A MYSTERIOUS PASSENGER
Tom’s sudden resolve came rather as a shock to his chum, Jack, and the
latter, after his first expression of approval, began to wonder if the
plan would prove practical.
“But how are you going to do it, Tom?” he asked. “Have you money enough
to charter a steamer?”
“No, not exactly, though I guess I could raise it if I had to, for,
since he got this Australian property, dad will have quite a fortune.
But that won’t be necessary.”
“How else are you going to rescue them?”
“Well, I don’t exactly know,” admitted Tom frankly. “I just can’t wait
quietly around here, doing nothing. I’m going to start for Australia,
anyhow, and maybe some plan will come to me on the way.”
“But it seems to me,” insisted Jack, practically, “that you ought to
have some definite plan.”
“Well, I have, part of one,” went on Tom. “I’m going to Sydney, unless
I find them drifting around before I get there. I’ll pick out some
steamer that will go as near as possible to the latitude and longitude
mentioned in the dispatch, as being where the wreckage was picked up.
Maybe I can induce the captain to cruise around there for a while, even
if I have to pay for lost time.
“Anyhow, if I don’t locate them before, I’ll go on to Sydney, and there
I’ll hire some sort of a vessel, and set out in search of my folks.”
“That sounds reasonable,” admitted Jack. “I only wish I could go with
you. But I’m afraid my folks wouldn’t let me.”
“I wish you could go, too,” spoke Tom. “But I guess it’s out of the
question. Besides, you’ve got your school career to think of. Leaving
now, just before the spring term, might put you back, and you’d be a
Freshman for two years.”
“I shouldn’t mind that. Still, I won’t think of going. But if I can do
anything for you, don’t hesitate to let me know.”
“I won’t,” promised Tom, and then, when a telegram had been sent to
Mr. Fitch, telling him of Tom’s resolution, the two boys returned to
school. But it was not to resume study, for there was much to be done.
Tom at once told his plans to Doctor Meredith, and the head master
agreed that Tom could scarcely do otherwise than go. He made
arrangements to excuse him from his classes, and Jack began to help
his chum to pack.
Word soon got around the Hall of Tom’s trouble and the fact that he was
to leave at once was talked of on all sides. His room became a Mecca
for fond friends, from every class in Elmwood Hall.
“By Jove, Tommy!” exclaimed Reddy Burke, one of the best athletes
in the school. “It’s a crying shame to have you leave now, and the
baseball season soon to start.”
“Well, I’ve just got to go,” insisted our hero.
“Oh, sure. Well, we’ll have a little celebration in your honor before
you leave. Sure any lad that could get up a strike against Mr. Skeel
deserves to have a gold medal. And I say, Tommy,” went on Reddy, “bring
me back a pet snake, or a rabbit or something from Australia; will you?”
“I’ll try,” promised Tom, and he laughed a little--the first time since
he had received the bad news, for Reddy was a jolly soul.
Tom found it impossible to leave that day, and that night, in spite of
rules and regulations to the contrary, there was a spread in the room
of Tom and Jack, and in the apartment of Bert Wilson, a communicating
door being opened for the occasion.
Though the sadness of Tom’s leaving was felt there could not be
all gloom and sadness where so many congenial spirits were gathered
together. Tom was toasted again and again, and the best of wishes were
expressed in his behalf. He made a brief address, and said he hoped
he’d meet them all again soon.
“For He’s a Jolly Good Fellow!” some one started, and it was loudly
sung. And the odd part of it was that no one came to break up the
little gathering.
True a monitor did hear the unusual and forbidden noise in the rooms,
but, being both wise and sympathetic, he said nothing, and no report
reached the proctor. Demosthenes Miller, the studious janitor, was a
guest at the farewell supper, and made a speech in what he said was
Latin, but--well, he is such a good chap, and was such a friend to the
students, that I’m not going to say anything unpleasant about him.
And so, after all, in spite of Tom’s sad heart, he could not help
feeling a little better as he was a witness to the love of his
classmates.
“Well, it’s good-bye, old man!” exclaimed Jack a bit solemnly the next
morning, as the time for parting came. Several others, deeming their
farewell of the night before not enough, also came in to shake hands.
“I’ll see you again--some time,” faltered Tom.
He went to bid good-bye to Doctor Meredith, and his own particular
professors, and then hurried on to the station, with Jack Fitch as his
only companion.
They parted with a handshake, and with moist eyes, and lumps in their
throats.
“Good--good luck!” stammered Jack.
“Thanks,” murmured Tom, and then his train pulled out, and Tom had
started on his long journey.
A week later found him in San Francisco, the trip across the continent
having been without special incident. He had stopped in New York, to
see Jack’s father, and Mr. Fitch had given him some good advice, and
letters to his agent in Sydney.
“And now to hunt for a ship that will take me where I want to go,”
mused Tom, as he left his baggage at a hotel and started for the
waterfront.
Tom was well supplied with money, and had drafts and letters of credit
for a larger amount. His father had left funds in his name in their
local bank on leaving for Australia, and also instructions with his
business partner to supply Tom with as much cash as was necessary in
case of emergency.
The news of the possible loss of the _Kangaroo_ was held by Mr.
Fairfield’s partner to be an emergency, and Tom had drawn on the
reserve account.
Following the advice of Mr. Fitch, Tom sought out a certain San
Francisco steamship agency and told of his needs.
“Hum,” mused the manager when Tom had given the longitude and latitude
where the wreckage had been sighted. “That’s in the vicinity of the
Eastern Group of the Friendly Islands, as near as I can make out,” and
he consulted a chart. “We don’t have many vessels hitting just at that
particular spot in the ocean. Still--hum--let me see.”
He looked over a sailing list, made some notes, looked again at the
chart and announced:
“Well, I guess the _Silver Star_ would about hit what you want. She’s
not a very large steamer, but she’s comparatively new, and a good safe
boat. Captain’s nice man, too. She doesn’t carry many passengers, but
her berths are not all filled, and I guess they can make room for you.
If you want to stand the expense I can arrange to have the captain
cruise about in the vicinity of those islands for a day or so.”
“I’ll stand the expense!” cried Tom eagerly. “We may sight something!”
“All right. Then I’ll draw up the papers. The _Silver Star_ sails in
six days from now.”
Those six days Tom spent in San Francisco, seeing the sights of the
place, and fretting and worrying that time did not pass faster.
Tom made the acquaintance of Captain Amos Steerit, the master of the
_Silver Star_, and at once took a liking to him. Our hero went on board
several times, when the steamer was loading at her wharf, and made
friends with some of the crew.
At last sailing day came, and the bustle and confusion that had been
going on for some time seemed redoubled. But there was a certain order
about the proceedings, and at last everything had been done.
“I wonder if that fellow is ever coming?” murmured the captain, as he
stood on the bridge, waiting to give the word to cast off.
“Who?” asked Tom, as he stood beside the skipper, for being a sort of
privileged character, our hero was allowed certain liberties.
“Oh, a passenger who is going to Honolulu, and who engaged a berth by
wire. He said he couldn’t come on board until the last minute, but it’s
past that now. Ah, maybe this is he coming now.”
Down the wharf came a rather stout man, followed by a stevedore
carrying a steamer trunk. There was a certain familiar air about the
approaching figure, and Tom found himself wondering where he had seen
the man before. The glimpse of the face he had, however, was not
enlightening, and our hero soon turned his attention elsewhere, for
the getting of the ship under way was somewhat of a novelty to him.
“Well, you finally got here, I see,” half growled the captain from the
bridge, as the belated passenger came on board.
“Yes, I--that is I--well, I came as soon as I could,” said the man,
pantingly.
Tom wheeled at the sound of the voice, but he had no chance for a close
inspection of the man’s face. For, no sooner had our hero shown his
curiosity, than the passenger turned, and fairly ran toward the berth
deck, at the same time calling:
“See you later, captain! I have forgotten something.”
“Well, it’s too late now, if it’s got anything to do with going
ashore!” cried the commander. “Haul in that gang plank there!” and he
swung the engine room telegraph lever over to half speed ahead. The
_Silver Star_ began slowly to leave her dock, while Tom found himself
wondering who the mysterious passenger could be.
“But it doesn’t concern me,” he mused. “I’ve got enough other troubles.”
If Tom had only known, though, the belated passenger did concern him,
and vitally, too.