IN WHICH IS SHOWN THE RESULT OF A BAD BEGINNING
Paul's face was convulsed with passion, and when he was in a rage he
lost all control to his tongue, using language that was simply frightful
from a boy brought up in a decent home. And at this particular time he
was so enraged that he forgot to be afraid! He rushed at me the instant
he regained his feet, his arms beating the air like those of a windmill.
He was a lubberly fellow at best and the sloop, with the tiller swinging
as it listed, was kicking and jumping like a restive pony. I squared off
at him in proper form, and when he came within reach I landed a second
blow which likewise sent him to the deck.
I glanced hurriedly about. The Wavecrest was some distance from any of
the other craft beating into the harbor. The sun had set long since and
the moon, a great, round target of silver, was rising out of the sea,
its light shimmering across the heaving liquid plain. A more peaceful
scene one could scarcely imagine, and somehow it took the heat of
passion out of me.
"Hold on, Paul! we mustn't fight like this," I said, as he rose again,
the blood running from his nose and his cheek swollen as though he had a
walnut in it.
"You're goin' to _crawl_ now, are ye?" he yelled.
"It's foolish and wicked for us to act like this," said I, hastily.
"What will your father and my mother say?"
"I don't care what they say!" he shouted, wildly. "I'll make you wish
you'd never struck me, Clint Webb."
He sprang aft again. I caught the glimmer of moonlight upon something he
clutched in his hand. "What are you doing, Paul?" I cried.
But he plunged toward me, his dark features writhing in passion. At the
moment Paul Downes was a murderer at heart; although I believed I could
beat him in any fair fight, the weapon in his hand frightened me.
"Put it down, Paul! Put it down!" I begged of him. But he was on top of
me in a breath and we rolled over and over in the sloop's cockpit. Why
it was that he did not seriously injure me, I cannot tell to this day!
He struck at me viciously a dozen times; but by a miracle I escaped even
a scratch.
Suddenly I caught his wrist, twisting it so that the open claspknife
shot out of his hand. The relief I felt at this must have renewed my
strength. In another instant I had rolled him over upon his face and
knelt upon him so that he could not move. There was a piece of codline
in my pocket and I had his wrists knotted behind him in short order--nor
was I particular whether I hurt him, or not! Then I stood up and rolled
him over with my foot.
"There!" I panted; "if ever a fellow deserved jailing, you're that
fellow, Paul Downes."
"I'll fix you for this! I'll fix you for this!" he kept blubbering.
I was bruised and lame myself (especially where Paul had kicked me in
the leg) and now I discovered that my right coatsleeve was slit from the
shoulder to the wrist. I had just escaped suffering a dangerous wound.
"Aren't you a pretty fellow?" I said, showing him this rent.
"I wish I'd got you!" he snarled so viciously that I was really
startled.
"You won't feel that way when you cool down," I said.
"I won't cool down. I'll get square with you for this if I wait ten
years," he declared.
"You're for all the world like your father," I said, hotly; "and he's as
revengeful a person as I ever saw."
"Is that so?" retorted Paul. "Well, he isn't like your father was--_he_
had to commit suicide to get out of trouble----"
"What do you mean?" I cried, amazed.
But Paul bit his lip and fell silent. He nevertheless looked at me with
so threatening a scowl that, had he not been tied hard and fast, I
should have been on the lookout for another cowardly attack.
"What nonsense is that you said?" I repeated. "What do you know about my
father?"
"Wouldn't you like to know?" returned my cousin, sullenly.
I recovered myself then, believing he was only trying to fret me. "You
needn't talk nonsense," I said. "If you mean to say that my father made
way with himself, why you're simply silly! Everybody knows that he was
drowned while fishing, over there off White Rock."
"So everybody knows it, hey?" he responded, with a most exasperating air
of knowing something that _I_ didn't know. "All right. I'm glad that
folks know so much. But let me tell you, Clint Webb, that you and your
ma'd be paupers now if he hadn't got drowned as he did. It was the only
thing he could do."
"You'd better drop it," I advised him, scornfully. "You'd much better be
thinking of what will happen to you because of this evening's work. You
can't bother me by any such silly talk."
"Oh, I can't hey?" he snarled in a tone that, defenceless as he was,
tempted me to kick him.
But just then the sail of the sloop began to fill. I ran to the tiller
and brought her head around. A little breeze had sprung up and the
Wavecrest was under good way again. In a few moments we passed the
light at the entrance to the harbor, and tacked for our anchorage. My
mother's property did not include shore rights, so we had no private
landing at which to tie the sloop, but moored her at a buoy in the quiet
cove near the ferry dock.
"What do you mean to do with me?" asked Paul, having been mighty quiet
for the last few minutes.
"I'm going to march you up to the house and hand you over to your
father. And if I have any influence with mother at all, both you and he
will pack your dunnage and leave in the morning."
He fell silent again until I had dropped the sail and picked up our
float. When the Wavecrest was fast he asked more meekly:
"Aren't you going to take this cord off my wrist?"
"No. You're going up to the house in just that fix."
"I won't do it!" he cried with a sudden burst of rage.
"Then you'll stay here while I go up and tell them where you are."
He didn't like that idea, either, and whined: "Don't be so mean, Clint.
I don't want to go up to the house this way. What will folks think?"
"'What will folks think?'" I repeated in amazement. "I s'pose that's the
first thing you'd worried about if you'd cut me with that knife."
He said no more, but he gave me a threatening look which, had I been of
a nervous temperament, might have kept me awake nights. When I drew the
tender alongside he stepped in without further urging and sat down in
the stern. I rowed ashore. Fortunately for the tender feelings of my
cousin there wasn't a soul in sight when we landed. I fastened the boat,
and then, with the oars on my shoulder and the slack of the codline in
my hand, start him up the shell road.
"Let me go, Clint," he begged again.
"Not for Joe!"
"Then you'll be sorry the longest day you live," he cried, his ugly face
suddenly convulsed.
And he was right; but I did not believe it at the time.