ON THE WAY TO THE "BROOKLYN"
"Oh, what luck!"
"What is the matter now?"'
"My order for a railroad ticket from Boston to Fortress Monroe is gone!"
"Is that true? Perhaps Deck Mumpers cleaned you out after he struck you
down," suggested the sergeant, quickly. "Feel in your pockets."
Walter did so, and his face blanched. "He did--everything,--my money,
keys, cash,--all are missing. What in the world shall I do now?"'
"How much money did you have?"
"About twenty dollars. The main thing was that railroad ticket order. If
that is gone, how am I to get to Norfolk?"
"Was your name mentioned on the paper?"
"Yes, sir."
"Where was it to be presented? any particular depot?"
"Yes, the New York and New England railroad depot."
"Then the best thing to do is to ring the railroad folks up and have the
bearer of the order detained, if the slip is presented," went on the
police officer, and stepping to the telephone he rang up central and had
the necessary connection made.
"Is this the ticket office of the New York and New England railroad
depot?" he questioned.
"Yes," came the reply over the wire.
"A navy-yard order for a ticket from here to Norfolk, or Fortress
Monroe, has been stolen. It is made out in the name of Walter Russell.
If it is presented, hold the party having it and communicate with police
headquarters."
"Is the name Walter Russell?" was the excited query, and Walter's heart
began to sink as he seemed to feel what was coming.
"Yes."
"That order has already been filled. It was presented about ten o'clock
last night."
"I've missed it!" groaned the youth, and dropped into a chair. "What
will the navy-yard people say to this when they hear of it?"
"I don't see how they can blame you," returned the sergeant, kindly,
"seeing as you were knocked senseless by the thief. Deck Mumpers has got
the best of it so far."
He called through the telephone for a description of the party having
the order, and soon learned it must have been Mumpers beyond a doubt.
"Can't you telegraph to Norfolk to have him arrested when he arrives?"
asked Walter suddenly.
"You don't think he'll go all the way to Norfolk, do you?" smiled the
police officer. Then he turned again to the telephone. "What kind of a
ticket did that party get on the order?" he asked.
"First-class, with sleepers."
"He got a first-class ticket. Ten to one he'll not use it at all, but
sell the pasteboard at some cut-rate ticket office right here in Boston
and then buy another ticket for somewhere else."
"I see!" cried Walter. "But if the ticket was sold here, could we trace
it?"
"It is not likely, for many first-class tickets are alike. We might
trace the sleeping-car checks, but I doubt if Mumpers will try to do
anything with those."
"But he may use the ticket," ventured Walter, hardly knowing what else
to say.
"Oh, possibly. I'll have the men at the various stations keep an eye
open for the rascal," concluded the sergeant, and after a few more words
Walter left the station.
It must be confessed that the youth was considerably out of sorts. "I
start off to recover some stolen property and end by losing more," he
groaned. "I'm not fit to join the navy, or do anything." And he gave a
mountainous sigh.
It was almost five o'clock, and knowing Dan would soon be on hand with
Gimpwell to open the stand, he walked slowly in that direction. To keep
up his courage he tried to whistle, but the effort was a dismal failure.
Walter was naturally very light-hearted, but just now no one looking at
his troubled face would have suspected this.
Reaching the stand, he opened the shutters and put out the light which
he had forgotten to extinguish. Soon the first bundles of papers came
along, and he sorted them over and arranged them for sale and for Dan's
route. The work was almost done when the carrier came along, followed
immediately by the new clerk.
"Hullo, I didn't know you'd be here!" cried Dan. "Why didn't you come
home last night? Mother expected you to use the room, and you paid for
it."
"I wish I had used the room," answered Walter, and went over his tale in
a few words, for Dan must be off, to serve several men with newspapers
before they themselves started off to their daily labors.
"Say, but that's too bad!" cried the errand boy. "I've got two dollars,
Walter. You can have the money if it will do you any good."
"Thanks, Dan, I want to see Mr. Newell first. But it's kind of you to
make the offer."
"I'd offer you something, Russell," put in the new clerk. "But the fact
is I haven't even car-fare; had to tramp over from Charlestown."
Phil Newell put into appearance shortly before seven o'clock, coming a
little earlier than usual, to see that Gimpwell got along all right.
Calling him aside, Walter told of what had happened. He was getting sick
of telling the story, but, in this case, there was no help for it.
"Douse the toplights, but you've run on a sunken rock, and no mistake,
Walter," cried the old naval veteran. "So he cleaned you out
completely, eh?"
"Yes, Mr. Newell. I don't care so much for the money, but that order for
the railroad ticket--"
"It's too had; too bad!" Phil Newell ran his hand through his bushy
hair. "I don't believe the navy-yard authorities will issue a duplicate
order."
"Neither do I."
"You see, some sailors wouldn't be none too good for to get such a paper
and then sell it for what she would fetch."
"Yes, that's the worst part of it. I shouldn't want them to think I
was--was getting in on them--or trying to do so."
"The best thing to do, as far as I can see, is to call on Caleb Walton
and get his advice."
"Where does he live?"
"In Charlestown, only a few blocks from the Bunker Hill monument. I
don't know the number, but it's on Hill Street, and I know the house."
"Will you go with me? If I haven't the number--"
"To be sure I'll go with you, just as soon as I can set the new clerk on
his proper course."
"And, Mr. Newell, would you mind--that is, would you make me a--a
loan--" faltered Walter.
"Out with it, my boy, how much do you want? I told you before I'd be
your friend, and what Phil Newell says he means, every trip."
"You are very kind, sir. I don't know how much I want. I had twenty
dollars and thirty-five cents, and Mr. Walton said that was more than
enough to see me through until pay day came along."
"Then here are twenty dollars." The proprietor of the news-stand pulled
a roll of small bills from his pocket and counted out the amount. "You
can pay me back when you recover your money, or else out of your pay
money, if they don't collar that thief. Have you had breakfast yet?"
"No, sir."
"Then you had better get a bite while I instruct Gimpwell. I'll be ready
for you in quarter of an hour."
Fifteen minutes found them on the way, taking a car which took them
directly over to Charlestown, along the navy-yard and up Hill Street.
"Here we are," cried Phil Newell, as he stopped the car. "And just in
time, for there is Caleb Walton leaving his house now."
"What brings you up?" demanded the gunner, when confronted. "Well, this
is certainly a mess," he continued, after he had been told. "No, I'm
certain they won't issue a duplicate order, for Captain Line is out of
the city."
"But we might try and see what we can do," insisted Phil Newell.
"To be sure; come on." And the three set off for the navy-yard. Here it
looked at first as if nothing could be gained, but finally one of the
higher officers took it upon his own shoulders to give Walter a new
order, at the same time saying something about charging it up to the
Emergency Account.
"Well, that's a big relief," murmured Walter, on coming away. "I feel as
if a thousand pounds were taken from my heart." And he certainly looked
it.
"I must leave you now," said Caleb Walton. "Be sure and be at the depot
on time, and take care of that new order."
"It's pinned fast in my pocket," said the youth. "If it goes, so does my
coat."
On returning to the news-stand, Walter procured some paper and an
envelope, and in the reading-room of the hotel sat down and wrote a long
letter to his uncle, Job Dowling, telling of his enlistment in the navy
and of what had happened during the night. "I think you ought to come to
Boston," he concluded. "If the police can't do anything, a detective
ought to be set on this Deck Mumper's track. You are holding a good deal
of money in trust for Ben, Larry, and me, and for my part, I would spend
a good deal rather than see father's watch and his and mother's wedding
rings gone forever,--not to mention grandfather's diamond, which alone
is worth at least two hundred dollars. Write to me concerning this, and
send the letter to the _Brooklyn_, Off Fortress Munroe, Va."
This letter was mailed without delay, and soon after Walter bade Phil
Newell, Dan, and several others good-by, and, grip in hand, walked to
the depot. Here he found several jackies already assembled, and soon
learned that they were members of Walton's party. In a few minutes
Walton himself came hurrying down Federal Street, with several green
hands in tow.
"All here?" he demanded, and began to "count noses." Only one man was
missing, and he soon put in an appearance, and all entered the depot and
procured their tickets. Then Walter asked about the stolen order, but
the clerk had heard nothing new concerning it. "You were mighty lucky to
get another order," he said with a grin. "Next time they may make you
walk the tracks."
The train was in, and hurrying out to the long shed, they found their
proper places. Soon there came a sharp jerk, the train moved off; and
the long journey southward was begun.
For a seat-mate Walter had a typical Yankee lad, one from the coast of
Maine, a young fellow who knew but little about warships, but who had
spent several years on the rolling deep, in voyages to South America, to
Nova Scotia, and elsewhere. His name was Silas Doring, and Walter found
him talkative, although not objectionably so.
"Yes, I couldn't hardly wait till I got to Boston," said Si, for that
was what he said all of his friends "to hum" called him. "We'll lick the
Spanish out of their boots, see if we don't!"
"You are bound for the _Brooklyn_?" asked Walter.
"Thet's it, if they want me, otherwise I'm booked for the _Texas_. Putty
good for a boy from Maine to go on the _Texas_, ain't it, he! he! But I
don't care much. They can put me on the _San Francisco_ if they want
to--so long as they give me a chance at them tarnal Dons. When the
_Maine_ was blowed up, why, I jest jumped up an' down an' up an' down
with rage. 'Si Doring,' sez I, 'Si Doring, are you a-going to let such
an insult an' crime go by unnoticed? Not much!' sez I. 'I'll join the
navy, an' help blow all of the Spanish to Jericho,'--an' I'm going to do
it!" And the Yankee lad struck his fist into his open palm with a thump
of energy.
"I wish I knew as much about ships as you do," ventured Walter. "I've
been on two trips across Lake Erie, and know something, but I'm afraid
I'll feel like a fish out of water when I get on a man-o'-war."
"We'll keep our eyes and ears open, and try to learn--that's the only
way. I know every rope on a merchantman, kin name 'em from fore royal
stay to topping lift, but that ain't the hundredth part on it. We've got
to learn our vessel jest as a person has got to learn a new city and
its streets, fer boats ain't built one like another, not by a jugful!
And after we have learned the ship, we've got to learn the guns, and the
fire-drill, and how to clear ship for action, and a lot more, not to say
a word about learning how to knock out them Dons, as some calls 'em. Oh,
we'll have our hands full after we get on board, don't forget it!" And
Si Doring shook his head vigorously.
On and on sped the train until Hyde Park was reached. Here a brief stop
was made, and several persons including a sailor got on board. The
sailor came through the car as if looking for somebody and finally found
Caleb Walton and shook hands.
"Yes, I'm bound for Norfolk, too," Walter and Si Doring heard him
remark.
"By gum!" whispered the Yankee sailor. "I wonder if thet chap is going
with us?"
"Do you know him?" asked the boy.
"Know him? jest guess I do! His name is Jim Haskett, and he used to be
the mate of the _Sunflower_, a three-master from Penobscot. I sailed
under him once, and he was the hardest man on shipboard I ever got next
to. If he gets in the navy, he'll make everybody under him dance to his
pipings, and worse."
"If that's the case, I sincerely hope he isn't assigned to my ship," was
Walter's comment. "I haven't any use for a bully, big or little."
"I owe Jim Haskett many an old score; I would like to get the chance to
even up," went on the Yankee. "But I've enlisted to do my duty and lick
the Spanish, and if Haskett leaves me alone, I'll leave him alone. Here
he comes now." And Si straightened up.
The former mate of the _Sunflower_ passed down the aisle slowly. When he
saw the Yankee he started and then scowled at him. "Have you enlisted?"
he asked, in a voice that was far from pleasant.
"I have," returned Si. "Got any objections, Haskett?"
"Humph!" was the only answer, and the ex-mate of the _Sunflower_ passed
on, to drop into a vacant seat some distance behind them.
"Oh, he's a corker," whispered the Yankee, and Walter nodded to show
that he agreed with him. Walter was destined to many an encounter with
Jim Haskett before his first term in the navy should come to an end.