Directly after breakfast the next morning, Mr. Dalken and his guests,
having first agreed to meet on the yacht that evening at seven for
dinner, made ready to start on a tour of inspection.
The girls in light summer dresses, had donned their wide-brimmed hats,
and taken sun-shades for protection from the sun; and the men had
dressed in white flannels and Panama hats, in order to keep as cool as
possible.
“One last word,” advised Mr. Dalken, as Jack stood ready to lead his
party to the wharf. “Don’t let those rascally hackmen get your money.
Better walk about, while the air is cool and fresh. Later we shall have
to remain on the verandah of the Spring Hotel to sip lemonade and fan
ourselves.”
The friends laughed gayly and started off. The younger contingent of the
touring party went first, the elders following in a leisurely manner
while conversing with their host. Jack and Ray led the way across the
dock to the entrance which, to their chagrin, was blocked completely by
the hacks which they had been so recently warned against.
Jack looked in every direction for an opening. There were none. “Well,
girls, it’s a case of taking the bull by the horns. I’ll grab one of
these old nags by the head and lead him out; then you can follow through
the gap and land on the other side of this mob which is after our
money—that’s what it is!”
No sooner said than done; hence Ray, not caring to be considered a
laggard in such a good work, followed suit and caught hold of the head
of a horse next the one taken by Jack. But the men who owned these
animals felt that they had a right in the matter. At the very moment
that Jack caught hold of the bit of the horse, the black driver lashed
the flank of his beast unmercifully, causing the horse to start and tear
across the open square in front of the quay. Naturally this unexpected
move dragged Jack from his feet, and in constant danger of being
trampled or kicked, he found it unwise to let go his hold.
The girls stood and screamed, but Ray let go his hold on the other horse
and dashed madly after his friend. He thought the horse was running
away, with Jack hanging to his head. By the time Polly collected her
wits enough to act, Jack was out of sight around the corner, and Ray was
sprinting after the equipage which had been lost in a cloud of yellow
dust.
“Here! Jump in and let’s go after them!” ordered Eleanor, as she spied a
hack with a good looking horse in its shafts.
Polly sprang in and Eleanor followed, but before Ruth or Nancy could get
in, the driver slammed the door and off he went, in a whirl of dust.
Ruth and Nancy stood dumb and watched them go.
By this time Mr. Dalken and his friends came up. He looked around in
surprise. “Why! Where is Jack and the others?”
“Oh, Dalky!” cried Ruth, “Jack’s been run away with and the two girls
have been kidnapped!”
“Impossible! In broad daylight?” exclaimed many voices.
Nancy tried to explain all that had happened in so short a time, then
Mr. Dalken laughed. “Exactly what I advised you against. If we had
landed last night every one would have been whipped into a separate
vehicle and carried off to a different hotel. These drivers are paid to
drag visitors to the various houses willy-nilly, and once the tourists
arrive, they are so frightened at their experience, they usually remain
where they have been left. But where did the man take Polly and
Eleanor?”
While he spoke, such a clamor and wrangling of drivers at the elbows of
each one in the group, drove Mr. Dalken distracted. Finally he turned
and held up a hand for silence. Little cared these black men for New
York authority or prestige. They all wanted a fare, and that was all.
“There’s but one thing to do—each one of us get in a separate hack and
tell the man to drive you to the Spring Hotel. When you arrive there
tell him to wait for me—that I carry the purse. That will cool their
blood and have them ready for me when I arrive.”
Mr. Fabian laughed, but it was the only solution to rid themselves of
being pulled to tatters by the myriad of besieging men. Quickly then Mr.
and Mrs. Fabian got in one cab, Mr. and Mrs. Ashby in another, Nancy and
Ruth with Mr. Dalken got in a third, and all started off.
As far as weather went, the day was beautiful and calm. But the old
rackety hacks went seesawing over the yellow road whence one could see
the blue edge of the sea far out beyond the coral reefs. White bits of
sail on distant little vessels made bright spots on the blue glassy
horizon. Finally, after a drive of not more than ten blocks, but a trip
which the wily drivers had stretched out into twenty blocks by going
round about the town, the first load of shaken-up passengers reached the
hotel verandah. The driver brought his horse to a sudden stop with a
wild hurrah and a flourish of the limp whip. Then he sprang to the
ground and demanded his money.
“You’ll have to wait for the last man to arrive. He has the money,”
explained Mr. Fabian, as instructed.
Such a volley of expletives then poured from the man’s mouth that Mrs.
Fabian covered her ears and ran for the hotel porch. But a diversion
occurred in having the second hack arrive and crash into the first one.
The Ashbys stepped out with shaking nerves and white faces.
“Oh, such a drive!” gasped Mrs. Ashby, but the driver interrupted her by
demanding his money.
He received the same reply as that given to the first driver. The second
man could curse even more fluently than the one who had sent Mrs. Fabian
scurrying away. But Mr. Ashby quietly took one step forward and caught
the whip from the darky’s hand. Instantly he cowered and bobbed as if in
apology.
Then came Mr. Dalken’s equipage, with Ruth and Nancy in mortal dread of
being killed before the man would stop his horse.
“Where is Jack and the other girls?” asked Mr. Dalken, looking around in
wonderment. He had fully expected to find them all there.
Before any one could reply, the wrangling over the fares began again.
Each driver claimed four times the usual fee, but Mr. Dalken understood
them, and when at last he had settled for the regular price of a dollar
a trip, they smiled politely and drove away.
“You see, in these isles, one must never pay the price demanded. The
native holds the highest regard and esteem for those who know the ropes
and stick to one price—generally it is four to five times less than that
asked. Remember this when you go shopping, ladies,” said Mr. Dalken.
“But what will you do about Polly and Nolla—and the two lost boys?”
asked Ruth, anxiously.
“We will go over on the verandah and order long cool drinks of orangeade
and wait for them. They will come, all right, when the driver hears that
they wish to stop at this hotel,” said Mr. Dalken.
“Aren’t you a little worried?” asked Mrs. Courtney.
“No, not in Kingston. It would have been different in Havana or Hayti.
Here, every one is as honest as the drinks—and they are temperance and
pure. No synthetic orangeade for your money.” The laughing tone and
reassuring manner of their host made his friends feel confident that
soon the lost members of their party would arrive with varied tales of
adventures.
Meanwhile young Baxter had managed to cause such a drag on the horse, to
which he clung like grim death, that the animal stopped on a side lane
where the blinding dust measured at least ten inches in depth. Natty
Jack, in his once immaculate white flannels and silk shirt, looked for
all the world as if he had been purposely caked with Jamaica dust an
inch thick. Even his hair and eyebrows stuck out in yellow thickness. As
the horse stopped Jack let go and sat down upon the ground with a heavy
sigh.
“Aigh, you-all pays me free dollahs!” demanded the driver.
The owner of the animal now stood over Jack and scowled fiercely. “Mebbe
dat hoss goin’ to git heaves f’on all dis hawd wu’k. Mebbe you’se got’ta
pay foh my hoss, too!”
This was too much for poor Jack! He sprang up and there, in the
isolation of that Jamaica lane shadowed by over-hanging palms, he
started a regular fight with the driver. The astonished man, never
thinking of striking back, went flat upon his back in the same dust
where his victim had been seated a moment before.
Jack jumped into the front seat of the hack, whipped up the nag with the
same whip the driver had brandished over him just a minute previously,
and before the amazed fellow could think, his vehicle had passed out of
sight around a corner of the lane.
While this went on, Ray sprinted as swiftly as if he was running a
Marathon, but he was no match for the whipped horse which carried his
friend to only goodness knows where. But Ray could not keep up the pace
overlong, so he quietly subsided in front of a fruit stall and paid for
a reviving drink of green cocoanut milk, thereby earning himself a stool
upon which to sit and rest from the frightful strain in a tropical
temperature.
While he sat there slowly sipping the cooling beverage, the carriage
with Polly and Eleanor seated within drove past the fruit vendor’s
booth. Ray was too exhausted to jump up and follow, but he decided that
the girls were on their way to the Spring Hotel. Hence he turned his
attention again to the drink.
The driver of the surrey in which the two girls had climbed, had no
intention of taking his fares to the well-known Spring Hotel, because he
was paid extra for every guest he could deposit at a small and
practically new boarding house of third-rate class. Naturally this
landlady found great difficulty in securing guests, and she found it
necessary to pay the hack drivers a commission for their collaboration.
Polly and Eleanor saw themselves whisked along mean streets lined on
both sides with a bungalow type of houses; these dwellings apparently
were filled to overflowing with people of varied shades of black and
brown, down to a pale yellow. Every now and then the driver of the
vehicle had to swerve out of the way for a tramcar track at street
crossings. At such crossings the girls saw the business street, down
which the cars had their tracks, busy with tourists and shop keepers who
called from their emporiums to attract attention to their wares on sale.
“For all the world like the East Side in New York, isn’t it?” asked
Eleanor, as both girls gazed with interest at all they saw.
After driving his “fares” in and out of many byways, the hack man
brought his horse up before a shabby house of somewhat larger dimensions
than any bungalow the girls had yet seen. Here he opened the
broken-hinged door of his surrey and bowed to let them know they were to
step out and pay their bill.
Several indolent guests, who plainly showed their plane of life, sat
upon the rickety chairs on the narrow verandah which _hung_ desperately
to the front of the “Hotel.” The landlady, a great bulk of light yellow
tint, came out to greet her new guests.
Polly glanced over the place in amazement, and Eleanor felt inclined to
double up in laughter. She had to cover her mouth with her hand in order
to choke back the wild shout of amusement that _would_ demand a vent.
“Why, what do you call this place?” demanded Polly of the driver,
frowning upon him in stern anger.
“Dis am de ho-tel you wants to come to,” replied he.
“I told you to drive us to the Spring Hotel, and this never is _it_!”
“No’m, you’se says foh me to drive you-all affer dat man what cotched
hoi’ of dat hoss’s head. Well, dat hoss and man done runned away
somewhere, so I jus’ brings you to the fust-class place I knows of,”
explained the driver.
Eleanor now screamed with laughter at the funny experience, and was
unable to help Polly in her cross-examination of the man.
“You get back in that seat and take us to the Spring Hotel, or I will
hand you over to the police!” threatened Polly, but she could not help
wondering if Kingston ever had a police force!
“Ef I has to take you-all another trip, it’s goin’ to cost more money,”
bargained the fellow, not knowing the nature of the girl he thought he
had at a disadvantage.
Polly leaned out from the door of the hack. “You get in that seat in
double-quick time or you’ll find out where I came from! Did you ever
hear of Colorado people who know how to shoot a fly from a swinging
street lamp forty feet away? Well, that’s me!” Polly’s tone was that of
a hangman’s, her expression similar to that of an Empress who is judging
a criminal, her sudden wave of the hand that of a western hold-up man.
The driver, never having had such a “fare” with which to deal, obeyed
like a whipped puppy. He climbed back into his seat and drove away midst
the jeers and hoots of the loafers on the hang-too verandah. Even the
landlady of the house jeered at him.
By this time Eleanor found herself able to gasp forth a cheer for Polly.
But Polly turned blazing eyes upon her friend and said: “A fine
assistant you will make in time of need!”
“Oh, Polly, what could you expect of me in such a ridiculous
predicament? You looked too surprised and shocked for anything!”
But Polly was really offended this time, and she would not reply to
Eleanor’s attempts at making up. Not until the meek driver turned into
the beautiful avenue that brought them up in front of the Spring Hotel,
where all but Jack and Ray lounged in great comfortable wicker chairs
and sipped orangeade, did she forgive Eleanor.
Polly gave one glance at her friends and stiffened up. “Well! Is that
the way you-all trouble over the safety of Nolla and me? We might have
been offered up on the altar of the voodoo worshippers for all you
cared!”
“We knew you would be perfectly safe in this town—no such menace as
voodooism here,” laughed Mr. Dalken, coming down the three steps to
welcome his charges.
“Two sov’ren’s, please,” now demanded the driver.
“Two what?” shouted Mr. Ashby, who had joined his friend.
With not so much bravado the hackman said: “I druv dese ladies all over
Kingston tryin’ to keep up wid dere young man. Now I got’ta be paid foh
all dat trouble.”
“Dalky, he never did! He took us way off to a dump of a house where he
tried to make us believe you would come to board. I actually had to
threaten to shoot him, as we do out west, before he would condescend to
bring us here,” explained Polly, her color rising ominously as she
glared at the man.
“I’ll pay you exactly what all fares are from the wharf to this
hotel—here’s a dollar a fare, and that makes two dollars. Now begone
before this young sixshooter gets out a gun and wings your ear!” Mr.
Dalken tossed the man two dollars and waved him away.
The driver caught the money with one hand, caught hold of the iron rail
of the front seat with his other hand and swung himself up. In another
moment he was whipping his horse and whizzing off out of range of that
gun. He had never in his life delivered a fare who had such spirit as
that western girl expressed, and he began to ponder whether the life of
a hackman was the most delightful one now that women in the States had
suffrage and could carry guns!
A coal-black waiter brought more cooling drinks to the parched guests,
and when Polly had emptied a long thin glass filled with iced orangeade,
she felt better. Then she explained.
The interested audience laughed, but when she demanded: “What did you do
with Jack and Ray?” no one could reply.
“I’m here to answer for myself,” came a weak, quavering voice from the
road. Every one jumped up and ran to the steps, and there stood poor
Jack, still coated with heavy dust and painfully clambering out of the
one-sided carriage.
Such a ludicrous picture did dandy Jack present to his friends that they
could not restrain a shout of laughter. He looked hurt but shook his
head hopelessly. “I knew what sort of friends I had!” he muttered as he
limped up the steps and dropped into a chair. As he fell into its
cushioned depths a choking cloud of dust rose from his form and floated
over the group that now surrounded him.
Before Jack had concluded his narrative Ray came up to the steps of the
hotel and joined his friends. With his appearance the others called for
an explanation of his clean-looking summer garb, his cool-looking face,
and the smile that told he had not had such disturbing experiences as
the other three wanderers in an unknown town.
“I saw a driver whisking Polly and Eleanor past my resting place, but
they went too fast for my speed.” Ray laughed as he remembered again the
perplexed girls in that hack.
“Well, now that we are reunited, children, let us celebrate with another
flagon of orangeade,” laughed Mr. Fabian, calling the waiter to take the
order.
As they all sipped another gallon of cooling drink, they planned what to
see after they had recovered from the strenuous trip from the quay to
the Hotel.
“You know, we won’t be able to visit every point of interest in Jamaica,
but at least we shall see those which are most worth while,” explained
Mr. Dalken. Then turning to Jack, he said, “You’ve been here before,
Jack—where do you advise us to take the party?”
“Well, every one ought to see the natives dive for coins—that’s one of
the amusements offered here; but that can be done as we come from the
yacht to-morrow morning,” said Jack. At this suggestion, Polly
interpolated:
“I hope to goodness you don’t expect us to run the gauntlet of those
buggy drivers again, do you?”
And Eleanor said: “Why not camp out at this hotel as long as we are
here. I find it delightfully cool and restful here.”
“At least we might stay here to-night, Dalky,” added Ray.
“I’m willing. The Captain will understand if we do not return by ten
o’clock to-night.”
It was therefore decided that the entire party would remain at the
Spring Hotel that night and, should they find the evening entertainment
alluring enough, they might remain another night.
“That means we ladies must get out and shop for requisites we will need
overnight,” ventured Mrs. Fabian.
“I was wondering if it would not be wise to do some shopping this
afternoon,” added Mrs. Ashby.
“We may as well do all the shopping we plan to do, as long as we are at
it,” suggested Mrs. Courtney.
“Well, if you ladies are going to shop, what do you expect the male
members of the party to do to kill time?” asked Ray.
“Why, go along and pay the bills, to be sure!” laughed Mr. Ashby.
“What else do you think a married man can do?” added Mr. Fabian.
About this time the gong boy came out on the verandah and made such a
deafening din with the hammer and copper drum he carried that John
Baxter beckoned him over.
“What’s the game now, Bo?” asked Jack.
“Lunsh’on, sah!” answered the young boy, pounding with might and main
that all should hear the call to midday luncheon. But he looked at the
dusty young man who questioned him, then showed his mighty disdain at
the awful clothes covered with Jamaica real estate, by curling his
nostrils and walking away from Jack.
Midst a merry peal of laughter at his expense, Jack got up and limped
into the hotel in order to secure a room with bath where he might
relieve his person of the undesirable weight of earth.
He had not been gone a minute ere a dusty, angry driver stumbled up the
steps and gazed wildly at the group where his “fare” had been seated.
Not seeing a man answering to the description, the man sought
everywhere—inside and outside, for the man who had taken the license of
using his horse and hack without permission, and left _him_, the owner,
to walk all the way to the Spring Hotel to recover his business assets.
During the time the furious driver sought him, Jack reclined in a
luxurious bath and managed to relieve himself and his hair of all the
clinging dust he had accumulated in that mad race through knee-deep dust
on the side-streets of Jamaica.
Mourning the loss of collecting the damages he had expected to claim
from the New Yorker, the hack driver had to leave in his recovered
surrey. But he made up his weak mind to find that young man when he
should reappear on the quay some day to leave the town.