_In Which Jimmie Grimm Surprises a Secret, Jim Grimm makes
a Rash Promise, and a Tourist From the States Discovers
the Marks of Tog's Teeth_
With spring came the great disappointment. The snow melted from the
hills; wild flowers blossomed where the white carpet had lain; the ice
was ready to break and move out to sea with the next wind from the
west. There were no more foxes to be caught. Jim Grimm bundled the
skins, strapped them on his back, and took them to the storekeeper at
Shelter Harbour, five miles up the coast; and when their value had
been determined he came home disconsolate.
Jimmie's mother had been watching from the window. "Well?" she said,
when the man came in.
"'Tis not enough," he groaned. "I'm sorry, mum; but 'tis not enough."
She said nothing, but waited for him to continue; for she feared to
give him greater distress.
"'Twas a fair price he gave me," Jim Grimm continued. "I'm not
complainin' o' that. But there's not enough t' do more than keep us in
food, with pinchin', till we sells the fish in the fall. I'm sick,
mum--I'm fair sick an' miserable along o' disappointment."
"'Tis sad t' think," said the mother, "that Jimmie's not t' be
cured--after all."
"For the want o' twelve dollars!" he sighed.
They were interrupted by the clatter of Jimmie's crutches, coming in
haste from the inner room. Then entered Jimmie.
"I heered what you said," he cried, his eyes blazing, his whole worn
little body fairly quivering with excitement. "I heered you say
'cure.' Is I t' be cured?"
They did not answer.
"Father! Mama! Did you say I was t' be cured?"
"Hush, dear!" said the mother.
"I can't hush. I wants t' know. Father, tell me. Is I t' be cured?"
"Jim," said the mother to Jim Grimm, "tell un."
"You is!" Jim shouted, catching Jimmie in his arms, and rocking him
like a baby. "You _is_ t' be cured. Debt or no debt, lad, I'll see
you cured!"
* * * * *
The matter of credit was easily managed. The old storekeeper at
Shelter Harbour did not hesitate. Credit? Of course, he would give Jim
Grimm that. "Jim," said he, "I've knowed you for a long time, an' I
knows you t' be a good man. I'll fit you out for the summer an' the
winter, if you wants me to, an' you can take your own time about
payin' the bill." And so Jim Grimm withdrew twelve dollars from the
credit of his account.
They began to keep watch on the ice--to wish for a westerly gale, that
the white waste might be broken and dispersed.
"Father," said Jimmie, one night, when the man was putting him to bed,
"how long will it be afore that there Kurepain comes?"
"I 'low the steamer'll soon be here."
"Ay?"
"An' then she'll take the letter with the money."
"Ay?"
"An' she'll be gone about a month an' a fortnight, an' then she'll be
back with----"
"The cure!" cried Jimmie, giving his father an affectionate dig in
the ribs. "She'll be back with the cure!"
"Go t' sleep, lad."
"I can't," Jimmie whispered. "I can't for joy o' thinkin' o' that
cure."
* * * * *
By and by the ice moved out, and, in good time, the steamer came. It
was at the end of a blustering day, with the night falling thick.
Passengers and crew alike--from the grimy stokers to the shivering
American tourists--were relieved to learn, when the anchor went down
with a splash and a rumble, that the "old man" was to "hang her down"
until the weather turned "civil."
Accompanied by the old schoolmaster, who was to lend him aid in
registering the letter to the Kurepain Company, Jim Grimm went aboard
in the punt. It was then dark.
"You knows a Yankee when you sees one," said he, when they reached the
upper deck. "Point un out, an' I'll ask un."
"Ay, _I'm_ travelled," said the schoolmaster, importantly. "And
'twould be wise to ask about this Kurepain Company before you post the
letter."
Thus it came about that Jim Grimm timidly approached two gentlemen who
were chatting merrily in the lee of the wheel-house.
"Do you know the Kurepain, sir?" he asked.
"Eh? What?" the one replied.
"Hook's, sir."
"Hook's? In the name of wonder, man, Hook's what?"
"Kurepain, sir."
"Hook's Kurepain," said the stranger. "Doctor," addressing his
companion, "do you recommend----"
The doctor shrugged his shoulders.
"Then you do not?" said the other.
The doctor eyed Jim Grimm. "Why do you ask?" he inquired.
"'Tis for me little son, sir," Jim replied. "He've a queer sort o'
rheumaticks. We're thinkin' the Kurepain will cure un. It have cured a
Minister o' the Gospel, sir, an' a Champion o' the World; an' we was
allowin' that it wouldn't have much trouble t' cure little Jimmie
Grimm. They's as much as twelve dollars, sir, in this here letter,
which I'm sendin' away. I'm wantin' t' know, sir, if they'll send the
cure if I sends the money."
The doctor was silent for a moment. "Where do you live?" he asked, at
last.
Jim pointed to a far-off light. "Jimmie will be at that window," he
said, "lookin' out at the steamer's lights."
"Do you care for a run ashore?" asked the doctor, turning to his
fellow tourist.
"If it would not overtax you."
"No, no--I'm strong enough, now. The voyage has put me on my feet
again. Come--let us go."
Jim Grimm took them ashore in the punt; guided them along the winding,
rocky path; led them into the room where Jimmie sat at the window. The
doctor felt of Jimmie's knee, and asked him many questions. Then he
held a whispered consultation with his companion and the schoolmaster;
and of their conversation Jimmie caught such words and phrases as
"slight operation" and "chloroform" and "that table" and "poor light,
but light enough" and "rough and ready sort of work" and "no danger."
Then Jim Grimm was dispatched to the steamer with the doctor's friend;
and when they came back the man carried a bag in his hand. The doctor
asked Jimmie a question, and Jimmie nodded his head. Whereupon, the
doctor called him a brave lad, and sent Jim Grimm out to the kitchen
to keep his wife company for a time, first requiring him to bring a
pail of water and another lamp.
When they called Jim Grimm in again--he knew what they were about, and
it seemed a long, long time before the call came--little Jimmie was
lying on the couch, sick and pale, with his knee tightly bandaged, but
with his eyes glowing.
"Mama! Father!" the boy whispered, exultantly. "They says I'm cured."
"Yes," said the doctor; "he'll be all right, now. His trouble was not
rheumatism. It was caused by a fragment of the bone, broken off at the
knee-joint. At least, that's as plain as I can make it to you. He was
bitten by a dog, was he not? So he says. And he remembers that he felt
a stab of pain in his knee at the time. That or the fall probably
accounts for it. At any rate, I have removed that fragment. He'll be
all right, after a bit. I've told the schoolmaster how to take care of
him, and I'll leave some medicine, and--well--he'll soon be all
right."
When the doctor was about to step from the punt to the steamer's
ladder, half an hour later, Jim Grimm held up a letter to him.
"'Tis for you, sir," he said.
"What's this?" the doctor demanded.
"'Tis for you to keep, sir," Jim answered, with dignity. "'Tis the
money for the work you done."
"Money!" cried the doctor. "Why, really," he stammered, "I--you see,
this is my vacation--and I----"
"I 'low, sir," said Jim, quietly, "that you'll 'blige me."
"Well, well!" exclaimed the doctor, being wise, "that I will!"
Jimmie Grimm got well long before it occurred to his father that the
fishing at Buccaneer Cove was poor and that he might do better
elsewhere.