MONKEY.
Little Bobtail slept as soundly on the transom of the yacht as Ezekiel
Taylor did in the cottage; and, as he did not retire till after three in
the morning, he did not turn out till nine. He had worked all day and
nearly all night, and he was very tired. While he was slumbering soundly
in the cabin, many an eye was directed from the shore, and from the
boats and vessels in the harbor, at the trim and janty yacht which had
come in during the night. She was not there the evening before, and she
was there now. Scores of boatmen asked what she was and where she came
from; but no one could answer. No one had seen her before, and all were
confident that she did not belong anywhere in the bay. The gossips
concluded that she was a yacht from Boston or Portland, with a party on
board; and, as she had come in during the night, they supposed her crew
were making up for lost time in the matter of sleep. Those who were out
in boats, though they sailed around the stranger and examined her
carefully, were considerate enough not to go on board of her, and thus
waken the tired sleepers.
So Little Bobtail was permitted to finish his nap in peace. The clock on
the Baptist Church was striking nine when he woke. He leaped upon the
cabin floor with a start when he saw the sunlight streaming in through
the round port-holes in the trunk. He had no toilet to make, for he had
turned in without removing even his shoes; and, putting on his cap, he
was ready for business at once, though he did wash his face and hands,
and comb his hair, when a wash-basin at the forward part of the cabin
suggested these operations to him. He had an opportunity to see the
yacht now by daylight, and his previous impressions of her were more
than confirmed. She was even trimmer and more janty than he had
supposed.
The experience of the preceding night seemed to him very like a dream.
He went on deck, and examined with a critical eye the standing and
running rigging, than which nothing could be neater or better. The old
tub in which he had been blown off the day before was anchored near her,
with a slack line from her stern to the yacht, as he had left her. The
dingy old craft looked so mean and insignificant compared with the
yacht, that the contrast put him almost out of conceit with the
brilliant plan he had considered to purchase the former. He was rather
doubtful whether he should be willing to invest the ten dollars--if he
should obtain it--in such an enterprise.
Just then it occurred to him that he did not even know the name of the
yacht. He walked out on the foot-rope at the end of the main boom, in
order to see if it was painted on the stern. There it was--SKYLARK; only
this, and nothing more. The port from which she hailed was not there.
Skylark was a very good name, though it was not particularly appropriate
for a thing that was to sail on the water, and not in the air. But
"skylarking" was a term applied to frolicking, to rude play; and in this
sense "Skylark" was entirely proper. On the whole, he did not object to
the name, and would not if the owner had appeared at that moment and
made him a present of her. He was entirely satisfied both with the
yacht and her name; and, having completed his survey by daylight, he
again pondered the subject of smuggling in a general way, and then in
its relations to the incidents of the previous night. No higher views,
no better resolutions, came to him. The contraband cargo was safe under
the eaves of the cottage, where no one would be likely to find it;
though he could not help thinking what a disaster it would be if Ezekiel
should happen to discover those boxes, which doubtless contained liquor
enough to keep him drunk for a whole year.
Turning away from the great moral question which confronted him, Little
Bobtail began to feel--distinctly to feel, rather than to think--that it
was about breakfast time. He went forward and removed the scuttle from
over the cook-room. Jumping down into the little apartment, he made a
fire in the stove, and put on the tea-kettle. While it was warming up,
he went on deck again, for he heard the dip of a pair of oars near the
yacht.
"Hullo, Monkey!" he shouted, as he recognized the occupant of a
dilapidated old dory, who was taking a leisurely survey of the trim
yacht.
"Hullo, Bob! Is that you?" replied the person in the boat, who was a boy
of about the age of Little Bobtail, though not half so handsome.
Robert had called him "Monkey," and it was not difficult to determine
where he had obtained his sobriquet, for, looking at the youth,
Darwinism seemed to be made easy, without distorting either facts or
logic. In his case, no long ages appeared to have elapsed between the
monkey and the man, and the transition seemed to have been easy and
natural. In a word, he looked like a monkey in the face, while no one
could possibly have suspected that he was one. Above his mouth his face
abruptly receded, so that the end of his nose was not far from plumb
with his lips. In the middle of his forehead the hair seemed to grow
down to the bridge of his nose. A stranger, who was not of a melancholy
turn of mind, could hardly have refrained from laughing when looking at
him for the first time. But Bobtail did not laugh, for Monkey was a
friend, and a brother, in the generic sense.
"Come on board, Monkey," added Little Bobtail.
"What boat's this?" asked the representative of Darwinism, as he leaped
upon the deck with the painter of the dory in his hand.
"The Skylark," replied Bobtail.
As the new arrival stepped upon the deck of the yacht, he was not unlike
the traditional monkey of the circus, for his dress was almost as
fantastic as his face. His father, who was a fisherman, had been lost at
sea, and his mother was a poor woman, with neither energy nor gumption,
who occupied a miserable shanty about a mile from the village, in which
hardly a mean dwelling could be found. The woman was believed to be a
little "daft," for she always hid herself when any of the town's people
appeared near her shanty. She had a garden, in which she raised potatoes
and corn, and kept a pig and a cow; and these furnished her subsistence,
with the trifle which her son earned by odd jobs. The woman's name was
Nancy Monk, and her boy's was Peter Monk, though certainly the surname
was not needed to suggest the nickname by which he was universally
called.
Of course Peter Monk's unfortunate affinity to the ape subjected him to
no little annoyance from the sneers and insults of other boys, whose
sense of decency was below their sense of the ludicrous.
Though Peter was, in the main, a good-natured fellow, there was a point
of endurance beyond which he was not proof against the coarse jeers of
his companions; and more than once Little Bobtail had been his protector
when borne under by the force of numbers; for our hero had a hard fist
as well as a kind heart. So Monkey was his friend for life, not so much
because Bobtail had fought his battles, as because he treated him well,
and made more of him than any one else did.
"Never heard of the Skylark before," said the visitor. "Where does she
come from?"
"I don't know."
"Who owns her?"
"I don't know."
"Where does she belong?"
"I don't know."
"O, you don't?" grinned Monkey, exhibiting another affinity to the
origin of the race.
"No, I don't."
"Where are the folks that belong to her?"
"I don't know."
"What you doing on board of her, Bob?"
"I'm looking out for her till somebody comes who has a better right to
do so."
"How come she here?"
"I brought her here."
"Where from?"
"Blank Island."
"Nobody lives there."
"I know it."
And Little Bobtail smiled at the perplexity of the visitor.
"Well, then, how come she over there, where nobody don't live?"
"I picked her up adrift."
"O, you did--did you?"
"I did. But come below; I want to get my breakfast," added Bobtail, as
he led the way down into the cabin.
Monkey stared, and exclaimed as he viewed the comfortable, and even
luxurious, furnishings of the yacht. He asked a thousand questions which
Bobtail could not answer, and a thousand more which he did answer.
"Have you been to breakfast, Monkey?" asked Bobtail, as he seated
himself before the stove in the cook-room, while the guest remained at
the door in the cabin.
"Yes, I had something," replied Monkey, glancing at the leg of bacon.
The host knew very well that Monkey did not live much better at home
than the pigs in the sty of the first-class farmer; that he was always a
hungry waif, who could make a meal at any time. He resolved to give his
visitor a treat on the present occasion; and he anticipated his own
breakfast with double pleasure when he thought of the satisfaction which
the meal would give his companion.
"Monkey, will you take Prince's boat over to her moorings for me?
Somebody may want her," said he, as he put the coffee-pot on the stove,
and took down the leg of bacon.
"To be sure I will, Bob. I'll do anything for you."
"I wish you would; and then come back and have some breakfast with me."
Monkey grinned, and even chattered, as he hastened to execute his
errand. By the time he returned, Bobtail had set the table in the cabin;
for, as he had company, he decided to take the meal in state. He had
fried all the rest of the kid of potatoes, and two large slices of ham.
He made the coffee, and mixed up a pitcher of condensed milk.
"Sit down, Monkey," said Little Bobtail, as he wiped the perspiration
from his brow, for the cook-room was a hot place, even with the scuttle
open.
"Yes," replied Monkey, showing all the teeth in his head, for when the
mouths were given out he had been supplied with a very liberal share.
The host helped him to a big piece of ham and a great heap of fried
potatoes. The guest was not very elegant in his manners; but what he
lacked in refinement he made up in zeal. Fingers seemed to come handier
to him than a fork, or, rather, a "slit spoon," as he called it. He did
not often make two parts of a slice of potato, and his mouthfuls of ham
were big enough to bait a large cod. Fortunately there was enough to
fill him up.
"Somebody's looking for you, Bob, up in the village," said Monkey, when
he began to be gorged, which, however, was not till both the slices of
ham were nearly consumed.
"For me?" asked Little Bobtail.
"Squire Gilfilian asked me if I'd seen you; and I told him I hadn't. He
was askin' everybody for you. Some on 'em said you wan't to home; and
the old man said he hadn't seen you sence yesterday mornin'."
"Who wants me?"
"I don't know; but the squire wanted to see you powerful bad," grinned
Monkey.
"All right. I'll go up and see him by and by," said Bobtail, as he left
the table.
With the assistance of his new ally he washed the dishes, cleaned up the
stove and cooking utensils, and swept out the cabin. Everything was put
into the neatest condition. When this was done, the decks were washed
down, the sails stowed more trimly than the skipper could do it in the
dark, all the running rigging hauled taut, and the ends coiled away, so
that the yacht was in man-of-war style. He found a padlock, with a key
in it, to fasten the cabin door; and having put the tiller below, so
that no one could sail the Skylark in his absence, he secured the door,
and went on shore with Monkey. He stopped at the cottage to see if his
mother had returned from Rockport, but neither she nor Ezekiel was
there.
Walking towards the village, he wondered what Squire Gilfilian could
want of him. He began to be a little troubled about the letter again,
for, in the excitement of his cruise over to Blank Island, he hardly
thought of the disagreeable circumstances connected with it. He found
the squire in his office, with a stranger, a flashy-looking and
ill-visaged fellow.
"I hear you want to see me," said Little Bobtail.
"I do," replied the lawyer, sternly and decidedly. "Come in here;" and
he led the way to his private office in the rear. "Now, boy, I want to
know what you did with that letter."
"I told you before what I did with it. I put it on your desk," answered
Bobtail, promptly; and it is not strange that his brown cheek flushed a
little, but it was with indignation, not guilt.
"So you told me before; but I don't believe it," added the squire, with
a terrible frown, and in a very loud tone, doubtless involuntarily
resorting to one of the tricks of his trade to intimidate the youth.
"Do you think I would lie about a letter?" demanded Bobtail, warmly.
"Do you know what was in that letter?"
"How should I know?"
"Because you opened it," sharply retorted the lawyer, as though he
intended to overwhelm a contumacious and guilty witness.
"I didn't open it," protested the boy, stoutly. "I put it on your desk;
and that's all I know about it."
"It is easier for you to say that than it is for me to believe it."
"I can't help it, if you don't believe me. I have told the truth. I had
a letter for you, and another for Captain Chinks. I gave him his here in
your office, and chucked yours on your desk. That's the whole truth, and
all I know about the letters. If Captain Chinks was here he would tell
you the same thing, for he said you was busy in here, and told me to put
the letter on the desk; and that's just what I did, and just all I did."
"Captain Chinks isn't here, and has been gone a week."
"He'll come back some time, I suppose."
"I don't know whether he will or not. He's mixed up with a smuggling
case, and he may not deem it prudent to come back."
"Whether he does or not, I never saw the letter after I put it on your
desk."
The lawyer bit his lips. There was nothing in the tones or the manner of
the youth to excite suspicion, and Little Bobtail's reputation for
honesty was first class. A year before, he had found the wallet of a
stranger, which he might have kept, but had taken great pains to find
the owner. In fact, everybody that knew him knew that he was honest.
"Now, Little Bobtail, you stand very well in the village," continued
Squire Gilfilian, with a smile, as he suddenly changed his tactics.
"I always mean to keep myself straight, sir," added Bobtail.
"Of course you do. But the best of us are sometimes tempted to do wrong.
If you have been led away, and--"
"I haven't been led away, sir."
"You may have made a mistake. If you opened that letter by accident or
otherwise--"
"I didn't open it by accident or otherwise. I didn't open it at all,"
interposed the boy, with energy.
"Hear what I have to say, Little Bobtail. The best of folks are
sometimes led away. Even ministers of the gospel once in a great while
do a wicked deed."
"I don't care if they do; I haven't opened your letter."
"But I'm only supposing a case."
"Well, sir, you needn't suppose I opened that letter, for I didn't."
"Suppose you had opened it--"
"I didn't."
"It is only an hypothesis."
"I don't care if it is; I didn't open the letter," persisted Bobtail,
who had not the least idea what an hypothesis was.
"If somebody else, then, had opened that letter, and taken out the
money. He might have been sorely tempted; he might have opened it by
accident," said the squire, in soft, oily tones.
"Somebody else _might_, but I _didn't_."
"If he don't feel bad about it now, he will, as sure as he lives, for
the truth will come out. Don't you think so?"
"I do think so."
"It will ruin his reputation, send him to the state prison, and spoil
his prospects forever. Now, don't you think it would be better for him
to give up the money, if I should say to him that I wouldn't mention the
matter?"
"I think he had better give it up, whether you mention it or not,"
answered Bobtail, more calmly.
"Then don't you think _you_ had better give it up?"
"I tell you again, I didn't open the letter, and haven't seen the
money," protested Bobtail, violently.
"You had better think it over."
"I don't want to think it over."
"You will have to go to jail if you don't."
"I can go to jail, but I can't give up what I haven't got, nor own up to
what I didn't do."
"The letter which you brought to my office that morning contained five
hundred dollars in one bill. It was my advance fee for defending the
Buckingham Bank robbers. Their friends raised the money; but only a
rogue would have sent it in cash. The letter is gone. It was last in
your hands. Now you had better think it all over, and you may stay here
and do so, while I talk with the gentleman in the other room." And the
squire opened the door.
There was another person in the front room now, who had entered during
this interview. In spite of the suspicion of the attorney, this person
was Captain Chinks, who was promptly summoned to the private office, and
the conference renewed.
The ill-visaged person in the front room was probably a bank robber
himself, though he was not yet implicated in the Buckingham affair. He
was a friend of the robbers who had been arrested, and had employed
Squire Gilfilian--who was as eloquent in speech as he was skilful in the
intricacies of the law--to defend his unfortunate friends. The lawyer
would not do so without a fee in advance; and the five hundred dollars
had been sent in the letter which had so strangely disappeared. Either
the sender knew no better than to trust so large a sum in the mail, or
his criminal associations made him diffident about applying for a check
or draft.
Hearing nothing from the lawyer, he had written again, stating that he
had sent the money at the time agreed upon. The squire had expected the
letter, and intended immediately to start for the county town in the
jail of which the robbers were confined, in order to examine his case.
In reply to the second letter, he telegraphed to his correspondent in
Portland that he had not received the first; and then the robbers' agent
had come himself. There he was in the front room.