DUMPED BUT NOT DISCOURAGED
The blackness of the night made the lightning flashes all the more
terrifying. Dudley took a firm grip on his steering wheel, while the
girls shuddered.
“Pretty slick lightnin’,” muttered Captain Quiller, “an’ my light
hasn’t oil enough to keep her goin’ long.”
“And you think you can get it over at the little Italian store?”
Dudley asked. “How in the world can we expect to wake the store man
up? I imagine an Italian store-keeper might be a pretty good sleeper.”
“Might at that,” agreed the captain. “But we sailors have to trust an
awful lot to luck. Somethin’s sure to turn up. Ain’t no countin’ on
what it’ll be.”
Flash after flash of lightning slashed through the blackness. Cara, as
the olden time bride, and Babs as the collegian, holding between them
the frightened Indian girl, Ruth—as if an Indian girl ever would be
frightened of a thunderstorm—clung more closely to one another in real
fear. Suddenly Babs jerked aside from the others. The car was scarcely
moving along a narrow turn and she clutched Cara’s arm excitedly.
“I see a light in those bushes!” she exclaimed. “Look! Over there by
that white birch tree!”
The headlights of the big car threw out such a glare that it was easy
enough to distinguish objects along the way. Dudley slowed his car
down as Babs cried out.
“Yes, that’s somethin’. Mebby some ’un’ hurt,” the captain suggested.
“Hey! Hey!” came a shrill call. “Over here, by the ditch!”
“That’s a boy,” declared Dudley promptly.
“Yes, and it sounds like _our_ boy,” added Babs, already on the car
step ready to go in search of who ever was calling.
“You mean——”
“I mean Nicky. Hey! That you Nicky!” She called out loudly, for
thunder claps still continued to roar through the night with
terrifying frequency.
“Ye-ah!” came the answer. “That’s me! I’m—I’m stuck!”
Even the bride in her white silk muslin gown, over which a flying cape
did very little to protect it from the rain, ran towards the eye of
light in the blackness and the clue of direction given by the boy’s
voice.
“Look out for deep cuts,” the captain warned them. He, of course, was
armed with his unfailing lantern, and as he warned the others he swept
the light on their uncertain path.
“Oh!” Ruth cried out, “I’ve lost my moccasin!”
“Moccasin!” repeated Dudley. “How could you expect to keep those
things on?”
“I didn’t expect to. I knew I’d lose them,” replied Ruth undaunted.
“I’ve got to go back to the car. This is too muddy for my poor feet.”
“All right,” Cara agreed. “You can make it and we won’t be far away.
We’ve got to get to the boy quickly.”
As a matter of fact, Babs was almost there. She had trudged on ahead,
breathless to reach the boy who, she felt, must again have met with an
accident. No boy, especially Nicky, would be in such a plight if he
had not been disabled.
“Here, over here,” the boy called again. “Can you see my light?”
“Yes, we’re coming. Hold your horses,” called back Dudley, for they
were almost up to the spot from which a bull’s eye light could be seen
through the undergrowth.
Then they found him. The poor little chap!
“Well, I’ll be jiggered!” exclaimed the captain.
“I couldn’t get there with your oil, Cap,” sighed the boy. “I lost me
way, and—look at me!”
They did, all of them. Under the gleam of the captain’s light they
looked at him.
“Poor little chap!” repeated Babs. She was the first to recover her
composure sufficiently to begin at the bushes. She was trying to tear
them away from the crouched little figure.
Presently all of them, including the captain, were at those bushes,
tearing, pulling, breaking, until the tangle was cleared away.
“An’ ye tried to get me the oil, Nick,” the captain said, as he put
his big friendly hand out to the boy. “I knew you would.”
“Yeh, and I would have too, only fer me busted arm,” Nicky proclaimed
stoutly scrambling to his feet.
“You were trying to ride that old wheel, hold a heavy can of oil and
find your way in this storm,” Dudley reasoned astoundedly. “It’s a
wonder you even have your voice left,” he concluded as a big boy
would.
“’Bout all,” Captain Quiller added. “A youngster like Nicky ain’t got
no special fightin’ force to boast of, only his spirit. He’s got the
spunk, ain’t you Nick?”
“Oh, that ain’t nawthin’,” deprecated the boy, from whose clothing
Babs and Cara were still dragging bits of briars and dried sticks.
“Don’t spill the oil,” he protested, for the old bicycle was prone
against the oil can and the least movement of it might spill the
precious fluid.
“We got to hustle at that,” Captain Quiller reminded them. “I kin see
the light a-goin’ an’ the storm’s about spent. But ole Pete’ll be in a
canipshun fit. He figgered he jest about knowed I couldn’t get any oil
an’ we’d be out o’ luck then,” he admitted dryly.
“But you have got it,” Barbara said proudly. She was holding up the
can in proof.
“I’ll get the car,” Dudley said. “See, here’s a pretty good road
around the jungle. I’ll be back in a jiff.”
“What a wonderful little boy!” Cara took time now to exclaim. She was
now beginning to understand what it was that Barbara so greatly
admired in the little Italian. Captain Quiller had called it spunk.
“I’d have got there,” said Nicky stoutly, half apologizing for his
predicament, “if my light didn’t go on the blink. Fer jest a minute it
danced. An’ that was when I took this header.”
Ruth had been shouting all sorts of questions from the car but no one
had time to answer her. Now she was coming along with Dudley. As the
strong headlights of the big car caught the group standing waiting a
remarkable picture was presented.
“Oh,” squealed Ruth to Dudley. “Just look!”
There stood Cara in the white dress, which shone plainly beneath the
cape, Nicky next with his bandaged arm and tattered clothing, his
black hair making streaks on his forehead and seeming to hide so much
of his small face. On the other side of him, and insisting on holding
on to him was Babs in her college gown, and somehow still managing to
keep on her head that ridiculous mortar-board cap. Of course it was
fitting on her bobbed head pretty closely. And Captain Quiller was
actually standing just back of them, his lantern held high above their
heads. The can of oil securely held in the other hand could not be
seen but he knew it was there and he had a “strangle hold” on it.
No wonder Ruth exclaimed at the picture. It was fit for a “movie set”
with unlimited possibilities in the subtitle.
But the lighthouse tender was impatient to be off with the oil for his
lamp, and it took all of them but a few minutes to get into the car,
while Dudley then expertly drove through the uncertain roads made more
uncertain by the ravages of the heavy summer shower.
A tantalizing drizzle kept up and the night was still bitterly black,
but Nicky was safe in the car now, Captain Quiller had his oil and the
girls had had their adventure.
Babs was so glad to have been in the rescuing party.
“Whatever would you have done,” she asked Nicky, “if we had not found
you?”
“Some one would of,” the boy replied with the supreme confidence of
his years.
“But you were hurt, again,” Cara comforted. “You’ve had an awful lot
of bad luck today, Nickolas, haven’t you?”
“Not so much,” he answered. He was alive after all, and that seemed
good luck to Nicky.
“What’s hurt worst this time?” Dudley made a chance to call back.
“Nothin’,” Nicky said, as Dudley knew he would.
“But you got a spill in the ditch?”
“Sure.”
“And you couldn’t get out?”
“Nope.”
“Then what held you down?”
“Me ankle. It got twisted I guess,” Nicky reluctantly admitted.
“Does your ankle hurt?” asked Babs, solicitously.
“Not much it don’t. It’s gettin’ better.”
“But you didn’t spill my oil, son,” Captain Quiller assured him
proudly. “I knowed you wouldn’t. Ain’t never failed me yet, Nick, you
haven’t. An’ if you was older——”
“If he was older!” It was Babs who repeated the phrase. A sudden
vision swept before her. The light, the harbor light belonged to the
government. Nicky had risked his life to bring oil to the lighthouse
keeper! And Nicky so badly needed government influence, for his
father!
“Oh, Captain!” she gasped. “Isn’t Nicky really a hero?”
“Bettcher life he is!” replied the captain.
“And heroes get recognition from—from the government—don’t they?” She
could hardly speak coherently, she was so excited.
“Sometimes, sometimes,” said Captain Quiller. “But here we are, and
here’s Pete a-waitin’. Here you are Pete!” he called out lustily as
they drew up in the heavy sand to reach the lighthouse landing.
“Here’s you oil. Needin’ it bad, ain’t yer?”
“She’s jest a-flickerin’,” called back Pete. “’Bout ready to flicker
out too. Where’s your can?”
“Right here. There you be,” declared the captain, handing out the oil
can. “An’ if it hadn’t been for friend Nicky, we’d never have got it,
neither.”
But Pete had grasped the handle of the oil can and was going towards
the tower, without showing the least interest in what Captain Quiller
was saying. All he wanted was the oil and he had got that.
The lighthouse was one of those built upon land—upon a strip of land
that extended into the sea like a peninsula. On the end of this strip
a tower was built of lattice work construction, and from the top of
this tower The Light could be seen far enough out at sea to save
mariners from the sand strips that would easily ground their craft.
“No use invitin’ you in jest now, I suppose,” Captain Quiller remarked
politely, “and I suppose you’re goin’ to take young Nick home, ain’t
y’u?”
[Illustration: “I SUPPOSE YOU’RE GOIN’ TO TAKE NICK HOME, AIN’T Y’U?”
CAPTAIN QUILLER REMARKED.]
“Certainly we are,” both Cara and Babs exclaimed. Then Babs said with
a little laugh, “We’ve been taking Nicky home _all_ day, it seems to
me.”
But the boy was tugging at her arm, and she guessed why.
“Those others,” the little fellow muttered, “they came this
afternoon.”
“I know,” whispered Babs, “but it’s all right, they were just driving
around——”
“Our way?” He couldn’t believe that. His voice said so.
“We were looking for candlesticks,” Cara chimed in. “Like those you
sold to my brother.”
“I can get more,” answered Nicky brightly. Evidently the lure of
selling the trinkets was enough to restore his confidence in Babs’
friends.
“Yes,” gushed Cara, taking advantage of the opportunity to cheer him
up, and likewise to cheer Babs, “we want a lot of odd things and
perhaps you can get them for us,” she suggested happily.
“I could,” declared Nicky. And now Babs knew that he no longer blamed
her. He was just thinking of selling things and could not be thinking
of her breach of his confidence.
She wanted so much to throw her arms around him and just squeeze love
into his starved little childhood. She wanted to shout out in that
dark night that he had risked his life to get oil for the lighthouse,
she wanted to comfort that hurt little foot, even to fondle that
injured hand—oh, if only she could do all or any of this!
But instead she must sit there quietly as the car rolled along, and
perhaps Nicky would insist again on being let down “this side of the
track.”
“Whatever are you sighing for, Babs?” Ruth asked in astonishment. “Are
you sick—or something?”
“Oh no: was I sighing?”
“Yep, you was,” came so unexpectedly from little Nicky that everyone
laughed.
“That’s right, Nick,” said Dudley, “we fellows have got to stick
together. So I’ll dump the girls at home and we’ll finish our ride in
peace.”
“Sure,” agreed Nicky, and again a problem was solved.