THE PURSER HAS HIS SAY
One night, when the steamboat was tied up at Albany, Randy donned his
street clothes and hunted up the place where Jack Bartlett lived. He
found his former friend at home and glad to see him.
"Come in," said Jack, shaking hands. "How have you been since we met
last?"
"Pretty fair, Jack. And how have you been?"
"I'm all right. I've got a job. That is why I haven't used my boat
pass."
"A job?"
"Yes, I am working in the same place where father has a position."
"Then you are not going to school again?"
"Not for the present." Jack lowered his voice. "You see, father isn't
earning any too much, so I--well, I thought I'd help the family along."
The two friends sat down in the parlor and our hero told his tale, and
then Jack related some of his own experiences.
"My father is in hopes that he can get at Mr. Bangs before long," said
Jack. "The trouble is, some papers are missing. He had them in a desk
at the works, but when he came away he couldn't find them."
"Perhaps Mr. Bangs got them."
"It is possible, but father can't prove it."
"Have you seen or heard anything of Bob Bangs lately?"
"He is along the Hudson somewhere--on a vacation with his mother."
"I met him when he was getting a horse," answered our hero and told of
what had happened.
"I wish I had been there!" cried Jack, laughing heartily. "I'll wager
Bob was as mad as seventeen hornets."
"Yes, indeed. He must have had a good bill to pay for damages."
Randy spent a pleasant two hours with Jack and then went back to the
boat, Jack promising to visit the craft some night when the _Helen
Shalley_ should tie up at Albany again.
So far matters had gone well on board. Randy was much amused by the
passengers, especially those who were peculiar in their manners. There
was one fussy old gentleman who went up and down the river twice a
week. He always wanted to sit in a corner in the shade and asked a
dozen times a day if they weren't behindhand.
"We are exactly on time," said Randy, to him, one day.
"Hum!" cried the old gentleman, consulting a watch he carried. "I think
we are twenty minutes behindhand."
"We haven't been twenty minutes behindhand since I've been on the
boat," said Randy, as he moved off.
The old gentleman grumbled to himself and restored his timepiece to his
pocket.
A minute later Randy saw an Englishman saunter along the deck and stop
close to the old gentleman. Randy had noticed the Englishman before,
because he spoke with a strong Cockney accent--that is, he dropped h's
where they were wanted and put them in when not needed. At this time
the steamboat was just approaching the Highlands.
The Englishman pointed to the Highlands with his cane and addressed the
old gentleman.
"Hexcuse me," he said, "but are those the 'Ighlands you brag about in
this country?"
"The islands?" was the astonished reply.
"Why, no, sir, those are not islands at all. Have you never studied
geography? An island is entirely surrounded by water," continued the
fussy old gentleman.
"Oh, you mean hilands. I don't mean them at all, don't you know. I
repeat, are those the 'Ighlands you talk about so much?" went on the
Cockney, blandly.
"They are not islands, sir--they are the Highlands," shouted the old
gentleman.
"Just exactly what I said, sir--the 'Ighlands."
"No, not islands--Highlands."
"Hexactly."
"But you said islands."
"No, I did not say hilands, I said the 'Ighlands," went on the Cockney.
"Hevidently you don't understand good, plain Henglish," and he walked
off in disgust.
"The imp, the blithering imp," growled the old gentleman. "May he never
come near me again!"
At one of the landings a barrel for use on the boat broke, spilling
some fancy flour on the deck. Randy was clearing up the muss when the
purser, Peter Polk, came along. Our hero did not witness his approach,
and consequently the purser received some dust on his shoes, which had
just been polished.
"Hi! hi! Have a care there!" he cried. "What do you mean by covering me
with dust?"
"Excuse me, sir," said Randy, hastily. "I didn't see you coming."
"I just had those shoes shined!"
"I am sorry, sir."
"You're the new man, eh?"
"Yes, sir."
"You're a blockhead, it seems to me," went on the purser, who was in
particularly bad humor that day.
An angry remark rose to Randy's lips, but he repressed it.
"You be more careful in the future, or you'll get into trouble,"
grumbled the purser, and walked away.
The moment the purser was gone Jones came up to our hero.
"Brute, ain't he?" he said, in a low voice.
"He called me a blockhead." Randy's eyes were flashing.
"Don't you mind him, lad. He is sour all the way through--he don't seem
to be able to help it."
"I didn't see him coming."
"He should have looked where he was walking."
"I don't wonder the hands don't like him," went on Randy. "I don't
think Captain Hadley would have spoken so."
"Not a bit of it--the captain's a gentleman, every inch of him."
"How do he and the purser get along together?"
"None too good, so I've been told. I wish we had a man in place of
Polk."
"So do I."
"More than likely, when he comes to pay you your wages, he'll take out
the price of a shoe shine."
"Would he really be mean enough to do that?"
"Polk is about mean enough to do anything."
There the talk ended and Randy finished up his work. The day passed,
and when the steamboat tied up that night Randy was more than usually
sleepy. It was very warm, and he went on the upper deck to get a breath
of fresh air.
"See here," said the purser, coming up to him rather suddenly. "Are you
talking about me?"
"Talking about you?" repeated our hero, somewhat puzzled.
"That is what I said."
"Not particularly, Mr. Polk."
"Somebody on this boat is telling tales about me, and I don't like it."
To this Randy made no answer.
"Have you heard any stories?" went on Peter Polk.
"What kind of stories?"
"That I was going to leave the steamboat?"
"No, sir."
"No stories at all?"
"No, sir."
"Humph!" And with this the purser walked away.
"What did he want now?" asked Jones, coming up a little later.
"Wanted to know if I had been circulating stories about him."
"Did you tell him no?"
"I did."
"I've heard a story--in a roundabout way--that Mr. Shalley is getting
tired of the way Polk runs the money matters on this boat."
"Does he run all the money matters?"
"Sure--that is a purser's business. He does the buying--or most of
it--too."
"I see."
"I don't believe he buys to advantage," went on Jones, closing one eye
suggestively.
"I don't understand."
"Maybe he buys at two prices--some of 'em do, you know."
Randy did not know, but he did not say so.
"I knew a purser once--on the _Sea Shell_--who used to pay one price
for a thing and then charge the owners of the vessel another price. At
last they caught him at it and sent him to prison."
This opened Randy's eyes to what his fellow-deckhand was driving at.
"Do you imagine Polk is that sort?"
"He is certainly close."
"So you said before. Well, he ought to be watched."
"Oh, it's not my affair," said Jones. "Say, I am going to bed," he
added.
"So am I," said Randy, and retired, thinking of what Jones had said and
also of what the Clares had told him regarding Peter Polk.