A SURPRISE
The lordly Hudson looked inviting after their two days and a half on
land. It seemed to call and beckon the way-worn travellers to its
glinting expanse. Cars might go wrong, engines lie down, gates refuse to
work, but the quiet river hurried on, on, on, between its fair green
hills forever. Seeing it as they did then, it seemed removed from all
the commonplace and sordid troubles of the road. It was so quiet. The
few boats upon it made no noise. It had a solemn dignity that the
grandest high-road knows not.
“Looks nice, hey, Kid?”
“Sure, and I bet you’ll like Black Lake, too; it’s all kind of dark all
around it and you can see the stars in it.”
“I wish half of them were in it,” laughed Townsend. “Posy Brazen and—”
“They’re inserted in it,” said Pee-wee.
“You mean inverted in it,” Townsend said. “Well, we’ll be there
to-morrow if all goes well. As long as we can’t get Liz till five
o’clock we’ll camp to-night, what do you say?”
“I say yop,” said Pee-wee.
“Yop it is then,” said Townsend. “Say it with yops.”
“Maybe we’ll have another dandy delay too, hey?” said Pee-wee.
“Very likely,” said Townsend. “I wouldn’t care to knock Liz, though she
seems to be knocking herself.”
“Is it a—a—loose bearing?” Pee-wee asked hopefully.
“I can’t promise you that,” said Townsend; “but she’s knocking. I hope
it’ll be a five-cent repair, if any. Otherwise we’ll have to use a
couple of dozen resources.”
They found a little cottage down by the river, occupied by an old woman
who hobbled out with a cane to look at them. She was smoking a pipe and
looked very funny. She talked with such an Irish brogue that they could
hardly understand her but they made out from what she said that an old
punt which was drawn up on the shore belonged to no one in particular.
It had belonged to “Meemon” they gathered, and they supposed that Meemon
was her departed husband. She seemed perfectly willing that they should
use it and watched them with curious intentness as Townsend rowed out
with the pair of old broken oars which had been leaning against a tree
nearby. Then she hobbled into the house again, puffing furiously. It
seemed as if she were glad for the slight diversion.
They rowed all the way across the river, in sight of the great
Poughkeepsie bridge. At the Poughkeepsie wharf, a big Hudson River boat
was admitting passengers and the boys rowed about near it while the
passengers waved to them, and one man threw an apple which Pee-wee
caught. Girls, too, from the security of the mammoth decks, called to
the tiny craft below, and giggled and chatted with Townsend as he rested
on his oars. He might have looked rather attractive from up there; at
all events, the usual pleasantries were exchanged.
“Come on down.”
“No, you come up.”
“No, you come down.”
“No, you come up.”
“Catch this?”
Pee-wee missed a piece of candy.
“You can’t throw,” he shouted.
“You can’t catch,” called a girl. “Doesn’t he look little down there?”
she said to her companions.
Sound travels plainly over water and Pee-wee heard them. “It’s on
account of the distance,” he shouted.
“If we come down will you take us for a row?” (giggling).
“Positively,” said Townsend (more giggling).
And so on, and so on. They flopped lazily around on the river until
mid-afternoon, when Townsend realized to his surprise that the ebbing
tide had carried them far down-stream. It was aided and abetted now by a
freshening breeze against which it was almost hopeless to struggle.
Rowing against wind and tide is a thankless task.
Townsend could have made shore easily enough, but it is the scout way to
leave a thing where one finds it. He did the only thing he could do
striving against such odds, which was to keep close in shore where the
current was less strong, and pull the boat along by clutching the
overhanging foliage where there was any. It was slow work, but of such a
nature that Pee-wee could assist.
At last, by dint of rowing and pulling, they reached the spot where they
had embarked. The Irish woman was not in evidence but the smoke was
curling up out of the chimney of her little house, which reminded the
returning voyagers that it was getting on toward suppertime, unless
indeed, the smoke was from her trusty pipe.
“It’s six o’clock if anybody should ask you,” said Townsend, looking at
his watch.
“And we’ve got more than two miles to walk,” said Pee-wee.
“Well, the sooner we get about it, the sooner it’s done,” said Townsend.
“The water makes you hungry, doesn’t it?”
“You said it,” said Pee-wee. “The land makes you hungry, but not so much
as the water. Gee whiz, I got all sunburned.”
“Look at my arms,” said Townsend. “I’m good and tired, I know that.”
“I’m going to make rice cakes, you like those,” said Pee-wee. “We’ll
find a good place in the woods to camp, hey? And I’ll fry some bacon
too, hey?”
“Go as far as you like,” said Townsend; “I’ll eat anything. I could eat
a bale of hay.”
“We’ll make an omelet with some egg powder too,” said Pee-wee
encouraged. “We’ll have a banquet, hey? Because maybe this’ll be our
last supper alone together. _Maybe I’ll make hunter’s stew too!_” he
shouted in sudden inspiration.
“It will sure be our last supper together if you do that,” said
Townsend.
But he would probably have eaten even that weird specialty of Pee-wee’s
without complaint, so hungry was he. As for Pee-wee, he could have eaten
the Ford with a relish.
They trudged wearily back to the village and past it toward the little
garage beyond. The two miles seemed to have stretched out to an
appalling length like the neck of Alice in Wonderland. They were ready
to drop with each step they made. All their recent bodily exertion on
the river seemed to take effect in their weary limbs and they stumbled
along, dog-tired and silent.
“Don’t you care,” said Pee-wee; “we’ll start a fire and lie down and
have supper—gee whiz, I can eat lying down as well as sitting up, can’t
you?”
“I could eat standing on my head,” said Townsend.
“Not soup,” said Pee-wee.
“Well, rice cakes and bacon,” said Townsend.
“_Yum, yum, m, m, m, m, m!_” said Pee-wee.
As they approached the little garage it had a strange, uninviting look;
it looked different. There was not that suggestion of open hospitality
which it had shown when Lizzie rolled majestically in and awoke the dim
echoes of the interior with her rich, modulated voice. In plain fact the
garage was closed, its two big doors linked together by a huge,
cold-hearted padlock. And no sign of human life was there anywhere about
the place.