_In which the Steamer St. Paul and a tramp lend their aid to the
Bright-eyed Goddess._
“I say,” observed Abe presently, “you can row some!”
“What do you think I’ve been going to school for?” retorted the dainty
youngster, as with even and strong stroke he sent the boat flying down
the current.
“What are you giving us? There ain’t no rowing-schools.”
“It may be, fair sir,” answered Clarence, “that there be no schools with
that precise name; at the same time, I don’t mind telling you that for
the past three years I’ve been attending Clermont Academy in New York
State, a young gentleman’s boarding school, as the prospectus says,
where for the trifling sum of nine hundred dollars a year, cash in
advance semi-annually, I have learned to play handball, baseball,
football, lawn tennis, basket-ball, hurdling, shot-throwing, swimming,
skating, and a few other little things like that.”
“You call that a school?” exclaimed Abe, his large nose curling in
disdain.
“Everybody calls it a school,” answered Clarence, blithely, “even the
babes in their mothers’ arms.”
“What about readin’, ’ritin’ and ’rithmetic?” continued the incredulous
steersman.
“Oh, we’ve got all that, too; if we want that sort of thing. We can’t be
running and jumping all day, you know.”
“That’s a measly school,” continued Abe.
“Awful sorry you don’t like it. Of course, you don’t have to come.”
“No school for me,” said Abe emphatically. “Say, why ain’t you at school
now?”
“Because my ma and my pa are over here visiting. They’re going West as
far as the coast, and my pa’s taking me along so’s he’ll know me next
time he sees me. And my ma says she’s real anxious to make my
acquaintance.”
“You don’t mean to say you don’t know your own pa and your own ma?”
cried the scandalized Abe.
“Well, I haven’t seen ’em ever since I was eleven. A boy changes a good
deal in three years. My ma didn’t change so much. But she says she’d
hardly know me. I say, this river looks fine! How is it for swimming?”
“Mighty bad,” answered Abe, his power of invention beginning to stir.
“If you don’t know this river, you’re just as like as not to get
drownded. It looks all right,” continued the young vagabond, warming up
to his theme; “but it’s full of sink-holes and places that suck you
down. Don’t you ever go in this river unless you know some one who can
show you a safe spot. You see that little house there, with the red
roof?”
“It appears to me I do.”
“Well, the other day, three guys who didn’t know nothing about this
river went in swimming just in front of it. All three went down, and
they never come up no more.”
“What!” cried Clarence, resting on his oars and losing something of his
color.
“Yes, sir,” Abe affirmed, regretting now that he hadn’t made it six or
seven boys. “And their fathers all came here to see what could be done,
and one of them went in and he was drownded too. It’s a mighty dangerous
river in these parts.”
“That settles it,” said Clarence, resuming his rowing with a sigh. “I’ll
not take the swim today that I promised myself.”
“Oh, I can fix that,” said Abe, “I know a place right down by Pictured
Rocks where a hen wouldn’t mind swimming; it’s so safe. Oh, look!” he
continued, “here comes the St. Paul.”
“What? Where?” cried Clarence, once more relinquishing the oars and
craning his neck. “By George! That’s worth seeing. Where is it from?”
“From St. Louis. It’s a passenging boat and is going to St. Paul.”
The approaching steamboat, just turned a bend, was quite near them.
“Aha!” cried Clarence, picking up the oars and becoming melodramatic.
“There she is! I can see her. Somewhere, Master Abe, in that boat is the
bright-eyed goddess of adventure, and I’m going to meet her.” As he
spoke he set vigorously to rowing out towards mid-stream.
“Say, you boob,” roared Abe, dropping his paddle in dismay: “You’re
going to get run down. Do you want to get drownded?”
“Not at all. Now just sit tight, don’t rock the boat, and let me do it
all by myself. We’re going to shoot right across her bow. You just leave
it to me. We can do it easily.”
They were now quite near the steamer and it looked to Abe, as it looked
to the captain of the boat, as though the little craft were almost
certain of being run down. Abe fell back, his cheeks grew white, his
teeth chattered; he turned his face from the approaching vessel.
Meantime, there was a whistle, a clanging of bells, and hurried
movements on the St. Paul. As the forward deck filled with excited
passengers, the steamboat came almost to a full stop; observing which
Mister Clarence, who had been rowing with all his might and main,
lessened his efforts most perceptibly, and gazed enquiringly at the big
boat.
“Say, do you know, Abe, I believe that boat’s in trouble? Maybe they
want our help.”
Abe sat up and once more took notice.
“You young jackass!” roared the captain leaning as far as it was safe
over the deck.
“Which one of us do you mean, sir?” asked Clarence.
“_You_, gosh blame you! _You_, drat your hide! If there were more idiots
on this river like you, I’d give it up and take to farming. I’ve stopped
my boat on your account.”
“Go right ahead, sir. I didn’t want you to stop.”
Clarence beamed kindly on the captain, smiled upon the passengers, and
doffed his cap. There came a cheer from the deck, Clarence hummed
“Ta-ra-ra-boom-de-ay,” and presently the two adventurers had the river
to themselves.
“He said you were a young jackass,” said Abe presently.
“Yes, I noticed.”
“Well, you are.”
“Why, I could have made that easily. There was no danger at all. He had
no business to stop that old boat of his. I didn’t ask him to. And then
he goes and calls me names.”
“He said you were an idiot,” pursued Abe.
“That’s nothing. I’ve heard that before. Nearly all my friends say
things like that to me.”
“I’ll not go rowing with you again, you big boob.”
“You’ll not get the chance. I’m off for the Coast at noon-time.”
“Here we are,” cried Abe presently, steering towards the shore. “This is
the place that leads up to Pictured Rocks.”
“Hurrah for Pictured Rocks!” shouted Clarence, bringing with a few swift
strokes the boat well up on the beach. “And what are Pictured Rocks
anyhow?”
“The folks round here,” answered Abe, as he took the oars from the boat
and carefully hid them in the undergrowth near the shore, “calls ’em
Pictured Rocks, because the rocks up this here hill instead of being
white like other rocks is in layers of red and orange and blue and all
sorts of colors between, and they says that the Injuns used to come here
and use the stuff of the rocks for war-paint.”
“Well,” said Clarence, blithely turning a few cartwheels on reaching the
bank, “I’m ready for your Pictured Rocks. Do you think I’ll find the
bright-eyed goddess of adventure amongst them?”
“I dunno. Come right along; we can get up there in about fifteen
minutes.”
But the bright-eyed goddess of adventure was nearer than Clarence
fancied. She took, on this occasion, the guise of a tramp, who, making
his way along the railroad ties of the Chicago, Milwaukee, and St. Paul
towards McGregor and chancing to see a youth in a white sailor-suit,
thought it worth his while to pause upon his weary journey.
Abe led the way. He passed the tracks unnoticed by the road adventurer.
Clarence, pausing at every other step to take in the view, presently
followed.
“Say, young feller, could I say a word to you?”
“Make it a dozen, while you’re about it,” answered Clarence, gazing at
the long-haired, unshorn, shabby, middle-aged man before him.
“I ain’t had nothing to eat since last night. Could you spare me a
dime?”
“With pleasure,” responded the youth, taking out as he spoke a handful
of coin, selecting a quarter and handing it over to the hungry one.
The sight of money brings a strange light into certain eyes. The tramp’s
were of that kind.
“You’re carrying too much money for a kid. Give me some more,” he said.
“Skiddoo! Hump yourself!” yelled Abe from a safe distance.
Clarence was looking hard at his new acquaintance. There was no
mistaking the glint in the fellow’s eye. The beggar had developed into
the highwayman.
“Excuse me!” said Clarence, and turning tail he dashed down the track.
The tramp had a good pair of legs in excellent condition from much
travel. He was quick to the pursuit.
“Run faster!” roared Abe, content to give advice. “He’s catching up.”
Clarence had a start of nearly ten yards; but before he had gone far, it
grew clear to him that his pursuer was no mean runner. Nearer and nearer
drew the tramp. The race could not last much longer.
Suddenly Clarence stopped, whirled around, and before his pursuer could
realize the turn of events, plunged through the air, landing with both
arms about the astounded man’s knees. The tramp went down with a
suddenness to which few men are accustomed, and, assisted by a quick
shove from the boy’s agile arm, started rolling from the tracks down an
incline of some fifteen feet. By the time he had arisen to a sitting
posture below and passed his hand over the several bruises on his head,
the boy was back with Abe and lustily making his way up the hillside.
The tramp saw him, no more; but as he rose to resume his wearied
journey, he heard a blithe voice far up the hillside carolling forth:
“Ta-ra-ra-boom-de-ay,
Ta-ra-ra-boom-de-ay,
Ta-ra-ra-boom-de-ay,
Ta-ra-ra-boom-de-ay!”