GETTING SETTLED.
THE dinner proved less embarrassing than the little band of adventurers
had feared. To be sure Mr. Daniels' son, a sturdy little lad of eight,
stared at them constantly with wide-eyed hero worship and plied them
with an army of questions about their adventures; but the boys, who
detested talking of their exploits, skillfully directed his questions
to Chris and the vain little darkey, glad of the chance to brag,
entertained the little lad with wonderful yarns of their adventures, in
all of which he made himself out the hero. Mrs. Daniels proved to be
a nice, motherly, little lady who quickly made them all feel at their
ease, while Mr. Daniels exerted himself to make the meal pleasant for
them. As soon as they decently could, however, the four took their
departure, for they were anxious to see something of the little town
and to get settled in their new home.
"Let's go down to the wharf first of all," Walter proposed as soon as
they were out on the street. "We want to pick out our house the first
thing we do."
There was but one main street to the little town and a question put to
a passer-by got the information that it led down to the wharf.
A few minutes' walk brought them past the straggling row of stores
that comprised the town's business center. Just beyond these the four
stopped to gaze around in admiration and delight.
"My! It's beautiful!" Charley exclaimed.
"A regular Paradise," Walter agreed.
Before them stretched a wide street of snow white lime rock, overhung
by gigantic live oak and magnolia trees. Back a little ways from the
street nestled houses almost lost 'mid trees and flowers. Between
them and the sidewalks were gardens blazing with a mad riot of color.
The rich yellow of alamandas mingled with the deep purple of Chinese
paper flowers and the warm blue of Lady Alices. Here and there stood
Royal Poinciana trees and a vivid blaze of scarlet. Great flowered
cacti reared their thorny forms high in the air and delicate lace-like
ferns grew all around. In and out amongst the blaze of color flitted
gorgeous-hued tropical birds twittering to each other, while here and
there frisked little gray squirrels chattering excitedly over the
fallen acorns.
Captain Westfield drew in a long breath of the sweet flower-scented
air. "I am going to like Clearwater," he declared.
"Well, we are going to have lots of time to get acquainted with it,"
observed Charley, practically. "We had better be moving on now, it is
going to be a busy afternoon for us."
But at the end of the gently sloping street they paused again with
murmurs of admiration. Before them a long wharf ran out into a great
bay, its waters blue as indigo save where flecked by foaming white
caps. Across on the other side of the bay, and about two miles distant,
stretched a chain of white-beached islands between which the foamy
churning breakers showed where the waters of the bay connected with the
Gulf of Mexico. But our little party spent only a moment admiring the
beautiful scene, they would have long weeks to admire its loveliness.
Just now they were more interested in the wide snowy beach on either
side of the wharf. Here was a living picture of part, at least, of
their new occupation. The shore was dotted with groups of fishermen
engaged in tasks pertaining to their calling. Some were busy mending
long nets stretched out on racks of poles. Some were pulling nets into
their boats preparatory to a start for the fishing grounds. Others,
just in from a trip, were pulling their wet nets out to dry. Still
others were busy calking, painting and repairing their skiffs upturned
on the beach, while here and there little groups were engaged over
camp-fires from which rose appetizing odors of frying fish and steaming
coffee. Close in to the beach the fishing fleet lay bobbing at anchor,
a hundred skiffs and at least half as many motor boats.
As our little party stood watching the busy scene, a motor boat with
three skiffs in tow came chugging in for the beach. When within a
stone's throw of the shore it rounded up and anchored. Almost before
the anchor had touched bottom a man had jumped into each skiff, cast
it lose from the launch, and was sculling in for the beach. Our little
party joined the group that gathered at the water's edge to meet the
newcomers. The skiffs lay deep in the water and the reason was apparent
when they grounded on the sands. Each was heaped from thwart to thwart
with flat silver colored fish.
"Pompano!" exclaimed Charley.
"Pompano," snarled a sallow-faced, tough-looking fisherman near him.
"That's just the luck of that Roberts gang. Tarnation stuck up guys.
Won't have nothing to do with us fishermen. Think themselves too good.
They are greenhorns too. Only started fishing this season. They have
regular fools' luck though. Just like their luck to hit a nice bunch
like that when better fishermen are coming in without a fish. They had
ought to be run out of Clearwater."
The man in the nearest skiff heard the sneer and his good-humored face
took on a look of scorn. He surveyed the speaker from head to foot as
though he was examining some strange kind of animal. Then he spoke
slowly and deliberately.
"Run us out of town, you cowardly cur?" "Why, there isn't enough of
your kind in the state of Florida to run one Roberts. If you ever ran
anything in your life it was a rabbit. I've heard enough of your sneers
and I give you notice right now to quit. Yes, the Roberts boys do
consider themselves too good to associate with you and your kind. Not
because you are fishermen but because you are lazy, lying, thieving,
rum-drinking bums. It's time some one told you the truth about
yourself. You and your gang seem to have the rest of the fishermen
bluffed so they will stand for your sneers. You talk about luck. Well,
maybe it is luck, but let me tell you there's mighty hard work to back
it up. We have hunted over fifty miles of water, been without sleep for
thirty-six hours, and worked 'til we can hardly stand, for these fish.
Luck! You make me sick! If you worked one night a week like we work
right along your poor little wife would not have to work her fingers to
the bone over the wash-tub to support you. Hunter, you are a disgrace
to mankind."
The sallow fisherman's face went livid and he gasped and spluttered
with rage. His hands clenched and he made a movement towards the man in
the skiff but evidently prudence got the better of his rage.
"I'll pay you for this, Bill Roberts. I'll pay you out. You see if I
don't," he cried.
"I know what you are thinking about," returned Roberts in level tones.
"I know of the tricks you have played on other men that have crossed
you. I know what happened to them, but don't you think for a moment
that I'll make the mistake they made in going to law about it when they
couldn't prove anything. If any such accidents happen to us, I'll not
go to law about it. I'll beat the miserable little soul out of your
body. Get away from here or I may do it now."
Hunter slunked away muttering curses and the other fishermen strolled
off behind him.
Bill Roberts looked after them with a grin. "That fellow gets my goat,"
he chuckled. "I'm sorry I lost my temper but I'm about worn out from
work and loss of sleep and my nerves are on wire edge. I've no use for
that fellow anyway, and I guess I would have told him my opinion of
him, sooner or later."
"You seem to have been fairly well paid for your hard work," observed
Captain Westfield. "You've got twenty or thirty dollars' worth there,
haven't you?"
Charley chuckled and Bill Roberts grinned.
"I see you don't savey pompano," he said. "They are a scarce fish. I
reckon we've got one thousand pounds of them and they are worth forty
cents a pound. Figger that out, Mister."
"Four hundred dollars," gasped Walter. "Whew! I hope we strike a few
bunches like that, Charley."
"You folks going to fish, eh?" enquired Roberts. "Well, it's a good
healthy business and it pays well for hard work. We don't often strike
a bunch like this, but by keeping steady at it, we always make pretty
good money. The worst drawback about fishing is the men in it. Take my
advice and avoid them all you can. Don't get mixed up with that Hunter
gang anyway if you can help it. Drop into our camp,--it's right over
there on Tates Island,--whenever you feel like it, and we will give you
all the pointers we can."
Charley thanked the friendly fisherman. "We will be over there soon,"
he promised. "We are new to the place and we would like to get some
pointers right off but we are just getting settled and must hurry off
now."
"I like that gang," he said to his companions as they hurried out on
the long dock. "They seem of a better class than those other fishermen."
"They would not have to be very good to be that," observed Captain
Westfield, gravely. "Those fishermen are a tough looking lot. I hope we
will not have any trouble with them."
"We will not have any," said Walter, cheerfully. "If we just tend to
our own business I guess they will tend to theirs. Well, I guess these
are the houses Mr. Daniels spoke about."
They had reached the end of the long dock. On one side of it stood a
row of small shacks. Most of them were occupied but at last they came
upon a large one that stood empty.
"Golly," exclaimed Chris, as he peeped inside, "dar poor white trash
dat lived in dis was sho' dirty."
The floor was thickly covered with filth and rubbish, the walls were
tobacco stained, and the windows were broken and covered with grime.
"We'll soon make it look different," said Captain Westfield,
cheerfully. "Let's go to work with some system and we'll soon be
comfortably settled. Walter, you make out a list of what we need and go
up to the store. Charley, see what you can do with those windows. Chris
and I will clean out. Bring a broom, Walt."
When Walter got back with his arms full of bundles he found the shack
wet inside but clean, the windows shining brightly, and his comrades
nowhere in sight.