“STORM ALONG, JOHN!”
At nine o’clock that morning Bradley, with his head bandaged, sat
in the rocking chair by the window of his chamber, looking out. On
the table beside him were medicine vials, teaspoons and a pencilled
memorandum in Doctor Palmer’s handwriting. Also there was an Emulsion
bottle and a steaming pitcher of “pepper tea.” These last were Miss
Tempy’s contributions. That lady herself, with a face whiter even than
Bradley’s own, and with fingers that shook until holding a needle
was next to an impossibility, was seated in a chair by the door,
pretending to sew. Every now and then she looked up, seemed about
to speak, and then, seeing the expression on the young man’s face,
remained silent. Occasionally she wiped her eyes with her handkerchief.
Miss Prissy was downstairs in the sitting-room listening to the steady
stream of conversation and questions that flowed from the lips of
Melissa Busteed. Miss Busteed had left her breakfast dishes unwashed,
so that she might be the first to visit the Allen home.
Clara rapped on the bedroom door. “Bradley,” she said, “Cap’n Titcomb
is downstairs. May he come up?”
Miss Tempy spoke and with decision. “No, _indeed_!” she exclaimed. “The
Doctor said Bradley wasn’t to see anybody. I should think the Cap’n
would----”
She bit her lips and sewed vigorously. Bradley turned from the window.
“Tell the Cap’n to come right up,” he said. “Yes, Miss Tempy; I must
see him.”
Miss Tempy started to protest, but did not. Instead she picked up
her workbasket and rose. “Now, Bradley, please----” she pleaded,
with emotion, “don’t talk about the--about your bus’ness and git
over-excited. It’s bad enough as it is without---- Good mornin’, Cap’n
Titcomb.”
Her salutation was formal and very dignified. So also was her manner
as she swept out of the room. The Captain said, “Good mornin’,” in an
absent-minded way. He looked pale and anxious and there were circles
under his eyes. He went over and shook his partner’s hand. Then he sat
down heavily in Miss Tempy’s chair.
“Well, Cap’n,” said Bradley, cheerfully, “I’ve been expecting you.
I must look about as you did the morning after you butted into the
_Thomas Doane’s_ deck.”
Captain Titcomb did not smile. “I’ve seen the Doctor,” he observed. “He
says you’ll be all right in a couple of days. I’m glad of that much,
anyhow.”
“I’m all right now. Little shaky, that’s all.” Then, after a pause,
“Well?”
His partner drew a long breath. “Well,” he said, slowly, “I’ve done
it this time, ain’t I? I ought to hunt up Jabe Bailey and tell him I
realize he had me sized up ’bout right. Ez Titcomb, the blasted fool!”
He laughed bitterly.
“I don’t see that you’ve done it any more than I have,” was Bradley’s
calm reply.
“Yes, you do, too. You kept after me with a sharp stick ’bout that
dynamite, and I, like the idiot I am, let it go. I’ve seen Obed this
mornin’. We don’t git the insurance.”
“Of course not. I was sure of that.”
The Captain was silent. Then he struck the arm of his chair and swore
between his teeth. “I ain’t a murderin’ man, gin’rally speakin’,” he
muttered, “but I’d give ten years of my life to have my hand on that
cuss Hammond’s chicken neck jest about now.”
Bradley looked out of the window. “Where is he?” he asked.
“Nobody knows. I cal’late he’s skipped the town. Good thing for him!
But we’ll land him yit, as soon as I can git the sheriff on his tracks.”
“Do people know he set the fire?”
“No, not for sartin. Some might suspect, I s’pose, but I ain’t said
nothin’ to anybody yit. I will, though, you bet your life on that!”
“No, you won’t. I don’t want you to.”
Captain Titcomb sat up straight. “Don’t _want_ me to?” he repeated.
“No. I ask you, as a favor to me, not to tell anybody. Let them guess
whatever they please, but don’t tell them the truth.”
The senior partner was dumb with astonishment. He looked curiously at
his companion. “I--I s’pose likely you know who snaked you out of the
wet last night?” he asked, after a bit.
“Yes.”
Bradley knew that Gus had picked him up as he wallowed unconscious
in the water. Clara had told him, and the Captain had told her when
they brought the young man home. For a moment his heart had leaped
with a great joy, but then he remembered that Hammond had been on the
schooner, and in plain sight from the shore. Not for an instant did
Bradley think that the girl knew for what purpose her lover had boarded
the _Diving Belle_, but she had, no doubt, seen him there, as had the
others, and gone to his rescue. He pitied her--when she should learn
what sort of a man Hammond was, but he determined she should learn it
from other lips than his.
So he was silent, and Captain Titcomb did not mention the subject
again. At length the latter said: “Well, Brad, there’s no use of my
askin’ you to forgive me, because it ain’t a forgivin’ kind of deal.
I got you into this wreckin’ game, and you did a blame sight more’n
I did to make it grow. I was the crazy fool that took the contract
that’s goin’ to bust us, and I took it in spite of your tellin’ me not
to. And now, all along of me, we’ve lost the schooner, insurance and
all. I don’t care for myself, but I--I like you, Brad. I never took to
man nor boy as I’ve took to you. And, by crimus, when I think of how
I’ve ruined you, I’m ready to go down to the dock and say, ‘Here goes
nothin’,’ and jump off. If it wan’t for Clara, I cal’late I would.”
“Don’t talk that way, Cap’n Ez,” began Bradley, but the Captain went on.
“There’s one thing, though,” he said. “You shan’t have none of the
blame. I’ll tell every man in this town that ’twas all me. I’ll go up
to Cook and Son and let them know it, too. I’ll work out the schooner
debt for the bank folks, and I’ll git you the best mate’s job that I
can. Of course, that don’t make up for the wrong I’ve done you, but----”
“Cap’n Ez,” interrupted Bradley, looking keenly at his partner, “why do
you speak of getting me a mate’s job? Is it because you feel that, now
the _Diving Belle_ is gone, we can’t carry through the contract?”
The senior partner’s answer was prompt enough, but he looked at the
floor when he made it. “_Can_ we carry it through?” he rejoined.
“Maybe you don’t understand how things are with us. What little money
we’ve got on hand belongs to the folks that hold the mortgage on the
schooner; we can’t use it. We ain’t got any vessel now, nor any craft
with power, to help us out. We can’t weather another pay-day unless
somebody lends us more money, and who’d be jackass enough to do that,
even if I had the brass to ask for it? No, Brad; the best thing for you
is to quit and git to sea again afore I sink you so deep you’ll never
come to the top.”
Bradley leaned back in his chair and smiled. “Cap’n,” he said, “I see
through you like a book. You talk of quitting because you don’t want me
to take any more chances. If you were alone in the deal you’d go ahead
somehow.”
“No, I wouldn’t.”
“Shut up; I know you. Now, listen: I know how we stand, but I say fight
it out. Come on! we’ll go down to the Point and work harder than ever,
nights and Sundays and all. We’ll keep a stiff upper lip, and, by the
living jingo, we’ll clear the _Freedom_ or go to pieces with her!”
The Captain sprang to his feet. “Do you mean that you’ll stick to me in
spite of what I’ve done?” he cried.
“You ought to know I will. As for blame, it’s as much mine as yours.
Will you stick by _me_ and keep up the fight?”
“Will I? _Will_ I? Brad--Brad, you know----” He turned his face away,
but he stretched out his hand. Bradley seized and wrung it.
“And now,” said Bradley, “we’ll go down to the Point.”
“You’re not goin’ to the Point _to-day_! Son, you’ve done more’n enough
for me as ’tis; don’t kill yourself.”
“Get my overcoat and hat. I’m going to the Point _now_.”
And he went in spite of his partner’s protests and the “old maids’”
pleadings and direful prophecies concerning his health. He was kind,
but so firm that they soon saw there was no use arguing. Miss Prissy,
however, at a great sacrifice to her pride, called the Captain to one
side and whispered:
“Cap’n Titcomb, I’m ’fraid he’s goin’ to his death. Take care of him
and keep him out of danger. Don’t let him git cold. If you knew how
much store Tempy and me set by him, you’d----”
She could not finish.
“I know, Prissy,” replied the Captain, earnestly. “I cal’late I feel a
little that way towards the boy myself. Brad seems to have took the bit
in his teeth lately, but I’ll bring him back safe or stay there myself
for good.”
Ira Sparrow took them to the Point in the _You and I_. Bearse, Ellis
and some of the other men went with them. On the way Bradley and his
partner discussed the situation. The work on the barge was going on as
if nothing had happened, although the news of the firm’s loss had been
telephoned to the life-saving station early that morning. Barney Small
met them as they climbed over the _Freedom’s_ rail. He was very sober
and shook his employers’ hands with silent sympathy.
“I told the boys to turn to,” he said. “I didn’t know what your plans
was, but I wan’t goin’ to quit till you said the word.”
“Much obliged, Barney,” said Bradley. “Call all hands aft. I want to
talk to them.”
The men came in groups, soot-streaked and perspiring. They gathered in
the waist, whispering to each other and glancing askance at Captain
Titcomb and Bradley, who stood upon the raised deck by the wheel. In
most of the grimy, sunburned faces there was a friendly concern. All
looked embarrassed and awkward. When the whole crew was standing there,
silently waiting, the Captain came forward.
“Men,” he said, “there ain’t any need for me to tell you what’s
happened. The _Divin’ Belle_ was burned last night, and she wan’t
insured. Most of you know what that means to me and my partner. A
good many of you are fellers I’ve known all my life. Some of you like
me--some, maybe, don’t. You know that ha’f of Orham is sayin’ this
mornin’ that Ez Titcomb’s got what was comin’ to him at last. All
right, the blame’s mine and I’ll take my medicine without makin’ any
faces over it. I don’t ask anything for myself. But I do ask you to
listen to what this boy here,” laying his hand on Bradley’s shoulder,
“has got to say. That’s all. Now, Brad.”
There was a stir throughout the crowd as Bradley stepped forward. He
was silent for an instant, looking down at them. Then he spoke.
“Fellows,” he said, “when Cap’n Titcomb and I took the contract to get
this barge off the shoals we risked every dollar we had. More than
that, we mortgaged our new schooner to raise money to pay you with. She
was burned last night, and, as the Cap’n said, there is no insurance.
The little money we have on hand belongs to the people who took the
mortgage. We couldn’t pay you for another week’s work. So then, either
we must give up the contract--which will ruin us and drive the firm out
of the wrecking business for good--or we must come to you with another
proposition. I think every man who has worked for us knows that we
don’t play favorites. Every fellow knows that he’ll be treated fair
so long as he does his work. But this I want to say--we’ll stick to
those who stick by us. We shan’t forget our friends. And this is our
proposition: To the men who will volunteer to help us get this barge
afloat, we will pay four dollars a day--instead of three, as you’re
getting now--_when_ we float her and get our money. If we fail, you
get nothing and so do we. If we win, you win. We can float her if the
weather holds good. What I’m asking is that you share our chances. It’s
up to you. What do you say?”
Bradley stopped and put his hands in his pockets. The men shuffled
their feet and looked at each other. One or two of them whispered
behind their hands. Then Barney Small snatched his rusty cloth cap from
his head, tossed it to the deck, and jumped upon it with both feet.
“Stage is ready for Orham, South Orham, West Harniss and Setuckit
P’int,” he shouted. “Git aboard! Come on, you lubbers! Have me and Brad
and Cap’n Ez got to work her off alone?”
Alvin Bearse struck the ex-stage driver a resounding thump in the back.
“You bet you ain’t!” he cried. “I’m in!”
“Me, too!” said Ira Sparrow.
“Present and accounted for,” observed Bill Taylor. Ellis simply nodded
and stepped forward. Others joined them, by twos and threes.
Then Peleg Myrick sauntered to the front. “I dunno’s I jest understand
what the boss wants,” he drawled; “but if there’s anything me and
Skeezicks can do, why----”
There was a great shout of laughter. Peleg was indignant. “What’s the
matter with you?” he snorted. “That dog’s got a durn sight more sense
than most of them what makes fun of him.”
“Right you be!” bellowed Barney. “Come on, you loafers! Are you goin’
to be beat by a Greaser pup--a bald one at that?”
That settled it. There was a cheer, and the men began pushing each
other out of the way to join the volunteers. In a few minutes there
were only five who had not come forward.
“What’s the matter with you, Lon?” asked Alvin Bearse, sarcastically.
“Be your feet asleep?”
Mr. Clark looked uneasy, but he did not move. “I ain’t used to workin’
for nuthin’,” he replied, sullenly.
“Nor me nuther,” agreed Ike Bodkin, standing by his friend.
“Nothin’ is about twice what you’re wuth,” cried Barney, indignantly.
“By Judas, if you can’t work you can swim! Let’s give ’em a bath,
fellers. They need it.”
He started for the frightened five. Others followed him. There were
cries of “Chuck ’em overboard!” Bradley shouted, “Stop!”
“Let them alone, boys,” he commanded. “Clark, you and Ike and the rest,
take one of those dories and make for the Point. Lively! Fellows,” he
added, turning to the others, “Cap’n Titcomb and I are much obliged.
Now, then, turn to!”
In five minutes the crowd had scattered, the engines were puffing, and
the great buckets were emptying the coal from the _Freedom’s_ hold into
the sea.
“Son,” said Captain Titcomb’, laying a hand on his partner’s arm, “they
did that for you, not me. If we _should_ win out on this job, the
credit’ll belong to you. And now for it! It’s neck or nothin’ this time
sure!”
* * * * *
And after that came work, work, work. The men were organized into day
and night gangs. Bradley commanded the former, Captain Titcomb the
latter.
The _Freedom_ at night was a strange spectacle. Lanterns were hung all
over her deck and within her hull. They sparkled in clusters by her
hatches; they swung beside the tackles in the rigging. The life savers
patrolling Setuckit beach heard, above the crash and boom of the surf
along the shore, the roar of the falling coal and the shrill whistle
of the donkey engines. Looking down through the black squares of the
hatchways, one saw active figures capering above with shovels in their
hands. Shouts came up. Queer, distorted shadows flickered, stretched to
gigantic size, or shrunk to those of pudgy dwarfs. But the shadows were
never still, never the same; they were always busy.
The partners hired the _You and I_ to do what she could of the work
the _Diving Belle_ had been engaged in. The lack of the schooner was a
great handicap, but they had no funds with which to hire a large vessel.
They made their headquarters aboard the barge now. Bradley did not go
up to Orham at all. When his day’s work was over, he ate a hasty supper
and tumbled into a berth in the skipper’s cabin, sometimes to sleep,
but more often to lie awake and plan for the morrow. He was still pale
and weak from the effects of the blow on the head, but he would not
take it easy, as the Captain begged. The worry and strain of the labor
were, in a sense, reliefs to him; they kept him from thinking of other
things.
Each morning the “old maids” telephoned to the station to learn how
he felt, and how the work was progressing. Bradley gathered from Miss
Prissy’s anxious remarks that, in the village, the partners’ failure
was regarded as a foregone conclusion. The news made him only more
determined to succeed.
Cook and Sons wired daily, and every afternoon a report was sent to
them. These reports were growing more optimistic. The barge was eating
her way steadily through the shoal, and as she was lightened she moved
faster. They watched the cables as a cat watches a rat hole, keeping
them always tight. The Captain said, “Brad, if I didn’t know what was
the matter, I should b’lieve my old Sunday-school teacher was right.
He always swore I’d be hung some day, and now all I can dream about is
ropes.”
The Captain’s energy was something wonderful. A nervous man by nature,
he flew from one end of the _Freedom_ to the other, commanding,
helping, hurrying. With the men he was always cheerful and sure of
success, but once in a while, alone with his partner, he showed his
real feelings. One morning, before “turning in,” he went ashore to
telephone. When he came back he called Bradley aside and said:
“Brad, Sam says the Gov’ment weather folks are foretellin’ a big storm
for day after to-morrer. It’s comin’ from the south and’ll strike here
about then. It’s a terror, they say. It worries me. I’m more scart of a
gale of wind jest now than I am of the Old Harry himself.”
The junior partner looked troubled. “Wonder if that’s what’s
distressing Peleg?” he observed. “Peleg has been after me ever since
the fire. Says he’s got something to tell me.”
“He’s been pesterin’ me, too. I ain’t had no time to listen to _his_
yarns. Let’s see him.”
They sent for the weather prophet, who appeared, dirtier than ever.
“Look here, Peleg,” was the Captain’s salutation. “What do we feed you
for? Here’s the Gov’ment weather sharp smellin’ out a gale, and you
ain’t peeped. You’ll have to put specs on your second sight, or we’ll
ship a new prophet, one or t’other.”
Mr. Myrick was troubled. “Now, Cap’n Ez,” he protested, in an aggrieved
tone, “ain’t I been tryin’ to git at you or Brad for four days or more?
_I_ know there was a blow comin’. She’s comin’ a-bilin’, too. And I
don’t need no specs nuther.”
“Humph! Brad, this is the devil and all, ain’t it? That’ll do, Peleg.”
“But, Cap’n Ez, there’s somethin’ else I wanted to tell you. I----”
“Never mind now. Put it on ice. Git!”
Peleg “got,” but with reluctance. He kept looking back and shaking his
head. Captain Ezra’s face was very solemn. His forehead wrinkled and he
pulled his mustache nervously.
“By crimustee!” he muttered. “We’ve got to do somethin’ quick. I know
you don’t take any stock in Peleg, but if that gale _does_ come, we’re
knocked higher’n the main truck. She’s loosenin’ up so now that a tug
might help us. I can git a little one from Vineyard Haven, skipper,
engineer and all, for forty dollars a day.”
“But they won’t work on spec.”
“No. I’m goin’ to Wellmouth to see the bank folks. I’ll tell ’em that
if they ever hope to git back the rest of the money they lent on the
_Divin’ Belle_, they must risk enough to pay for that tug. I’m goin’
now.”
“But you’ve been up all night. Let me go. You turn in.”
“Turn in be durned! I’d sleep about as sound as an eel on a perch hook.
I can turn in when I can’t do anything else. Good-bye. Put in your
spare time prayin’ for me, will you?”
He went to Wellmouth, saw the people at the bank, and, as he said,
“talked from his boots up.” At twelve o’clock of the following day the
little tug put in an appearance. She got a grip on the _Freedom’s_ bow
and pulled with the tide.
The expected gale did not come that day. But the next afternoon the
sky was overcast and the sun disappeared behind angry clouds. It
was blowing fresh when Bradley, worn out, went to his berth at nine
o’clock. He had fought against going at all, but Captain Titcomb said,
“Put in an hour or two anyway. I’ll call you if you’re wanted.”
He called him before the second hour was up. “Come on deck, Brad,” he
cried, excitedly. “That sou’easter’s on the road and it’s backin’ up
the biggest tide ever I saw. ’Tain’t high water till two, but she’s
pretty nigh as high as usual now.”
The junior partner hurried on deck. The wind was singing in the rigging
and the waves were rushing past the barge, slapping furiously at her as
they passed. The night was a dead black and the surf on the ocean side
of the Point boomed like heavy artillery.
“I’ve sent ashore for the day shift,” said the Captain. “We’ve got to
make our fight now. Looks as if ’twas out last chance, and a mighty
slim one.”
The dories brought the tired men from the beach. They had worked hard
all day, but they were ready to work still harder now. They realized
that, one way or another, this was the end of the big job.
The little tug, bouncing up and down on the waves, was throwing her
whole weight on the tow line. Alvin Bearse stood by the donkey engine,
ready to take in every inch of the cable. The partners were in the bow.
The buckets were flying from the hold.
“She gained a heap last tide,” murmured the Captain. “This extry high
water and the waves ought to help her like fun. But I’m ’fraid ’twon’t
be enough, and to-morrer the sou’easter’ll land with both feet.”
Waiting was the hardest thing. A half hour seemed longer than an
ordinary day. The wind gained in force, little by little. The tide
crept up the barge’s side. At one o’clock it was far higher than it had
ever reached before, and so powerful was its rush that the huge hull
quivered in its grasp. The water, seen by the lantern’s light, was the
color of chocolate, streaked and marbled with lines and eddies of foam.
Half-past one. The Captain put his watch in his pocket and wiped his
forehead.
“I know how it feels when you’re waitin’ to be hung,” he observed.
“Thirty minutes for the firm to live, Brad; then----”
A mighty blow from a wave, a tremble, and then a roll. The lanterns in
the rigging spun around in circles. The men on the deck and below fell
in heaps. The _Freedom_ lifted, straightened, and began to rock in her
“cradle.” The cables sagged into loops. Their silent partner, the Tide,
had come to the firm’s rescue.
Bradley got upon his feet. “Haul taut!” he screamed. Before the order
was given Bearse was back at his engine. The windlass shrieked.
Captain Titcomb roared through his speaking trumpet. The towboat shot
forward, then back, her screw threshing the water. The little _You and
I_ bobbed beside her; she was pulling, too.
And then, a long scraping, breathless interval. A halt, a shock, and,
pushing a wall of sand before her, the _Freedom_ plunged into deep
water.
There was no cheering. A subdued murmur, like a sigh, came from the
crowd on her deck. Men drew sooty arms across wet foreheads and looked
at each other without speaking. She was off the shoal, but far from
being out of danger yet. She must be got over into the deep hole behind
the Point, where she could safely ride out the coming gale. And to get
her into this haven there was only the little tug to depend upon. Could
the tiny craft do it in that wind and sea? If not, then the barge would
almost surely drag her anchors, would strike again, and then--well,
then all the work, and the triumph so nearly won, would count for
nothing.
They brought her up to her anchors, out in the middle of the channel.
There they waited for the tide to turn. The silence was heart-breaking.
Only now and then did anyone speak. In clusters by the rail they
stared at the big waves and the foam-streaks gliding by. At last
Captain Titcomb snapped his watchcase shut, and shouted through his
trumpet. The towboat puffed into position. The anchors were lifted from
the bottom. The time for the final test had come.
Then the little tug showed what she was made of. Coughing, panting
like a bull-dog straining at a chain, she pulled at that hawser. And,
slowly at first, but gaining headway as she moved in the dead water of
the slack of the tide, the _Freedom_ followed her through the channel
around the edge of the shoal into the cove--and safety. At ten minutes
to four that morning the last big anchor was sent down.
“There!” shouted Captain Titcomb. “She’ll stay where she is now if it
blows hard enough to frazzle out a handspike. Boys, the job’s done.
Knock off!”
They answered him with a cheer that woke the cat from his sleep beneath
the stove at the lighthouse.
The tug took them to the Point. They perched all over her, heedless
of the cold and the flying spray. The men were wildly excited over
the unexpected good luck. They cheered the partners again and again
and gave three groans for the “quitters,” meaning Mr. Clark and his
friends. Peleg Myrick was bearing his concertina to safe quarters in
the shanty, and they insisted that he should play it. Peleg protested
that it was too wet for music on board that tug, but they threatened to
heave the “push-and-pull-pianner” overboard if he didn’t play.
“Play somethin’ we can sing,” ordered Bill Taylor.
Peleg struck up a doleful dirge of the sea. It was loaded to the
gunwale with wrecks and disasters.
“Belay that!” cried Barney Small. “We don’t want no Come-all-ye’s.
That’s the tune that soured the milk. Give us a hoe-down.”
The musician considered. Then he burst into the air that every
fisherman knows:
“The grub is in the galley and the rum is in the jug--
Storm along, John! John, storm along!
The skipper’s from Hyannis and he gives us bully mug--
Storm along, storm along, John!”
“Chorus!” howled Barney, waving his cap. They joined in with a whoop:
“Storm along, John! John, storm along!
Ain’t I glad my day’s work’s done!
Storm along, John! John, storm along!
Ain’t I glad my day’s work’s _done_!”
Bradley stood by the back door of the big shanty, looking out at the
storm. The first sickly light of morning was streaking the dingy,
tumbled sky. Inside the building the men were keeping up their
celebration. No one had suggested turning in.
Captain Titcomb came around the corner. “There you are, hey!” he
exclaimed, with a breath of relief. “Blamed if I didn’t begin to be
afraid you’d tumbled overboard. Well, son, we did it! by crimus, we
did it! thanks to the good Lord for sendin’ that whoopin’ big tide.
Titcomb and Nickerson ain’t ready for the undertaker yit. _Now_ you can
go up to Orham and tell Gus Baker somethin’ wuth while.”
Bradley shrugged his shoulders. Now that the strain was over, and they
had won, the thoughts that he had put aside were coming back. He was
realizing that the firm’s success didn’t mean much to him. After all,
what did he really care?
“I guess Gus wouldn’t be greatly interested,” he said.
The Captain seized him by the shoulders and spun him around. “Look
here, son!” he cried. “What fool idea have you got in your head? What’s
the matter with you? Wouldn’t be _interested_! the girl that risked her
life to haul you out of the drink!”
Bradley shook his head. “I guess you forget that Hammond was in the
drink, too,” he said.
Captain Titcomb smote his partner a blow in the chest.
“You crazy loon!” he shouted. “Is _that_ what’s ailin’ you? Do you
s’pose she cares a hurrah in Tophet for that scamp? Listen to me! I
was closer’n anybody to Gus when she rowed acrost the harbor that
night. Sam was right under the bow of her skiff. He hailed her. She saw
him--looked right at him. But she never reached out a hand. Left him to
drown, like the durned rat he is, and went on after you. After _you_,
d’you understand? Does that look----”
“Stop!” Bradley’s eyes were ablaze. “Is that true? Say that again!”
“_True?_ Say it again? I’ll sing it, or swear it on the Bible if you
want me to. Why, you ought to git down and _crawl_ to that girl.
She’s---- Hi! where you goin’?”
There was no answer. Bradley was running at full speed for the beach. A
few minutes more and he was in the _You and I_, heading across the bay,
through the rising storm and in the dull morning light, bound for Orham.
And behind him, from the shanty, floated the chorus:
“Storm along, John! John, storm along!
Ain’t I glad my day’s work’s done!
Storm along, John! John, storm along!
_Ain’t_ I glad my day’s work’s DONE!”
[Illustration]