One nice moonlight evening me and Cap'n Jonadab and Peter T., having,
for a wonder, a little time to ourselves and free from boarders, was
setting on the starboard end of the piazza, smoking, when who should
heave in sight but Cap'n Eri Hedge and Obed Nickerson. They'd come
over from Orham that day on some fish business and had drove down to
Wellmouth Port on purpose to put up at the Old Home for the night and
shake hands with me and Jonadab. We was mighty glad to see 'em, now I
tell you.
They'd had supper up at the fish man's at the Centre, so after Peter T.
had gone in and fetched out a handful of cigars, we settled back for a
good talk. They wanted to know how business was and we told 'em. After
a spell somebody mentioned the Todds and I spun my yarn about the balky
mare and the Greased Lightning. It tickled 'em most to death, especially
Obed.
“Ho, ho!” says he. “That's funny, ain't it. Them power boats are great
things, ain't they. I had an experience in one--or, rather, in two--a
spell ago when I was living over to West Bayport. My doings was with
gasoline though, not electricity. 'Twas something of an experience.
Maybe you'd like to hear it.”
“'Way I come to be over there on the bay side of the Cape was like this.
West Bayport, where my shanty and the big Davidson summer place and the
Saunders' house was, used to be called Punkhassett--which is Injun for
'The last place the Almighty made'--and if you've read the circulars of
the land company that's booming Punkhassett this year, you'll remember
that the principal attraction of them diggings is the 'magnificent water
privileges.' 'Twas the water privileges that had hooked me. Clams was
thick on the flats at low tide, and fish was middling plenty in the bay.
I had two weirs set; one a deep-water weir, a half mile beyond the bar,
and t'other just inside of it that I could drive out to at low water. A
two-mile drive 'twas, too; the tide goes out a long ways over there. I
had a powerboat--seven and a half power gasoline--that I kept anchored
back of my nighest-in weir in deep water, and a little skiff on shore to
row off to her in.
“The yarn begins one morning when I went down to the shore after clams.
I'd noticed the signs then. They was stuck up right acrost the path: 'No
trespassing on these premises,' and 'All persons are forbidden crossing
this property, under penalty of the law.' But land! I'd used that
short-cut ever sence I'd been in Bayport--which was more'n a year--and
old man Davidson and me was good friends, so I cal'lated the signs was
intended for boys, and hove ahead without paying much attention to 'em.
'Course I knew that the old man--and, what was more important, the
old lady--had gone abroad and that the son was expected down, but that
didn't come to me at the time, neither.
“I was heading for home about eight, with two big dreeners full of
clams, and had just climbed the bluff and swung over the fence into the
path, when somebody remarks: 'Here, you!' I jumped and turned round, and
there, beating across the field in my direction, was an exhibit which,
it turned out later, was ticketed with the name of Alpheus Vandergraff
Parker Davidson--'Allie' for short.
“And Allie was a good deal of an exhibit, in his way. His togs were cut
to fit his spars, and he carried 'em well--no wrinkles at the peak or
sag along the boom. His figurehead was more'n average regular, and his
hair was combed real nice--the part in the middle of it looked like it
had been laid out with a plumb-line. Also, he had on white shoes and
glory hallelujah stockings. Altogether, he was alone with the price of
admission, and what some folks, I s'pose, would have called a handsome
enough young feller. But I didn't like his eyes; they looked kind of
tired, as if they'd seen 'bout all there was to see of some kinds of
life. Twenty-four year old eyes hadn't ought to look that way.
“But I wasn't interested in eyes jest then. All I could look at was
teeth. There they was, a lovely set of 'em, in the mouth of the ugliest
specimen of a bow-legged bulldog that ever tried to hang itself at the
end of a chain. Allie was holding t'other end of the chain with both
hands, and they were full, at that. The dog stood up on his hind legs
and pawed the air with his front ones, and his tongue hung out and
dripped. You could see he was yearning, just dying, to taste of a
middle-aged longshoreman by the name of Obed Nickerson. I stared at
the dog, and he stared at me. I don't know which of us was the most
interested.
“'Here, you!' says Allie again. 'What are you crossing this field for?'
“I heard him, but I was too busy counting teeth to pay much attention.
'You ought to feed that dog,' I says, absent-minded like. 'He's hungry.'
“'Humph!' says he. 'Well, maybe he'll be fed in a minute. Did you see
those signs?'
“'Yes,' says I; 'I saw 'em. They're real neat and pretty.'
“'Pretty!' He fairly choked, he was so mad. 'Why, you cheeky,
long-legged jay,' he says, 'I'll--What are you crossing this field for?'
“'So's to get to t'other side of it, I guess,' says I. I was riling up a
bit myself. You see, when a feller's been mate of a schooner, like I've
been in my day, it don't come easy to be called names. It looked for a
minute as if Allie was going to have a fit, but he choked it down.
“'Look here!' he says. 'I know who you are. Just because the gov'ner
has been soft enough to let you countrymen walk all over him, it don't
foller that I'm going to be. I'm boss here for this summer. My name's--'
He told me his name, and how his dad had turned the place over to him
for the season, and a lot more. 'I put those signs up,' he says, 'to
keep just such fellers as you are off my property. They mean that you
ain't to cross the field. Understand?'
“I understood. I was mad clean through, but I'm law-abiding, generally
speaking. 'All right,' I says, picking up my dreeners and starting for
the farther fence; 'I won't cross it again.'
“'You won't cross it now,' says he. 'Go back where you come from.'
“That was a grain too much. I told him a few things. He didn't wait for
the benediction. 'Take him, Prince!' he says, dropping the chain.
“Prince was willing. He fetched a kind of combination hurrah and growl
and let out for me full-tilt. I don't feed good fresh clams to dogs as
a usual thing, but that mouth HAD to be filled. I waited till he was
almost on me, and then I let drive with one of the dreeners. Prince and
a couple of pecks of clams went up in the air like a busted bomb-shell,
and I broke for the fence I'd started for. I hung on to the other
dreener, though, just out of principle.
“But I had to let go of it, after all. The dog come out of the collision
looking like a plate of scrambled eggs, and took after me harder'n ever,
shedding shells and clam juice something scandalous. When he was right
at my heels I turned and fired the second dreener. And, by Judas, I
missed him!
“Well, principle's all right, but there's times when even the best of
us has to hedge. I simply couldn't reach the farther fence, so I made
a quick jibe and put for the one behind me. And I couldn't make that,
either. Prince was taking mouthfuls of my overalls for appetizers. There
was a little pine-tree in the lot, and I give one jump and landed in the
middle of it. I went up the rest of the way like I'd forgot something,
and then I clung onto the top of that tree and panted and swung round
in circles, while the dog hopped up and down on his hind legs and fairly
sobbed with disapp'intment.
“Allie was rolling on the grass. 'Oh, DEAR me!' says he, between spasms.
'That was the funniest thing I ever saw.'
“I'd seen lots funnier things myself, but 'twa'n't worth while to argue.
Besides, I was busy hanging onto that tree. 'Twas an awful little pine
and the bendiest one I ever climbed. Allie rolled around a while longer,
and then he gets up and comes over.
“'Well, Reuben,' says he, lookin' up at me on the roost, 'you're a good
deal handsomer up there than you are on the ground. I guess I'll let you
stay there for a while as a lesson to you. Watch him, Prince.' And off
he walks.
“'You everlasting clothes-pole,' I yells after him, 'if it wa'n't for
that dog of yours I'd--'
“He turns around kind of lazy and says he: 'Oh, you've got no kick
coming,' he says. 'I allow you to--er--ornament my tree, and 'tain't
every hayseed I'd let do that.'
“And away he goes; and for an hour that had no less'n sixty thousand
minutes in it I clung to that tree like a green apple, with Prince
setting open-mouthed underneath waiting for me to get ripe and drop.
“Just as I was figgering that I was growing fast to the limb, I heard
somebody calling my name. I unglued my eyes from the dog and looked up,
and there, looking over the fence that I'd tried so hard to reach, was
Barbara Saunders, Cap'n Eben Saunders' girl, who lived in the house next
door to mine.
“Barbara was always a pretty girl, and that morning she looked prettier
than ever, with her black hair blowing every which way and her black
eyes snapping full of laugh. Barbara Saunders in a white shirt-waist
and an old, mended skirt could give ten lengths in a beauty race to any
craft in silks and satins that ever _I_ see, and beat 'em hull down at
that.
“'Why, Mr. Nickerson!' she calls. 'What are you doing up in that tree?'
“That was kind of a puzzler to answer offhand, and I don't know what I'd
have said if friend Allie hadn't hove in sight just then and saved me
the trouble. He come strolling out of the woods with a cigarette in his
mouth, and when he saw Barbara he stopped short and looked and looked
at her. And for a minute she looked at him, and the red come up in her
cheeks like a sunrise.
“'Beg pardon, I'm sure,' says Allie, tossing away the cigarette. 'May I
ask if that--er--deep-sea gentleman in my tree is a friend of yours?'
“Barbara kind of laughed and dropped her eyes, and said why, yes, I was.
“'By Jove! he's luckier than I thought,' says Allie, never taking his
eyes from her face. 'And what do they call him, please, when they want
him to answer?' That's what he asked, though, mind you, he'd said he
knew who I was when he first saw me.
“'It's Mr. Nickerson,' says Barbara. 'He lives in that house there. The
one this side of ours.'
“'Oh, a neighbor! That's different. Awfully sorry, I'm sure. Prince,
come here. Er--Nickerson, for the lady's sake we'll call it off. You
may--er--vacate the perch.'
“I waited till he'd got a clove-hitch onto Prince. He had to give him
one or two welts over the head 'fore he could do it; the dog acted like
he'd been cheated. Then I pried myself loose from that blessed limb
and shinned down to solid ground. My! but I was b'iling inside.
'Taint pleasant to be made a show afore folks, but 'twas the feller's
condescending what-excuse-you-got-for-living manners that riled me most.
“I picked up what was left of the dreeners and walked over to the fence.
That field was just sowed, as you might say, with clams. If they ever
sprouted 'twould make a tip-top codfish pasture.
“'You see,' says Allie, talking to Barbara; 'the gov'nor told me he'd
been plagued with trespassers, so I thought I'd give 'em a lesson. But
neighbors, when they're scarce as ours are, ought to be friends. Don't
you think so, Miss--? Er--Nickerson,' says he, 'introduce me to our
other neighbor.'
“So I had to do it, though I didn't want to. He turned loose some soft
soap about not realizing afore what a beautiful place the Cape was. I
thought 'twas time to go.
“'But Miss Saunders hasn't answered my question yet,' says Allie. 'Don't
YOU think neighbors ought to be friends, Miss Saunders?'
“Barbara blushed and laughed and said she guessed they had. Then she
walked away. I started to follow, but Allie stopped me.
“'Look here, Nickerson,' says he. 'I let you off this time, but don't
try it again; do you hear?'
“'I hear,' says I. 'You and that hyena of yours have had all the fun
this morning. Some day, maybe, the boot'll be on t'other leg.'
“Barbara was waiting for me. We walked on together without speaking for
a minute. Then I says, to myself like: 'So that's old man Davidson's
son, is it? Well, he's the prize peach in the crate, he is!'
“Barbara was thinking, too. 'He's very nice looking, isn't he?' says
she. 'Twas what you'd expect a girl to say, but I hated to hear her say
it. I went home and marked a big chalk-mark on the inside of my shanty
door, signifying that I had a debt so pay some time or other.
“So that's how I got acquainted with Allie V. P. Davidson. And, what's
full as important, that's how he got acquainted with Barbara Saunders.
“Shutting an innocent canary-bird up in the same room with a healthy cat
is a more or less risky proposition for the bird. Same way, if you take
a pretty country girl who's been to sea with her dad most of the time
and tied to the apron-strings of a deef old aunt in a house three
miles from nowhere--you take that girl, I say, and then fetch along,
as next-door neighbor, a good-looking young shark like Allie, with a
hogshead of money and a blame sight too much experience, and that's a
risky proposition for the girl.
“Allie played his cards well; he'd set into a good many similar games
afore, I judge. He begun by doing little favors for Phoebe Ann--she was
the deef aunt I mentioned--and 'twa'n't long afore he was as solid
with the old lady as a kedge-anchor. He had a way of dropping into
the Saunders house for a drink of water or a slab of 'that delicious
apple-pie,' and with every drop he got better acquainted with Barbara.
Cap'n Eben was on a v'yage to Buenos Ayres and wouldn't be home till
fall, 'twa'n't likely.
“I didn't see a great deal of what was going on, being too busy with my
fishweirs and clamming to notice. Allie and me wa'n't exactly David and
Jonathan, owing, I judge, to our informal introduction to each other.
But I used to see him scooting 'round in his launch--twenty-five foot,
she was, with a little mahogany cabin and the land knows what--and
the servants at the big house told me yarns about his owning a big
steam-yacht, with a sailing-master and crew, which was cruising round
Newport somewheres.
“But, busy as I was, I see enough to make me worried. There was a good
deal of whispering over the Saunders back gate after supper, and once,
when I come up over the bluff from the shore sudden, they was sitting
together on a rock and he had his arm round her waist. I dropped a hint
to Phoebe Ann, but she shut me up quicker'n a snap-hinge match-box.
Allie had charmed 'auntie' all right. And so it drifted along till
September.
“One Monday evening about the middle of the month I went over to Phoebe
Ann's to borrow some matches. Barbara wasn't in--gone out to lock up
the hens, or some such fool excuse. But Phoebe was busting full of joy.
Cap'n Eben had arrived in New York a good deal sooner'n was expected and
would be home on Thursday morning.
“'He's going from Boston to Provincetown on the steamer, Wednesday,'
says Phoebe. 'He's got some business over there. Then he's coming home
from Provincetown on the early train. Ain't that splendid?'
“I thought 'twas splendid for more reasons than one, and I went out
feeling good. But as I come round the corner of the house there was
somebody by the back gate, and I heard a girl's voice sayin': 'Oh, no,
no! I can't! I can't!'
“If I hadn't trod on a stick maybe I'd have heard more, but the racket
broke up the party. Barbara come hurrying past me into the house, and
by the light from the back door, I see her face. 'Twas white as a
clam-shell, and she looked frightened to death.
“Thinks I: 'That's funny! It's a providence Eben's coming home so soon.'
“And the next day I saw her again, and she was just as white and
wouldn't look me in the eye. Wednesday, though, I felt better, for the
servants on the Davidson place told me that Allie had gone to Boston on
the morning train to be gone for good, and that they was going to shut
up the house and haul up the launch in a day or so.
“Early that afternoon, as I was coming from my shanty to the bluff on
my way to the shore after dinner, I noticed a steam-yacht at anchor two
mile or so off the bar. She must have come there sence I got in, and I
wondered whose she was. Then I see a dingey with three men aboard rowing
in, and I walked down the beach to meet 'em.
“Sometimes I think there is such things as what old Parson Danvers used
to call 'dispensations.' This was one of 'em. There was a feller in
a uniform cap steering the dingey, and, b'lieve it or not, I'll be
everlastingly keelhauled if he didn't turn out to be Ben Henry, who was
second mate with me on the old Seafoam. He was surprised enough to see
me, and glad, too, but he looked sort of worried.
“'Well, Ben,' says I, after we had shook hands, 'well, Ben,' I says, 'my
shanty ain't exactly the United States Hotel for gilt paint and bill of
fare, but I HAVE got eight or ten gallons of home-made cherry rum and
some terbacker and an extry pipe. You fall into my wake.'
“'I'd like to, Obed,' he says; 'I'd like to almighty well, but I've got
to go up to the store, if there is such a thing in this metropolus, and
buy some stuff that I forgot to get in Newport. You see, we got orders
to sail in a tearing hurry, and--'
“'Send one of them fo'mast hands to the store,' says I. 'You got to come
with me.'
“He hemmed and hawed a while, but he was dry, and I shook the cherry-rum
jug at him, figuratively speaking, so finally he give in.
“'You buy so and so,' says he to his men, passing 'em a ten-dollar
bill. 'And mind, you don't know nothing. If anybody asks, remember that
yacht's the Mermaid--M-U-R-M-A-D-E,' he says, 'and she belongs to Mr.
Jones, of Mobile, Georgia.'
“So the men went away, and me and Ben headed for my shanty, where we
moored abreast of each other at the table, with a jug between us for a
buoy, so's to speak. We talked old times and spun yarns, and the tide
went out in the jug consider'ble sight faster than 'twas ebbing on the
flats. After a spell I asked him about the man that owned the yacht.
“'Who? Oh--er--Brown?' he says. 'Why, he's--'
“'Brown?' says I. 'Thought you said 'twas Jones?'
“Well, that kind of upset him, and he took some cherry-rum to grease his
memory. Then I asked more questions and he tried to answer 'em, and got
worse tangled than ever. Finally I had to laugh.
“'Look here, Ben,' says I. 'You can't fetch port on that tack. The
truth's ten mile astern of you. Who does own that yacht, anyway?'
“He looked at me mighty solemn--cherry-rum solemn. 'Obed,' he says,
'you're a good feller. Don't you give me away, now, or I'll lose my
berth. The man that owns that yacht's named Davidson, and he's got a
summer place right in this town.'
“'Davidson!' says I. 'DAVIDSON? Not young Allie Davidson?'
“'That's him,' says he. 'And he's the blankety blankest meanest low-down
cub on earth. There! I feel some better. Give me another drink to take
the taste of him out of my mouth.'
“'But young Davidson's gone to Boston,' I says. 'Went this morning.'
“'That be hanged!' says Ben. 'All I know is that I got a despatch from
him at Newport on Monday afternoon, telling me to have the yacht abreast
this town at twelve o'clock to-night, 'cause he was coming off to her
then in his launch with a friend. Friend!' And he laughed and winked his
starboard eye.
“I didn't say much, being too busy thinking, but Ben went on telling
about other cruises with 'friends.' Oh, a steam-yacht can be a
first-class imitation of hell if the right imp owns her. Henry got
speaking of one time down along the Maine coast.
“'But,' says I, referring to what he was telling, 'if she was such a
nice girl and come from such nice folks, how--'
“'How do I know?' says he. 'Promises to marry and such kind of lies, I
s'pose. And the plain fact is that he's really engaged to marry a swell
girl in Newport.'
“He told me her name and a lot more about her. I tried to remember the
most of it, but my head was whirling--and not from cherry rum,
either. All I could think was: 'Obed, it's up to you! You've got to do
something.'
“I was mighty glad when the sailors hailed from the shore and Ben had to
go. He 'most cried when he said good-by, and went away stepping high and
bringing his heels down hard. I watched the dingey row off--the tide
was out, so there was barely water for her to get clear--and then I went
back home to think. And I thought all the afternoon.
“Two and two made four, anyway I could add it up, but 'twas all
suspicion and no real proof, that was the dickens of it. I couldn't
speak to Phoebe Ann; she wouldn't b'lieve me if I did. I couldn't
telegraph Cap'n Eben at Provincetown to come home that night; I'd have
to tell him the whole thing and I knew his temper, so, for Barbara's
sake, 'twouldn't do. I couldn't be at the shore to stop the launch
leaving. What right had I to stop another man's launch, even--
“No, 'twas up to me, and I thought and thought till after supper-time.
And then I had a plan--a risky chance, but a chance, just the same. I
went up to the store and bought four feet of medium-size rubber hose and
some rubber tape, same as they sell to bicycle fellers in the summer.
'Twas almost dark when I got back in sight of my shanty, and instead of
going to it I jumped that board fence that me and Prince had negotiated
for, hustled along the path past the notice boards, and went down the
bluff on t'other side of Davidson's p'int. And there in the deep hole
by the end of the little pier, out of sight of the house on shore, was
Allie's launch. By what little light there was left I could see the
brass rails shining.
“But I didn't stop to admire 'em. I give one look around. Nobody was
in sight. Then I ran down the pier and jumped aboard. Almost the first
thing I put my hand on was what I was looking for--the bilge-pump. 'Twas
a small affair, that you could lug around in one hand, but mighty handy
for keeping a boat of that kind dry.
“I fitted one end of my hose to the lower end of that pump and wrapped
rubber tape around the j'int till she sucked when I tried her over the
side. Then I turned on the cocks in the gasoline pipes fore and aft, and
noticed that the carbureter feed cup was chock full. Then I was ready
for business.
“I went for'ard, climbing over the little low cabin that was just big
enough for a man to crawl into, till I reached the brass cap in the deck
over the gasoline-tank. Then I unscrewed the cap, run my hose down into
the tank, and commenced to pump good fourteen-cents-a-gallon gasoline
overboard to beat the cars. 'Twas a thirty-gallon tank, and full up. I
begun to think I'd never get her empty, but I did, finally. I pumped
her dry. Then I screwed the cap on again and went home, taking Allie's
bilge-pump with me, for I couldn't stop to unship the hose. The tide was
coming in fast.
“At nine o'clock that night I was in my skiff, rowing off to where my
power-boat laid in deep water back of the bar. When I reached her I made
the skiff fast astern, lit a lantern, which I put in a locker under a
thwart, and set still in the pitch-dark, smoking and waiting.
“'Twas a long, wearisome wait. There was a no'thwest wind coming up, and
the waves were running pretty choppy on the bar. All I could think of
was that gasoline. Was there enough in the pipes and the feed cup on
that launch to carry her out to where I was? Or was there too much, and
would she make the yacht, after all?
“It got to be eleven o'clock. Tide was full at twelve. I was a pretty
good candidate for the crazy house by this time. I'd listened till my
ear-drums felt slack, like they needed reefing. And then at last I heard
her coming--CHUFF-chuff! CHUFF-chuff! CHUFF-chuff!
“And HOW she did come! She walked up abreast of me, went past me, a
hundred yards or so off. Thinks I: 'It's all up. He's going to make it.'
“And then, all at once, the 'chuff-chuff-ing' stopped. Started up
and stopped again. I gave a hurrah, in my mind, pulled the skiff up
alongside and jumped into her, taking the lantern with me, under my
coat. Then I set the light between my feet, picked up the oars and
started rowing.
“I rowed quiet as I could, but he heard me 'fore I got to him. I heard
a scrambling noise off ahead, and then a shaky voice hollers: 'Hello!
who's that?'
“'It's me,' says I, rowing harder'n ever. 'Who are you? What's the row?'
“There was more scrambling and a slam, like a door shutting. In another
two minutes I was alongside the launch and held up my lantern. Allie was
there, fussing with his engine. And he was all alone.
“Alone he was, I say, fur's a body could see, but he was mighty shaky
and frightened. Also, 'side of him, on the cushions, was a girl's
jacket, and I thought I'd seen that jacket afore.
“'Hello!' says I. 'Is that you, Mr. Davidson? Thought you'd gone to
Boston?'
“'Changed my mind,' he says. 'Got any gasoline?'
“'What you doing off here this time of night?' I says.
“'Going out to my--' He stopped. I s'pose the truth choked him. 'I was
going to Provincetown,' he went on. 'Got any gasoline?'
“'What in the nation you starting to Provincetown in the middle of the
night for?' I asks, innocent as could be.
“'Oh, thunder! I had business there, that's all. GOT ANY GASOLINE?'
“I made my skiff's painter fast to a cleat on the launch and climbed
aboard. 'Gasoline?' says I. 'Gasoline? Why, yes; I've got some gasoline
over on my power-boat out yonder. Has yours give out? I should
think you'd filled your tank 'fore you left home on such a trip as
Provincetown. Maybe the pipe's plugged or something. Have you looked?'
And I caught hold of the handle of the cabin-door.
“He jumped and grabbed me by the arm. ''Tain't plugged,' he yells,
sharp. 'The tank's empty, I tell you.'
“He kept pulling me away from the cabin, but I hung onto the handle.
“'You can't be too sure,' I says. 'This door's locked. Give me the key.'
“'I--I left the key at home,' he says. 'Don't waste time. Go over to
your boat and fetch me some gasoline. I'll pay you well for it.'
“Then I was sartin of what I suspicioned. The cabin was locked, but
not with the key. THAT was in the keyhole. The door was bolted ON THE
INSIDE.
“'All right,' says I. 'I'll sell you the gasoline, but you'll have to
go with me in the skiff to get it. Get your anchor over or this craft'll
drift to Eastham. Hurry up.'
“He didn't like the idee of leaving the launch, but I wouldn't hear of
anything else. While he was heaving the anchor I commenced to talk to
him.
“'I didn't know but what you'd started for foreign parts to meet that
Newport girl you're going to marry,' I says, and I spoke good and loud.
“He jumped so I thought he'd fall overboard.
“'What's that?' he shouts.
“'Why, that girl you're engaged to,' says I. 'Miss--' and I yelled her
name, and how she'd gone abroad with his folks, and all.
“'Shut up!' he whispers, waving his hands, frantic. 'Don't stop to lie.
Hurry up!'
“''Tain't a lie. Oh, I know about it!' I hollers, as if he was deef. I
meant to be heard--by him and anybody else that might be interested.
I give a whole lot more partic'lars, too. He fairly shoved me into the
skiff, after a spell.
“'Now,' he says, so mad he could hardly speak, 'stop your lying and row,
will you!'
“I was willing to row then. I cal'lated I'd done some missionary work
by this time. Allie's guns was spiked, if I knew Barbara Saunders. I
p'inted the skiff the way she'd ought to go and laid to the oars.
“My plan had been to get him aboard the skiff and row
somewheres--ashore, if I could. But 'twas otherwise laid out for me. The
wind was blowing pretty fresh, and the skiff was down by the stern, so's
the waves kept knocking her nose round. 'Twas dark'n a pocket, too. I
couldn't tell where I WAS going.
“Allie got more fidgety every minute. 'Ain't we 'most there?' he asks.
And then he gives a screech. 'What's that ahead?'
“I turned to see, and as I done it the skiff's bow slid up on something.
I give an awful yank at the port oar; she slewed and tilted; a wave
caught her underneath, and the next thing I knew me and Allie and the
skiff was under water, bound for the bottom. We'd run acrost one of the
guy-ropes of my fish-weir.
“This wa'n't in the program. I hit sand with a bump and pawed up for
air. When I got my head out I see a water-wheel doing business close
along-side of me. It was Allie.
“'Help!' he howls. 'Help! I'm drowning!'
“I got him by the collar, took one stroke and bumped against the
weir-nets. You know what a fish-weir's like, don't you, Mr. Brown?--a
kind of pound, made of nets hung on ropes between poles.
“'Help!' yells Allie, clawing the nets. 'I can't swim in rough water!'
“You might have known he couldn't. It looked sort of dubious for a
jiffy. Then I had an idee. I dragged him to the nighest weir-pole.
'Climb!' I hollers in his ear. 'Climb that pole.'
“He done it, somehow, digging his toes into the net and going up like a
cat up a tree. When he got to the top he hung acrost the rope and shook.
“'Hang on there!' says I. 'I'm going after the boat.' And I struck out.
He yelled to me not to leave him, but the weir had give me my bearings,
and I was bound for my power-boat. 'Twas a tough swim, but I made it,
and climbed aboard, not feeling any too happy. Losing a good skiff was
more'n I'd figgered on.
“Soon's I got some breath I hauled anchor, started up my engine and
headed back for the weir. I run along-side of it, keeping a good lookout
for guy-ropes, and when I got abreast of that particular pole I looked
for Allie. He was setting on the rope, a-straddle of the pole, and
hanging onto the top of it like it owed him money. He looked a good deal
more comfortable than I was when he and Prince had treed me. And the
remembrance of that time come back to me, and one of them things they
call inspiration come with it. He was four feet above water, 'twas full
tide then, and if he set still he was safe as a church.
“So instead of running in after him, I slowed 'way down and backed off.
“'Come here!' he yells. 'Come here, you fool, and take me aboard.'
“'Oh, I don't know,' says I. 'You're safe there, and, even if the
yacht folks don't come hunting for you by and by--which I cal'late they
will--the tide'll be low enough in five hours or so, so's you can walk
ashore.'
“'What--what do you mean?' he says. 'Ain't you goin' to take me off?'
“'I was,' says I, 'but I've changed my plans. And, Mr. Allie
Vander-what's-your-name Davidson, there's other things--low-down, mean
things--planned for this night that ain't going to come off, either.
Understand that, do you?'
“He understood, I guess. He didn't answer at all. Only gurgled, like
he'd swallered something the wrong way.
“Then the beautiful tit for tat of the whole business come to me, and I
couldn't help rubbing it in a little. 'As a sartin acquaintance of mine
once said to me,' I says, 'you look a good deal handsomer up there than
you do in a boat.'
“'You--you--etcetery and so forth, continued in our next!' says he, or
words to that effect.
“'That's all right,' says I, putting on the power. 'You've got no kick
coming. I allow you to--er--ornament my weir-pole, and 'tain't every
dude I'd let do that.'
“And I went away and, as the Fifth Reader used to say, 'let him alone in
his glory.'
“I went back to the launch, pulled up her anchor and took her in tow. I
towed her in to her pier, made her fast and then left her for a while.
When I come back the little cabin-door was open and the girl's jacket
was gone.
“Then I walked up the path to the Saunders house and it done me good to
see a light in Barbara's window. I set on the steps of that house until
morning keeping watch. And in the morning the yacht was gone and the
weir-pole was vacant, and Cap'n Eben Saunders come on the first train.
“So's that's all there is of it. Allie hasn't come back to Bayport
sence, and the last I heard he'd married that Newport girl; she has my
sympathy, if that's any comfort to her.
“And Barbara? Well, for a long time she'd turn white every time I met
her. But, of course, I kept my mouth shut, and she went to sea next
v'yage with her dad. And now I hear she's engaged to a nice feller up to
Boston.
“Oh, yes--one thing more. When I got back to my shanty that morning I
wiped the chalkmark off the door. I kind of figgered that I'd paid that
debt, with back interest added.”