eyes shone when he promised to bake a cake, but when Sandy reminded him
that he would have to do it with burned flour, a sly look came over his
face and he pointed an accusing finger at the blond youth and shouted,
“It’s all his fault, Skipper! There’s the culprit! That’s the landlubber
who burned down my nice, new galley!”
Sandy grinned happily. “Honestly, Cookie, you should have been an actor.
Why, I almost believed those things you said about me, myself.” His face
turned serious. “How did you know about Mr. Briggs and Captain West,
anyway?”
“I heard ’em talking,” Cookie said simply. “The night of the fire, you
put me in the mate’s cabin, remember? Well, it was after they called you
in that I overheard them talking about Mr. Kennedy selling out to
Chadwick.” Cookie struck his fist into his palm savagely. “Chadwick!” he
said. “Me sail on another Chadwicker? I’d sooner die on land! No, sir,
Sandy, when I heard that, I knew I had to help you. I told myself I’d
swim all the way to Buffalo with you on my back, if it meant blocking
that deal.”
“But you can’t swim, Cookie.”
“No matter,” the little man said grimly. “I’d’ve done it. I’d do
anything, before I’d sail a Chadwicker again.”
Of course, that unhappy notion was no longer a possibility—not after the
scene which took place in Mr. Kennedy’s office several hours after Sandy
and Cookie and Sam had gone below to break the news to Jerry James.
Mr. Paul Chadwick had arrived and been ushered into Mr. Kennedy’s
conference room, where the lawyers of both firms had assembled to handle
the details of the sale. Mr. Chadwick came striding in. He was a fat,
pompous man with pouches beneath his pale eyes. He had a sharp way of
speaking and he ordered his employees around as if he thought they
belonged to him, body and soul.
“Well, Kennedy,” he shot out as he took a seat at the table, “I presume
everything is in readiness?”
“Yes, Paul,” Mr. Kennedy said softly. “Everything is set.”
“Good. All right, Cogswell,” he snapped, turning to one of his lawyers.
“Let’s have the papers. Quick, man! The papers. Don’t dawdle like a
kindergarten child; give me the papers!”
Red-faced, the lawyer pulled a legal-looking document from his brief
case and passed it to Mr. Chadwick. In the embarrassed silence that
followed, the only sound that could be heard was the scratching of Mr.
Chadwick’s pen as he hurriedly signed his name.
“Here, John,” he said grandly, passing the document across the table.
“Now, you sign right there. And, then, the Kennedy boats will belong to
me.”
“I think not, Paul,” Mr. Kennedy said easily as he accepted the papers
and tore them swiftly in two. “I think they’ll still belong to me.”
He handed the torn contract back to his astounded shipping rival. Mr.
Chadwick stared at the pieces in disbelief.
“But this is preposterous!” he shouted. “You can’t do this to me! You
agreed to sell, Kennedy. Why, why,” he spluttered, his cheeks puffing
out like a frog’s, “why, I’ll sue!”
“Go ahead, Paul,” Mr. Kennedy said, getting to his feet. “And, by the
way, you may be getting busy soon, shipping all that new, high-grade ore
down from the Mesabi—as I expect to—and you may find yourself in need of
a skipper or a mate.” He smiled. “I know just the men for you, Paul.
Fine, dependable men—men like Captain West or Mr. Briggs.”
A shadow of dismay passed over Mr. Chadwick’s pale eyes. Without a word,
he jumped to his feet and hurried from the room.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Safe in Port
That night, under a star-dusted sky, with the lights of Buffalo to guide
her and beckon her on, the battered _James Kennedy_ limped into port.
And waiting to greet her, in addition to her owner and his personal
physician, was a throng of chattering newspaper reporters and
photographers. The tale of the _James Kennedy_’s ordeal at sea had
preceded her. Even as the vessel was slowly warped into her berth,
photographers raced alongside her in excitement-eagerly snapping
pictures of her damaged superstructure with its wrecked pilothouse. The
flashing of their light bulbs added to the general air of excitement.
The moment the ship was securely in port, the newspapermen came hurrying
up the gangplank.
“Where’s the skipper?” they shouted. “Where’s Captain West?”
“There he is!” one of them shouted in dismay. “He’s gone ashore
already.”
True enough. The moment the newshawks had come aboard the _James
Kennedy_ and spilled over her decks, Captain West had seized the chance
to slip down the gangplank. Now he was hastening out of sight. He all
but broke into a run when he heard the yell of the newsman who had
identified him. But he slowed again when he saw that his path would take
him past Mr. John Kennedy, the employer he had attempted to betray. His
step faltered. He tried to lift his eyes to the level of Mr. Kennedy’s,
to brazen it out. But he could not. His gaze fell.
He slunk by and disappeared in the darkness.
With a heavy sigh, Mr. Kennedy turned to the man beside him and said,
“Come, Doctor—we’d better have a look at that James boy.”
The two men made their way up the gangplank.
“Sandy!” Mr. Kennedy exclaimed, when he caught sight of the tall, blond
youth standing at the head of the ramp. “Goodness, boy, I’m certainly
glad to see you.” His face took on a worried look and his eyes searched
Sandy Steele’s lanky frame. “You’re all right, aren’t you, boy? I mean,
I certainly wouldn’t want John Steele holding me responsible for—”
“Oh, I’m fine, sir,” Sandy said, smiling. “Just a bit hungry, that’s
all.”
“We’ll fix that soon enough,” Mr. Kennedy vowed. “But let’s have a look
at your friend first. Where is he?”
“Down below, sir. Here, I’ll lead the way.”
Sandy and Mr. Kennedy and the physician, whose name was Dr. Hilliard,
disappeared down the hatch. As they did, a tall, thin, furtive figure
crept around the cabin. It glanced around fearfully, before sneaking
down the gangplank and running up the wharf.
It was Mr. Briggs.
Below, meanwhile, Dr. Hilliard had gently unwrapped the torn sheets
bound around Jerry James’s ankle. He studied the injured member with
professional concern. Both Jerry and Sandy watched his face anxiously,
for both of them were thinking of the football season that lay ahead.
“John,” Dr. Hilliard said, with mock gravity, “if they had more people
like this young oak stump around, I’d be out of business.”
“Hooray!” Sandy cried, and Jerry James grinned with delight.
“Of course,” the doctor hurried on, “you’ll need a cane for a week or
two, young man. But otherwise I’d say you’re none the worse for wear.”
At that remark, Jerry winked at his friend. He rubbed his stomach
sorrowfully. “Outside of being hungry, Doctor, I’d say—”
Mr. Kennedy broke in.
“Boys,” he said, glancing at his watch, “I promise you that in fifteen
minutes you will be in my dining room sitting down to the best meal that
was ever served up in Buffalo.”
And they were.
Less than a week later, the two friends were back on the Great Lakes
again—bound for Minnesota once more, this time to ship aboard a load of
grain.
They had had a wonderful time as the guests of Mr. Kennedy. They saw all
the sights of Buffalo, including Niagara Falls, that great escarpment
over which Lake Erie plunges, and they had crossed the Peace Bridge into
Canada to have one of those famous beefsteaks at the Chinaman’s in Fort
Erie. Then, after Dr. Hilliard had pronounced Jerry James fit to walk
again without the use of his cane, they had taken ship again.
Their vessel was now the _Cecil Rogers_ (almost all Great Lakes boats
are named for shipping leaders), for the beloved old _James Kennedy_ was
in drydock undergoing extensive repairs.
And their new skipper was?
“Sam!” the two youths cried as they came aboard.
Sure enough, it was their old friend, and there was Cookie, too,
grinning at them from over the rail. And there was Gunnar towering
behind him!
“Boys,” Sam said, chuckling, “meet my mate.”
There were shouts of jubilation and hand-shaking all around as Sandy and
Jerry got their gear aboard ship and into their quarters. This time,
they had a room twice as large as the rathole they had shared on the
_James Kennedy_. And this time, aboard the _Cecil Rogers_, they shipped
as deck hands.
“No more galley slavery for us,” Jerry exclaimed, and Sandy nodded in
agreement.
That was how the two lads from Valley View passed the remainder of that
summer. They sailed up and down the Lakes, as the _Cecil Rogers_ hauled
its cargoes of ore, grain and coal. Sometimes they made Canadian ports,
and once they passed through the Welland Ship Canal into Lake Ontario,
the lake that lies the farthest east.
At last came the sad day when they had to reclaim Old Faithful from the
hands of Sandy’s dad and say goodbye to their friends. School would
reopen in another week, and they had to be heading west.
“Gootpy, poys,” Gunnar called from the rail, as Jerry’s jalopy began to
chug away from the loading dock where the _Cecil Rogers_ lay. “Haf goot
trip.”
“Send us a picture of your football team,” Cookie yelled, and Sam
shouted, “Keep your chin up, boys. Maybe we’ll see you next summer.”
“Goodbye, goodbye,” Sandy Steele and Jerry James cried, and then they
were out of sight.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Summer’s End
There was a hint of autumn in the air as Jerry James swung Old Faithful
off the highway and up the ramp leading to Valley View. Both boys felt a
deep surge of pleasure run through them as they picked out the familiar
landmarks that told them they had come home again.
The dusty old jalopy rolled along Ridge Road and past the March mansion.
“Doesn’t look like anybody’s home,” Sandy said.
“That’s what I thought,” said Jerry. “I wonder what happened to our
friend Pepper.”
Sandy shrugged. “I don’t know. But it sure was good spending all those
weeks without him. Jerry!” he yelled. “Did you hear that?”
Jerry James had, and his eyes sparkled with delight.
What the two boys had heard was the unmistakable thud of a foot meeting
pigskin!
“Boy!” Sandy said. “I can hardly wait for school to open. Sounds funny,
I know, but if the fall means school, it means football, too!”
“You bet, Sandy. The only thing I missed on the Great Lakes was not
having a chance to practice.”
“Oh, we’ll be all right. At least, we stayed in shape.”
They had. They were as hard as the decks of the _James Kennedy_ and
their bodies were burned the color of walnut.
“Well, here we are,” Sandy said, as Old Faithful swung into his street.
Jerry nodded. In another instant, he had mechanically lifted his foot
from the gas pedal, as he always did when he approached Sandy’s house,
and the jalopy had begun to slow down. Grasping his jam-packed suitcase
in one hand, Sandy Steele vaulted lightly to the pavement. “See you
tonight at the drugstore, Jerry,” he called, and then he turned and ran
into the house.
“Mom!” Sandy Steele called as the screen door slammed shut behind him.
“Mom! It’s me. Sandy. I’m home!”
The whole crowd from Valley View High had gathered at the James
drugstore that night, and, of course, most of the talk was about how the
school’s football team would fare in the league competition that season,
and especially how its heroes stacked up against those from the arch
rivals in Poplar City.
As usual, Quiz Taylor was the center of a crowd as he spieled off the
weight, height and past season’s record of nearly all the boys who would
be playing for Poplar City in the coming fall.
“Honestly, fellows,” he said, his round face gloomy, “I don’t see how we
can beat them. Of course, we have Jerry and Sandy, but we don’t have a
runner to compare with their fullback, Tomkins.”
“What about Pepper March?” someone asked. “He scored six touchdowns for
Valley View last year.”
“Yes, Quiz,” Sandy said. “What about Pepper? Where is he, anyway? You’d
think he’d be here, the night before school opens.”
Quiz Taylor began to shake with laughter.
“D-didn’t you hear about Pepper?” he sputtered, his face crinkling with
merriment. “Haven’t you heard about what happened to Stanley Peperdine
March?”
“No. What happened?”
“Yeah, Quiz,” someone else said. “Cut the comedy, and let us in on the
joke, too.”
Still chuckling, Quiz Taylor said, “Pepper won’t be home for another two
weeks. A couple of the sailors aboard that ship they were on came down
with one of those rare, tropical diseases. Pepper and his father had to
spend the summer in quarantine.”
There was a roar of laughter at the expense of the unpopular Pepper.
Sandy Steele turned to his friend and said, “Well, Jerry, we may have
had a stormy voyage, but I’ll bet we had a better summer than Pepper
did.”
* * * * * *
Transcriber's note:
--Copyright notice provided as in the original--this e-text is public
domain in the country of publication.
--Silently corrected obvious typographical errors; left non-standard
spellings and dialect unchanged.