THE YOUNG MAN WITH A LONG NAME.
“You had a narrow squeak that time,” said Dory Dornwood, as soon as he
thought the victim of the disaster was in condition to do a little
talking. “It is lucky you didn’t get tangled up in the rigging of your
boat. She went to the bottom like a pound of carpet-tacks; and she
would have carried you down in a hurry if you hadn’t let go in short
metre.”
“I think I am remarkably fortunate in being among the living at this
moment,” replied the stranger, looking out over the stern of the
Goldwing. “That was the most atrocious thing a fellow ever did.”
“What was?” inquired Dory, who was not quite sure what the victim
meant by the remark, or whether he alluded to him or to the man in the
steam-launch.
“Why, running into me like that,” protested the passenger with no
little indignation in his tones.
“Let me see, ‘atrocious’ means something bad or wicked, don’t it?”
continued Dory.
“Something very bad and very wicked,” replied the stranger, with a
sickly smile, as he bestowed a patronizing glance upon his deliverer.
“I thought it was something of that sort. I suppose you don’t use such
big words as that before breakfast, do you?”
“Why not before breakfast as well as after? It is a common word, in
use every day in the week.”
“I didn’t know but it might put your jaws out of joint, and spoil your
appetite,” added Dory, as he glanced behind him to see what had become
of the steam-launch.
“My appetite is not so easily spoiled.”
“I suppose you came up from Burlington?” said Dory suggestively, as
though he considered an explanation on the part of the stranger to be
in order at the present time.
“I have just come from Burlington,” answered the victim, who appeared
to be disposed to say nothing more. “Do you suppose I can get that
boat again?”
“I should say that the chance of getting her again was not first-rate.
She went down where the water is about two hundred and fifty feet
deep; and it won’t be an easy thing to get hold of her,” replied Dory.
“If you had let him run into you between Diamond Island and Porter’s
Bay, where the water is not more than fifty or sixty feet deep, you
could have raised her without much difficulty. I don’t believe you
will ever see her again.”
“That’s bad,” mused the stranger. “She did not belong to me.”
“Then you are so much in. Perhaps, if she had belonged to you, you
would not have let the steam-launch run into you,” added Dory, who did
not quite like the way the victim was taking things; for he did not
seem to remember that he had been pulled out of the water by the
skipper of the Goldwing when he was in great danger of drowning.
“I did not let the steam-launch run into me. The man in her did it on
purpose. It was not an accident,” answered the stranger.
“I heard the fellow say that he meant to sink you; and, after he said
that, I thought you were a little out of your head to let him do it.”
“I didn’t let him do it.”
“I thought you did. If I had been at the tiller of that sloop, he
wouldn’t have done it.”
“Probably you are a better boatman than I am: I don’t pretend to know
much about the management of a yacht,” replied the victim meekly, as
he finished wiping the water from his face.
“Then you ought not to be sailing a boat in a fresh breeze, such as we
are having to-day. Why didn’t you put your helm down when you saw that
he was going to run into you?”
“Down where?” asked the victim with a vacant stare.
“Down cellar!” exclaimed Dory, disgusted at the ignorance of the
skipper of the sunken sloop. “No fellow ought to sail a boat if he
don’t know how to put the helm down.”
“A fellow can’t know every thing in the world.”
“Then, I suppose you know every thing else: but how to put the helm
down was the one thing you ought to have known, when that fellow was
kind enough to tell you beforehand that he meant to sink you.”
“Don’t be too rough on me, Mr.-- I don’t know your name. I am under
very great obligations to you for the signal service you have rendered
me, and I shall be glad to know you better.”
“My name is Theodore Dornwood,--Dory for short. What is yours?”
“Dory Dornwood!” exclaimed the victim, bestowing a look of
astonishment upon the modest skipper. “I have heard of you before, and
I am particularly glad to meet you.”
“I should think you might be, since I picked you up in deep water. But
you did not give me your name.”
“My name is Bolingbroke Millweed.”
“Is that all the name you have?” asked Dory, as he opened his eyes
till they were as big as a pair of saucers--very small saucers. “I
didn’t quite make it out, for it fairly snarled up my intellect.”
“Bolingbroke Millweed,” repeated the stranger with a slight frown upon
his brow. “It’s all the name I have.”
“It’s name enough, I should say.”
“It is hardly worth while to make fun of my name: I am not responsible
for it, and it is the best I have.”
“I beg your pardon, Mr.-- I don’t know what your name is now, for
really I did not take it in,” pleaded Dory, who was sometimes very
brusk in his manner, though he did not mean to hurt anybody’s
feelings. “Honestly, I did not understand you.”
“You cannot have read English history very much, or you would have
recognized the first name.”
“I never did read English history much: in fact, I never did much
reading of any kind.”
“My first name is Bolingbroke, and my surname is Millweed. The whole
of it is Bolingbroke Millweed,” added the victim, mollified as he
pitied the ignorance of his deliverer.
“All right, Mr. Millweed: I won’t tackle the first name until I get a
little better acquainted with it.”
“Viscount Henry St. John Bolingbroke, after whom I was named, was a
prime minister of England, and a fine scholar; though he was charged
with treason. But I did not pick out the name myself: it was my
mother’s choice, but I can’t say that I approve it. I suppose I shall
be called ‘Bolly’ as long as I live.”
“Of course your friends can’t handle such a jaw-breaker as Bolingbroke
every time they want to ask you which way the wind is. But never mind
the name, Mr. Millweed. I picked you up in deep water, and that’s how
you happen to be on board of the Goldwing.”
“The famous Goldwing! I am extremely happy to be on board of her;
though I wish our meeting had been under more favorable
circumstances,” added Mr. Bolingbroke Millweed, as he poured the water
out of one of his shoes.
“I only said that you were on board of the Goldwing; and the question
now is, what shall I do with you, for I see the steam-launch is headed
this way. I should judge from his actions that the man at the wheel of
her wants to see you.”
“He does want to see me! I am the victim of a conspiracy!” exclaimed
Mr. Millweed in tragic tones, as he sprang to his feet.
“The victim of a conspiracy? Is that what you call the sinking of a
sloop?”
“I feel that the brave and noble Dory Dornwood will be my friend,
and"--
“Clap a stopper on your jaw-tackle!” interposed the skipper of the
Goldwing, borrowing an expression his uncle had quoted in his
presence. “If you mean to blarney me, I shall be your enemy; and I
will put you ashore on Diamond Island, without benefit of clergy.”
“Excuse me: I did not mean to offend you, Mr. Dornwood,”--
“Avast heaving! Don’t ‘mister’ me. Call me Dory; but don’t call me too
late for dinner,” laughed the skipper.
“Since I know who you are, I shall tell you my story, and explain how
I happened to be sailing the sloop, and”--
“I know how you were sailing her, and you sailed her to the bottom.
Tell me the rest of it.”
“I will tell you why that man ran into me, and why he was chasing me
up the lake.”
“That’s the point; but make the yarn a short one, or the steam-launch
will be upon us before you get through with it. You have the floor,
Mr. Millweed,” replied Dory, as he glanced at the approaching steamer.
“But I don’t want to be caught by that man! It might be fatal to me.
He is a conspirator; and he is seeking to destroy my good name,”
pleaded Mr. Millweed earnestly.
“I don’t understand the matter. Is the man an officer?”
“Not at all: he is chief clerk in a store in Burlington, and the
steam-launch belongs to his employer. But he is rapidly overtaking
us,” said the passenger.
“Why should he be after you? What have you been doing that is wrong?”
asked Dory, who had no idea of enlisting on the wrong side in
anybody’s cause.
“I have done nothing wrong. I will tell you all about the matter, only
don’t let that man get hold of me. Upon my sacred honor, I am guilty
of no crime,” continued Bolingbroke Millweed.
Dory was greatly tempted. He had a reputation on Lake Champlain, won
but a short time before he made his snug harbor at Beech Hill. On two
occasions he had successfully kept out of the way of a steamer. He had
been pursued all one day by the swiftest steam-yacht on the lake, but
by his “tactics” he had kept out of her reach.
If the young man had been guilty of a crime, he would do nothing for
him. His passenger spoke fairly; but, if he had been doing wrong, he
would not scruple to lie about it. Dory decided to keep out of the way
of the steam-launch long enough to hear Bolingbroke’s story. It was an
exciting game to dodge a steamer, and he desired to play it. The water
in the lake had been very low all summer, and no heavy rains had yet
raised it. The low-water soundings on the chart needed no corrections.
The Goldwing was a schooner, and Dory had been sailing under jib and
mainsail only. This was about all the sail she could comfortably
carry. The skipper looked over the situation very carefully. The yacht
was on the wind, headed across the lake. After the sinking of the
sloop, the two men in the steamer had a long talk before they started
her screw again; and she was all of half a mile astern of the
Goldwing.
Coming up into the wind, Dory set the mainsail; and then it was a
staggering wind for the Goldwing. By a little manœuvring the skipper
brought Diamond Island between his own craft and the steam-launch.
The pursuer had gained on him while he was setting the foresail.
Starting his sheets, he stood off to the south-west until the steamer
was abreast of the island. She could not head him off; and then he
came about again, steering her due south.
The skipper was ready for the explanation, and the passenger proceeded
to relate it.