:--
"Please send this message at once, clerk."
"Sorry, Madam, but I can't do it. Not to-day."
"Why not?" haughtily.
"Office is closed. No despatches sent on Sunday. Can do it about seven
A. M. Monday."
"You mean to tell me that ridiculous stuff? Where is the office? If this
second-rate hotel can't accommodate its patrons I'll take it myself."
"The office is at the railway station, Madam. You will find it closed."
"Indeed? Well, when does the first train start for Yarmouth and a
steamer for the States, either Boston or New York?"
"At ten o'clock Monday morning. Upon arrival at Yarmouth meets steamers
for both ports, Madam."
"None, to-day?"
"None, Madam. It is a law of the Province. From Saturday night to Monday
morning all traffic is suspended."
Mrs. Stark did not continue the dialogue. She couldn't. She was too
astonished and too indignant. That she, Mrs. Ebenezer Stark, wife of the
great banker of that name, should not be able to control a matter of
this sort was simply incredible. With her head very high she left the
desk and sought the Judge in his quiet corner of the piazza, where he
sat, newspaper over face, trying to catch "forty winks" after his night
of scant sleep.
He suppressed a yawn as he rose at the lady's call.
"Judge Breckenridge, a moment, if you please. Sorry to disturb you but
it's most important. I want to send a telegram and that ridiculous
clerk says I can't do it."
"Quite right. I'd like to myself and can't."
He placed a chair for her and she thoroughly aired her grievance. He
sympathized but declared himself powerless to help her. She remarked:
"It is simply outrageous. A trap to keep visitors here whether or no. My
husband will make it his business to alter the whole thing. I must go
and take Monty away from here. I am in fear for his life. I shan't rest
till I see him safe back in his father's arms."
The Judge listened courteously, but said:
"We tourists have no business to find fault with the laws the
Provincials make for themselves. We'd resent their interference in the
States. As for taking your son away, just because of a little accident
which ended all right, aren't you making a mistake? In any case, since
you cannot get away till to-morrow, anyway, wouldn't it be wise for you
to rest now and recuperate from your night of anxiety? Unless you will
join us in church-going. Lucretia never lets me off that duty, even if I
were inclined, but I'm not. Like herself I always enjoy service in
strange churches. We would be most happy to have you?"
"Thank you, but I couldn't. Not to-day. I'm too upset and weary. I
couldn't leave my darling boy, either, after he's just been rescued from
a--a watery grave. He's just told me that he fell, or was pushed
overboard, and that the bugling boy was scared and helped him out. Oh!
it makes me cold all over just to think of it!"
The Judge was no longer sleepy. His tone was sharp and judicial as he
asked:
"Is that the version Montmorency gave of the affair?"
Then when she hesitated to answer, he added:
"Because I have heard quite a different one. I wormed it out of little
Tommy, whom Melvin had threatened with punishment if he betrayed the
really heroic part the 'bugling boy' played in the case. Doubly brave
because, though he has tried his best to overcome it, Melvin has a
horror of the sea. His father was drowned and if he followed his
inclination the orphaned lad would never leave dry ground. But his race
is a sea-faring one, and he knows that it may only be by following the
profession of his forebears that he can ever earn a living for himself
and his mother--though I should have put her first, as she certainly is
in her son's thoughts. When Montmorency fooled and fell overboard--by no
means was pushed--Melvin conquered his own horror and plunged after him.
If he hadn't--Well, we shouldn't be talking so calmly together now, you
and I."
Poor Mrs. Stark! She was torn and tossed by more emotions than had ever
been hers during her easy life, and each emotion was at variance with
another. She dropped into a chair to collect herself; and at the end of
a few moments remarked:
"If that is the case I will do something for the boy. Whatever amount
of money you think suitable, I will give you a check for."
He wanted to retort sharply, but he didn't. He forced himself to say
quite gently:
"No payment, Mrs. Stark, would prove acceptable. In his victory over
himself and his own cowardice Melvin has grown richer than any dollars
could make him. If you will pardon my advice, don't offer him anything
save kindness and don't make that too conspicuous. A shy boy needs
careful handling."
He bowed as she now rose and went her way, a very thoughtful woman. But
her heart rejoiced beyond expression that no matter what the details of
the night's episode had been, her best-loved object in this world was
safe and sound. She would go to him and basking in the sunshine of his
beloved presence content herself as best she could, until tomorrow's
trains should bear them both away.
Alas! When she came to the room where she had left him she found no
chance to "bask." Her "sunshine" had again disappeared.