A DOG WITH A HISTORY.
“YOU don’t want to say that out loud, Frank,” observed Scott.
“Say what out loud?” demanded Noble, after he had taken a few long pulls
at his cigar to make sure that it was going again.
“That you hope Matt Coyle will have the courage to carry out the threats
he made yesterday.”
“Of course not. But I can express my honest sentiments here, for we are
all friends, I take it. Matt’s speech was a short one,” said Noble, once
more addressing himself to Tom Bigden and his cousins, “but it was to
the point. ‘You see all them there sail-boats ridin’ at anchor, an’ all
them fine houses up there on the hill?’ said Matt. ‘Wal, the boats’ll
sink if there’s holes knocked into ’em, an’ the houses’ll burn if
there’s a match set to ’em, I reckon. Good-by till you hear from me
agin.’ He hasn’t got a very handsome face at any time, Matt hasn’t, and
his intense rage, and the black and blue lump as big as a hen’s egg,
which had been raised on one of his cheeks by a whack from a guide’s
fist, made him look like a savage in his war-paint. He was in dead
earnest when he uttered the words, and if the Mount Airy boys, and men
too, who have incurred his enmity don’t hear from him again, I shall be
surprised.”
“And disappointed as well,” added Prime.
“I didn’t say that,” replied Noble.
“Of course you didn’t. Nobody said it, but I think we understand one
another.”
Ralph and Loren looked frightened, while Tom drew admiring applause from
the boys and gave expression to his feelings at the same time by dancing
a few steps of a hornpipe.
“Well, we must be off,” said he, suddenly. “Another engagement, you
know.”
“What’s your hurry,” exclaimed Prime. “Stay and smoke another cigar.”
“Can’t,” replied Tom, turning a significant look upon Loren and Ralph,
who wondered what new idea he had got into his head. “We’ll go and see
Wayring according to promise, and then start for home.”
“But we haven’t said a word about organizing that new archery club,”
interposed Noble. “Prime told us that you three fellows were strongly in
favor of it.”
“So we are,” was Tom’s reply; “and some day, when we have plenty of
leisure, we’ll talk it over. We are happy to have met you, and will now
say good-by until we see you again.”
So saying, Tom bowed himself out of the store-room followed by his
cousins, who could hardly hold their tongues until they reached the
street, so impatient were they to know what he was going to do now. They
were certain of one thing, and that was, that Tom did not think as much
of George Prime and his friends as he thought he was going to.
“I am disgusted,” declared Loren, as soon as they were safely out of
hearing.
“Not with me, I hope,” said his cousin.
“Yes, with you and with the fellows we have just left.”
Tom thrust his hands deep into his pockets, looked up at the clouds and
laughed heartily.
“I expected it,” said he; then he stopped laughing and scowled fiercely.
His merriment was forced, and he was as angry as he ever got to be.
“Are you willing that Prime and his crowd should lay out a programme for
the races without saying a word to us about it?” demanded Ralph, who
forgot that that was just the way in which he and his two companions had
treated Prime.
“And did you really ask Wayring to propose our names at the club’s next
meeting?” chimed in Loren.
“No, to both your questions,” replied Tom, emphatically. “They must be a
bright set of boys if they think we are going to let them rule us. Why,
that was the reason we decided that we did not want any thing to do with
Wayring and his followers. But I have thought better of that resolution,
and I’m going to make friends with Joe if I can.”
“And cut Prime and the rest?” exclaimed Ralph.
“Not directly. Look here,” said Tom, suddenly stopping in the middle of
the sidewalk and facing his cousins. “We’ve got our choice between two
cliques, both of which have showed a disposition to make us do as they
say. Now which one shall we take up with? I prefer Joe’s. He and his
friends are in the majority, and they are not one bit more overbearing
than Prime and _his_ friends. Besides, they will let us win a race if we
can do it fairly, but the crowd we have just left want all the honors
themselves.”
“If you try to carry water on both shoulders you will be sure to spill
some of it,” observed Loren.
“I’ll risk that,” replied Tom, confidently. “I didn’t ask Joe to take
our names in to the club, but I’m going to before I am ten minutes
older.”
“Why didn’t you ask Prime or Noble to take them in?” inquired Ralph.
“Because I didn’t want Joe to know that we had become intimate enough
with those two boys to ask favors of them. Now, then, here we are. You
know Joe invited us to call as often as we could, so we are sure of a
welcome if he is at home. Stand ready to back me, if you think
circumstances require it, but don’t be surprised at any thing I say.”
As Tom uttered these words he opened one of the wide gates that gave
entrance into Mr. Wayring’s grounds, and the three walked up the
carriage way toward the house, until their progress was stopped by the
sudden appearance of one of Joe’s pets—a Newfoundland dog, which came
out from among the evergreens and stood in their path. He was a
noble-looking fellow, and although he was gray with age, the attitude of
defiance he assumed seemed to say that he considered himself quite as
able to keep intruders off those premises as he had been during his
younger days.
“Come on,” shouted a familiar voice. “Mars won’t trouble you. He don’t
like tramps,” added Joe Wayring, leaning his double paddle against the
side of the house, and coming forward to greet his visitors. “But
fellows like you could go all over the place; and so long as you did not
pick up any thing, Mars would not say a word to you. How are you, any
way; and where are you going on foot? Why didn’t you come over in your
canoes, so that we could have a little race all by ourselves? Come on.
Sheldon and Hastings are down to the boat-house waiting for me.”
“We came over to ask a favor of you,” replied Tom, as soon as Joe gave
him a chance to speak. “Would you mind taking in our names at the next
meeting of the canoe club?”
“On the contrary, I shall be pleased to do it,” answered Joe, readily.
“You have been pretty sly since your canoes came to hand, but we know
more about you than you think we do,” he added, as he led the way
through the carriage-porch and down the terraced bank toward the
boat-house.
“I don’t quite understand you,” said Tom.
“I mean that we have watched you while you were taking your morning and
evening spins up and down the lake, and we have come to the conclusion
that some of us are going to get beaten. I’ll say this much for you,
Bigden: I never saw a Shadow canoe get through the water, until I saw
yours going down the lake yesterday afternoon.”
“Thank you,” said Tom. “Do you know who are booked for winners this
year?”
“Booked!” repeated Joe. “There’s nobody booked. The best men will win,
as they always have done.”
“I am afraid you are mistaken.”
“Oh, no; I guess not. We don’t have any jockeying here, and if any
member of the club should so far forget himself as to interfere with one
of the contestants, he would never row another race on this lake.”
“I know some boys who are going to take their chances on it,” said Tom,
quietly.
“On fouling the head man so that somebody else can win?” cried Joe.
“That’s just what I mean.”
Joe could hardly believe his ears, and neither could Loren and Ralph
believe theirs. This, then, was what Tom meant when he cautioned them
against being surprised at any thing he might say! They _were_
surprised—they couldn’t help it; and in order that Joe might not see
their faces they fell behind, and allowed him and Tom to go on ahead.
“You know boys who are going to try to win by foul means!” repeated Joe.
“I didn’t suppose that there was any one in the club who would be so
mean. It is true that last year a certain canoeist persisted in keeping
as close to me as he could, and drove the bow of his craft toward the
stern of my own as often as he got the chance; but I thought it was
accident, while some of my friends on shore declared that it was his
intention to run into me, and claim the race because I got in his way.
But, as luck would have it, I was able to paddle fast enough to keep out
of his road. It seems to me that if I couldn’t win a prize fairly, I
shouldn’t want to win it at all.”
“I know who that fellow was,” said Tom, “and I know, also, that he tried
his very best to foul you. It was Prime. I heard all about it.”
Tom and his cousins supposed that Joe’s next question would be: Who told
you about this plot, and what are the names of the boys who are “booked”
to win by fair means or foul? But greatly to their surprise Joe
propounded no such inquiry. The latter knew very well that if some one
had not reposed confidence in him, Tom never would have heard of any
plot; and Joe was too much of a gentleman to ask him to violate that
confidence. He wanted to turn the conversation into another channel, and
so he began talking about Mars, who was walking along the path before
them.
“That fellow is the only foreigner in the party,” said Joe. “He was born
and received the rudiments of his education on the bleak shores of
Newfoundland.”
“Then how did you come to get hold of him?” inquired Tom.
“I was up there two winters ago with my uncle, hunting caribou.”
“What sort of an animal is that?” asked Tom. He spoke before he thought,
and was provoked at himself for it. He did not want to be constantly
asking information of a boy who never came to him for any. As Tom would
have expressed it: “He didn’t care to make Joe and his friends any more
conceited than they were already.” Joe, however, was not at all
conceited; but if Tom Bigden had known as much as he did, and been as
expert in all sorts of athletic sports, he would have thought himself
too grand to associate with common fellows.
“The caribou is the American reindeer, but it is not broken to harness
like the European animal of the same species,” replied Joe. “It is
hunted as game, and Nova Scotia, New Brunswick and Newfoundland are the
best places to go to find it. Uncle Joe went up there two years ago,
taking Hastings, Sheldon and myself with him. We went in a little
fishing schooner that was bound from Gloucester to the Bay of Fundy for
swordfish.”
Tom would have been glad to know where the Bay of Fundy was, and what
the schooner’s crew intended to do with the swordfish after they caught
them, but his pride would not let him ask. The sequel proved that it was
not necessary, for Joe went on to explain.
“The Bay of Fundy runs up between New Brunswick and Nova Scotia, as you
of course know as well as I do, and the fish are used for food. When
they are put on the market they are sliced up like halibut. They are
caught with harpoons. They are ugly, I tell you, and when one of them
weighing four hundred pounds comes flopping over the rail and begins to
swing that sword of his around like lightning, you may be sure that he
gets all the room he wants.”
“What do you do with the swords after they are taken off?”
“Keep them as curiosities or sell them, just as you please. There is
great demand for them. I have one that I should not like to part with.
It belonged to a two hundred pounder. The sailors thought they had
killed him before they hauled him aboard; but he gave one expiring flop
after he reached the deck, and the point of his sword cut a big hole in
the leg of my trowsers. If I had been a little closer to him, he might
have injured me very badly. If a man had his only weapon of offense and
defense made fast to his nose, he wouldn’t do much with it, would he?
But it just suits the swordfish, which, according to Captain Davis,
delivers his blows so rapidly that he will kill half a dozen out of a
school of albicore before they can get out of his reach.”
“But what has all this got to do with Mars?” inquired Tom.
“I came pretty near forgetting about him, didn’t I?” said Joe, with a
laugh. “Well, we went back to Gloucester with Captain Davis, who, as
soon as he had disposed of his swordfish, fitted out for the banks—for
codfish, you know—and went with him. He was to land us at some little
fishing hamlet, whose name I have forgotten, where we were to obtain
guides and go back into the interior after caribou; but he managed to
run the schooner ashore in a thick fog, and there we stuck until Mars
brought off a line to us. That was all that saved us. The sailors hauled
in on it, and finally brought aboard a larger and stronger line to which
a hawser was made fast. We took a turn with that around the capstan, and
after a good deal of hard work, succeeded in pulling the schooner over
the bar into deeper water nearer the shore. We got off just in the nick
of time, too; for that night a storm came up, and raised a sea that
would have made short work with us if we had been exposed to its fury.”
“Were there men on shore opposite the place you struck?” inquired Tom.
“Certainly. If there hadn’t been, who would have tied the line to the
dog’s collar and told him to take it out to us?”
“I should think they would have gone to your assistance in their boats,”
replied Tom.
“So they would, under ordinary circumstances; but no boat that was ever
built could have lived a moment in the surf that was breaking over the
bar when we ran on to it. I don’t understand to this day how Mars
managed to get through it. I have seen him swim a good many times since
that day, and in smooth water he doesn’t seem to be any better than any
other dog. It is when the wind is blowing and the white caps are running
that he shows what he can do. Uncle Joe was so well pleased with the
dog’s performance that as soon as he could find his owner, he offered to
buy him. Of course the man didn’t want to sell, but he was poor, and
when he thought of the comforts that the hundred dollars which uncle
counted out before him would buy for his wife and children, he came to
the conclusion that we could have the dog. He’s mine now, for Uncle Joe
gave him to me as soon as the bargain was struck.”
“Did you get any caribou?”
“Plenty of them, and, would you believe it? we had to take along a
supply of food for that dog the same as we did for ourselves. He
wouldn’t look at any thing except salt meat or codfish. I really believe
he would have starved with a meal before him that would have made any
other dog’s mouth water. But he is civilized now, and takes his rations
like other white folks. He’s got a history, Mars has, and if his
adventures and exploits were written out, they would make a good-sized
book.”
A loud and hearty greeting from the two boys who were standing on the
dock in front of the boat-house, put a stop to the conversation. Tom and
his cousins expected that the first thing Joe Wayring did would be to
acquaint his two friends with the fact that a plot had been formed to
keep the best man from winning at the next canoe meet, and to throw the
different races to those who could not by any possibility win them
fairly; but again they were disappointed. Joe did not say a word on the
subject, and the reason was because it was too serious a matter to be
discussed in the presence of boys with whom he was so little acquainted.
“A dog that will fetch a bone will carry one,” was Joe’s mental comment.
“Tom and his cousins may be friendly to us, and then again, if there is
any truth in this report, they may have brought it to me on account of
some spite they have against those from whom they got it. It’s best to
keep on the safe side, and so I will hold my tongue until I have a
chance to speak to Hastings and Sheldon in private. We have received
warning, and if they beat us, it will be our own fault.”
“We were just going over to ask you three fellows to come out and take a
spin with us,” exclaimed Hastings. “We have had our eyes on you, and to
tell you the truth, we don’t quite like the way you handle those paddles
of yours.”
“Of course we don’t ask you to do your best—indeed we would be foolish
to expect it,” chimed in Sheldon. “But still we should like to try a few
short races with you, if you don’t mind.”
“We shall be glad of the chance to see how much we lack of being good
canoeists,” said Loren, readily. “We’ll walk back and go around the foot
of the lake—”
“Oh, no,” interrupted Joe. “That’s too hard work, and besides it would
take up too much time. There’s my skiff. We can put her into the water
and step the mast in a minute, and she’ll take you over flying. Come in
here; I want to show you something. We three belong to the committee
which was appointed to draw up a programme for the meet,” added Joe,
taking a folded paper from a little writing desk that stood in one
corner of the boat-house, “and here’s what we shall submit to the club
at the next meeting.”
Tom Bigden and the Farnsworth boys ran their eyes over the paper, and
the only things they found in it that possessed any particular interest
for them were the following:
“_Portage race._—Paddle a quarter of a mile, carry canoe twenty-five
yards over a stony point, re-embark and paddle back to starting point.
“_Single paddling race._—Half a mile and return.
“_Hurry-Skurry race._—Run ten yards, swim twenty-five yards, paddle
three hundred yards.”
These were the ones, as we know, which Tom and his cousins had “booked”
themselves to win. Then there were sailing races, tandem races, and boys
and girls’ races; and the meet was to wind up with a greasy pole walk.
“You fellows must certainly enter for that,” said Sheldon. “You have no
idea how much sport there is in it. Some of the Mount Airy people say
that it is the best part of the performance.”
Tom replied that he did not know just what a greasy pole walk was, and
reminded Sheldon that he and his cousins were not yet members of the
club.
“But you will be members before the day set for the races, you may be
sure of that,” said Joe. “I’ll propose you at the next meeting, and I
know there will not be a dissenting vote.”
“I wish you could give us the same assurance in regard to the archery
club,” said Tom.
“So do I, but I can’t,” answered Joe; and then, as if that were a
subject that he could not talk about just at that time, he hastened to
add: “I can soon tell you what a greasy pole walk is. Did you notice
that high derrick built on the end of our pier? Well, a long, stout spar
is run out from that derrick, and after being braced and guyed so
securely that it will not sway about under any reasonable weight, it is
thickly covered with slush to make it slippery. There is a prize of some
sort at the outer end of it, and the boy who can walk along the pole and
capture that prize before he falls off into the water, is the best
fellow.”
“What is the prize?” inquired Ralph.
“Last year there were so many lucky fellows that we had to provide
several of them,” was the reply. “The one that created the most fun was
a pig in a bag. Noble captured that, and I tell you he had a time of it.
You see, the pig was greased as well as the pole, and the bag was tied
in such a way that when Noble dived for it—that was the only way he
could get hold of it, you know—the mouth of the bag opened and the pig
slipped out. Then the uproar began. Noble, who is a plucky fellow and a
splendid swimmer, didn’t know that the pig was greased, and he tried for
a long time to tow him ashore by one of his hind legs, but, of course,
he couldn’t do it. At last he began to suspect something, and the way he
larruped that pig over the head with the bag to make him turn toward the
shore, was a caution. He finally succeeded in his object, and the
instant the pig’s feet touched the beach, Noble sprung up, threw the bag
over his head and secured him easy enough. Whatever you do, you mustn’t
miss the greasy pole walk.”
“I suppose we shall be laughed at if we tumble off the pole into the
water?”
“Certainly. That isn’t down in the programme, but it is a part of it,
all the same.”
“How many trials does each contestant have?”
“Only two. You see, there are so many of us and so much fun in trying to
secure the prize, that if we didn’t set some limit to the number of
trials, the boys would keep on trying for an indefinite length of time.”
While the boys were talking in this way they had pushed Joe’s skiff out
of the boat-house into the water, stepped the mast and unfurled the sail
that was wrapped around it. Every thing being ready for the start, the
little fleet set out for the opposite side of the lake, Tom and his
cousins in the skiff, and Joe and his companions in their canoes. The
skiff was made fast to Mr. Bigden’s pier, and a quarter of an hour later
three more canoes shot out of the boat-house, and the trials of speed
began. They continued nearly all the afternoon, and when the rival
factions bade each other good-night and paddled off toward their
respective boat-houses, there was a decided feeling of uneasiness among
some of them, while the others were correspondingly confident and happy.
“It doesn’t seem possible that this is Bigden’s first season in a
canoe,” said Sheldon, as soon as Tom and his cousins were out of
hearing. “He is going to crowd the best of us this year, and if he keeps
up his practice until the next meet, there won’t be a boy in the club
who can touch him with a ten-foot pole. He’s going to make an expert.”
“I’ll just tell you what’s a fact,” said Loren, after the canoes had
been wiped out and hoisted in their slings, “I am not so much afraid of
Joe and his crowd as I was. I don’t think there will be any need of the
fouling business. I kept pace with Hastings in spite of all he could do
to shake me off, and could have passed him if I had let out a little
more strength.”
“That shows how much you know about these things,” said Tom, in reply.
“Do you suppose that Hastings did the best he could? I kept up with Joe
without any very great exertion, but I don’t crow over it. They had
plenty of speed in reserve, but you will have to wait till the day of
the races if you want to see what they are capable of.”
The sequel proved that Tom was right.