TIM MAKES AN ACQUAINTANCE.
When Tim left old Mose’s kitchen it was nearly time for the steamer
to start on her regular trip, and the passengers were coming on board
quite fast.
The bustle and excitement which always attend the sailing of steamers,
even though the trip be a short one, were all so new and strange to
Tim that he forgot his own troubles in watching the scene around him.
He saw Mr. Rankin near the kitchen, and was told by him that he could
remain on deck until the captain should ring his bell, when he would
let him know of it.
Therefore Tim had plenty of time in which to take in all the details
of the interesting scene. The deck-hands were scurrying to and fro,
wheeling in freight or baggage on funny little trucks with very small
wheels and very long handles; passengers were running around excitedly,
as if they thought they ought to attend to matters which did not
concern them; newsboys were crying the latest editions of the papers;
old women were trying to sell fruit that did not look very fresh, and
everything appeared to be in the greatest confusion.
While Tim was leaning on the after-rail of the main-deck his attention
was attracted by a very small boy, who was trying to get himself and a
large valise on board at the same time. The valise was several sizes
too large for the boy, and some one of the four corners would persist
in hitting against his legs each time he stepped, and then swinging
around, would almost throw him off his feet.
[Illustration: THE SMALL PASSENGER WITH THE LARGE VALISE]
Twice the boy started to go on board, and each time the valise grew
unruly, frightening him from continuing the attempt lest he should be
thrown into the water. Then he stood still and gazed longingly at the
plank upon which he did not dare to venture.
It was a comical sight, and Tim laughed at it until he saw the boy was
really in distress, when he started to aid him.
“Let me help you carry your valise,” he said to the small passenger,
as he darted across the narrow plank and took hold of one side of the
offending baggage. “Two can lug it better’n one.”
The boy looked up as if surprised that a stranger should offer to help
him, and then gave up fully one-half the burden to this welcome lad.
This time the journey was made successfully; and as the valise was
deposited on the steamer’s deck the little passenger gave vent to a
deep sigh of relief.
“So much done,” he said, in a satisfied way, as he took off his hat and
wiped his forehead with a handkerchief that did not look much larger
than a postage-stamp. “Where are you goin’?” he then asked, turning to
Tim.
“Why, I ain’t goin’ nowhere,” replied the captain’s boy, not fully
understanding the other’s question.
“Oh!”――and the boy’s face grew troubled――“I thought maybe you was goin’
in the boat.”
“So I am,” answered Tim, now understanding the question. “I work here.”
“Now, that’s nice;” and the little fellow sat down on his valise
contentedly.
“You may think so; but if you knew Captain Pratt you’d talk different.”
“Why?”
“Perhaps you’ll find out sometime if you come on this boat much; but I
guess I’d better not tell you.”
The boy was silent for a moment, as if he was trying to understand what
Tim meant, and then he said, abruptly:
“Look here, I live down on Minchin’s Island, an’ I come up here to see
my aunt. I’m goin’ home on this boat, an’ I want you to show me where I
can get a ticket. If you will I’ll show you lots of things I’ve got in
this valise.”
“I don’t know where it is myself, ’cause I ain’t been on the boat only
two days; but if you’ll wait here I’ll go an’ ask the cook.”
The boy nodded his head, as if to say that he would wait any reasonable
length of time, and Tim started off to gain the desired information of
old Mose.
In a few moments he returned, and taking his new acquaintance by the
hand, would have led him to the clerk’s office at once, had not the
young party pulled back in evident alarm.
“We’ve got to take the valise with us, ’cause somebody might steal it,
an’ there’s two bundles of torpedoes, a whole bunch of fire-crackers,
an’ a heap of little sky-rockets in it.”
Tim understood at once, and, with a serious look on his face, as he
thought of the great risk he came near running, took hold of one of the
handles of the valise; the boy grasped the other, and the two marched
up to the clerk’s office. There, after some little discussion, the
ticket was purchased, and the two retired to a more secluded spot for
conversation.
“What’s your name?” the boy asked of Tim. “Mine’s Bobby Tucker.”
Tim gave the desired information, and then asked in turn:
“How long have you been up here?”
“’Most a whole week; an’ I’ve had the boss time. I had five dollars an’
twenty cents that I earned all myself, an’ I’ve got ’most half a dollar
left. Let’s go out on the wharf an’ buy something.”
There was no chance that Tim would object to any such brilliant idea,
and the valise was left with old Mose for safekeeping. Once on the
wharf, both they and the apple-women were very busy for five minutes,
during which time they――or rather, Bobby――bought fruit and candies
enough to make both of them as contented as a boy could hope to be.
Luckily for Tim he got on the steamer again just as one of the waiters
came to tell him that the captain had rung for him, and he lost no time
in making his way to the wheel-house. He had the good-fortune to get
there as quickly as Captain Pratt thought he ought to have done, and
then got his employer’s coat from his state-room as he was ordered.
After that he went back to his newly-made friend, who was awaiting
his return with considerable impatience, for he did not feel exactly
certain that his valise with its precious contents was perfectly safe.
Tim took him to the cook-room, and while there showed him “one of the
finest dogs in the country,” which he led back to his old quarters, so
that he would be out of the way at dinner-time.
At first Bobby was not inclined to look upon Tip either as a beautiful
or a valuable animal; but Tim sounded his pet’s praises so loudly that
Bobby could hardly prevent himself from being convinced, even though
appearances were so decidedly against his companion’s words.
Among other stories which Tim related, as showing that Tip was one of
the most intelligent of his species, was the incident of his finding
the cow so suddenly for Sam Simpson, which pleased Bobby greatly, and
he said, in a wise tone both of praise and blame:
“He looks like a good dog, an’ he acts like a good dog; but ’pears to
me his legs is kinder short if you wanted to make him run after a bear.”
“I never tried to make him do that, ’cause we don’t have bears up where
I come from. Are there any where you live?”
“Well, I never saw any, an’ father says there ain’t any; but I’ve heard
’em in the woods, an’ I know they was bears, ’cause they made such an
awful noise. You come down to see me some time, an’ bring the dog with
you, an’ we’ll kill some.”
Tim was perfectly sure that Tip was able to kill any number of bears,
and he told his companion so, adding that he hardly thought he could
get away from the steamer long enough to make any kind of a visit; but
Bobby felt sure it could be arranged somehow.
While they had been talking about Tip the boat had started, but, among
the freight as they were, they did not know it until the pitching of
the steamer as she left the harbor told that some change had been and
was being made in their position.
Running hastily out to the rail, where they expected to see the wharf,
with its bustling crowd of hucksters and passengers, they saw to their
astonishment the green, rolling billows of the ocean. To Bobby, who
lived on an island, the sea was no new sight, and his astonishment was
only occasioned by the fact that the steamer had left the dock; but
to Tim, who had never seen a body of water larger than the river in
Selman, the scene was one that filled him with the greatest wonder.
He remained by the rail, only able to look over the top of it by
standing on his toes, and gazed on the sea until Bobby asked,
impatiently:
“What’s the matter? Ain’t sick, are yer?”
Until that question was asked Tim had not thought of such a thing as
being sea-sick; but the moment Bobby spoke it seemed as if the entire
appearance of the water changed. Instead of looking grand and beautiful
it began to have a sidelong motion, and to rise up and down in an
uncomfortable way.
“No, I ain’t sick,” he said to Bobby, “but I feel kinder queer.”
“That’s it! that’s it!” cried Bobby, eagerly; “that’s the way folks
begin when they’re goin’ to be awful sick.”
Tim looked up in despair. Each succeeding motion of the boat made him
feel worse, and a very uncomfortable sensation in the region of his
stomach was rapidly adding to his terror.
“What shall I do?” he asked, in a piteous whisper.
“Go to bed, an’ you’ll be all right in the mornin’. Where’s your berth?”
Tim made a motion toward the forecastle, but did not trust himself to
speak. His stomach was already in too queer a condition to permit of
words.
“I’ll go down with you, an’ see that you’re all right,” said Bobby,
sagely. “I’m used to goin’ fishin’ with father, an’ I won’t be sick.”
Tim was about to follow his friend’s suggestion, when the horrible
thought occurred to him of what the result might be in case Captain
Pratt knew of his being in bed in the daytime, and he went to ask
advice of old Mose.
But one glance at his pale face and quivering lips was needed to show
the old negro that the captain’s boy was sea-sick, and before Tim could
attempt to speak he said:
“Am yer sick, honey? There’s only one way fur yer to do, an’ that’s to
turn right in an’ wrastle it out. Go right to yer bunk, an’ I’ll ’form
Mr. Rankin what ails you.”
This advice, although it was the same as that given by Bobby, was
followed at once, because it came from a semi-official source, and in a
few moments afterward Tim was groaning in his berth, while Bobby sat by
his side, and tried to persuade him to partake of some of the candy he
had bought just before leaving port.
Tim refused the offering, and for the first time in his life looked
upon candy as the stickiest kind of a fraud. He felt as though the
kindest thing any one could do would be to throw him overboard in the
midst of that treacherous sea which was causing him so much internal
commotion.
He had been in his berth about an hour, although it seemed to him fully
a week, when Mr. Rankin came into the forecastle, and told him that
Captain Pratt had given positive and angrily issued orders that he be
brought on deck.
A moment before, Tim would have thought it impossible for him to move,
and felt that he would not be frightened by a dozen Captain Pratts; but
the instant Mr. Rankin spoke, the thoughts of that whipping, the smart
of which could still be felt, was sufficient to give him strength to
make the attempt.
Staggering to his feet, encouraged by the kind-hearted steward,
who pitied him sincerely, he crawled up the narrow companion-way,
shuddering as he went, and catching his breath in sickness and fear at
each lurch of the steamer.
Bobby, who was awed into silence by the fear of the captain which he
saw plainly written on the faces of Mr. Rankin and Tim, would have
gone with his friend at least a portion of the way, if Tim had not
motioned him back. If he was to be whipped for being sick, he very much
preferred that his new friend should not witness the punishment.
It was with the greatest difficulty he managed to keep on his feet as
he staggered along the deck to the wheel-house, and just as he reached
there, and had opened the door, a sudden lurch of the steamer sent him
spinning into the room headlong.
It was unfortunate that Captain Pratt was sitting directly opposite the
door, smoking, for he was directly in the way of Tim when the steamer
shot him into the wheel-house like a stone from a sling, and the boy’s
head struck with no gentle force full on the chest of his irritable
employer.
The mildest-mannered man would have been provoked if a boy, even no
larger than Tim, had been thrown at him in this way, and Captain Pratt,
always ill-tempered, had all his ire aroused by the blow that very
nearly took away his breath.
As soon as he recovered from the effects of the blow he seized Tim, who
had continued on his flight until he landed, a forlorn little specimen,
in one corner of the room, and shook him as a cat shakes a mouse after
she has had a long chase to catch him.
“Is this the way you try to get even with me?” cried the angry man,
slapping Tim first on one side of the head and then on the other with a
force that made his teeth chatter. “What do you mean by such actions?
Answer me! What do you mean?”
“I don’t mean anything,” said the boy, piteously. “I was comin’ in all
right, when the boat tipped up, an’ I slid right along. I was sea-sick,
an’ I couldn’t help it.”
“I’ll show you how to get over your sea-sickness, and you won’t forget
how it’s done, either;” and as the captain spoke he resumed his
cheerful occupation of slapping Tim’s face. “You think I am going to
have any lubbers around here sick, do you?”
“I can’t help it, sir,” moaned Tim, who had by this time lost all
feeling of nausea in the pain caused by the blows.
“Then I’ll help it for you,” roared the captain, and he flogged Tim
until he thought he had been punished enough to cure him.
“Now see if that will help you,” he said, savagely, as he stood Tim on
his feet with a force that caused him to bite his tongue. “Keep on deck
now, and let me see you every ten minutes. If you so much as think of
laying down I’ll give you such a taste of the rope’s end that you’ll
think all this was only fooling.”
It seemed to Tim as if either the flogging or the sickness would have
been sufficient alone, but to have both filled his heart with all the
sadness and grief it could well contain.
He went below, where Bobby was waiting for him, and the sight of his
tear-filled eyes, and face red with the marks of the whipping, told
the young gentleman from Minchin’s Island that there were very many
positions in the world more pleasant than that of captain’s boy on
board the _Pride of the Wave_.
“What is the matter, Tim?” he asked, in a half-whisper.
“Nothin’,” was the sobbing reply; and then the boy ran to the only
living thing he knew who would sympathize with him in his grief.
Bobby stood back in astonishment as he saw Tim lie down by the side of
that wonderful hunting dog, and, pouring out his grief in indistinct
words, sob and cry in deepest distress.
“What _is_ the matter, Tim? Don’t cry so, but tell me what ails you.”
It was some time before Tim would speak; but when once he did open his
heart to his newly-made friend he told the entire story from the time
he ran away from Captain Babbige’s house up to the last whipping he had
received. When he had concluded he said, in the most sorrowful tone:
“I jest wish I was dead, Bobby; for there don’t seem to be anybody in
all this great big world who wants to have me ’round, ’less it is to
lick me when they ain’t got nothin’ else to do.”
“I wouldn’t stand it, Tim, that’s what I wouldn’t do,” said Bobby,
indignantly. “I’d jest leave this old boat the very first time she
stops.”
But Tim had more wisdom now than he had the day he ran away from
Captain Babbige, and he said, mournfully:
“Where could I go if I did run away again? Nobody wants me an’ Tip, an’
we’ve got to have somethin’ to eat.”
This way of putting the matter rather confused Bobby; he had never
known what it was to be without a home, and Tim’s lonely position in
the world opened his eyes to a new phase of life.
“I’ll tell you what you can do: you can come to my house, an’ stay jest
as long as you want to.”
Tim shook his head; he remembered the invitation given by Sam Simpson,
and how it had been seconded by his parents, and he did not care for
more of the same experience.
“But you can’t stay here an’ let Captain Pratt knock you ’round.”
Tim assented to this; but still he did not see how he could prevent it,
unless he was willing to risk suffering in another form.
“I s’pose I’ll have to go up-stairs an’ show the captain that I ain’t
in bed,” he said, as a shudder of sea-sickness came over him again. “It
must be as much as ten minutes since I was there.”
“I wouldn’t go,” said Bobby, stoutly; “I wouldn’t let him think I was
afraid of him.”
“But I am afraid of him, an’ so would you be if he was to beat you
once the way he has me;” and then he started for the deck again.
This time he did not attempt to enter the wheel-house, but stood by the
rail outside, where the captain could see him, and leaned over the side
until it seemed to him that everything he had eaten for the past month
was thrown to the fishes.
It was impossible for him to have waited on the captain at the table
that day, even if he had been called upon so to do; but Mr. Rankin had
told him that he need not come into the cabin until he had recovered,
and he was truly thankful for that permission to remain away, as he
hoped next day to be himself again.
The steamer had sailed at eleven o’clock in the forenoon, and by two
o’clock Tim was so sick that the very worst punishment Captain Pratt
could have devised would not have troubled him in the least.
The vessel tossed and plunged as if she were bent on going to the
bottom of the sea at the first opportunity, and Tim, in his berth, with
the faithful Bobby at his side trying to cheer and comfort him, felt
that he would not raise his hand to help himself even though he knew
the _Pride of the Wave_ was foundering.