Simon Scardale and Guy Fletcher had heard something of Dick's Uncle Ezra. They knew of his dislike for spending money, and they were not a little surprised, therefore, when he led them toward a restaurant, shortly after the young millionaire had gone to the depot in his auto.
"I believe he's going to treat us to a dinner," remarked Simon, in a low voice to his companion.
"Don't be too sure," was the guarded response. "He's one of those fellows who squeeze a dollar so hard that he gets enough feathers off the eagle to make a sofa cushion."
"Well, boys," remarked Mr. Larabee, as he paused in front of the eating place, "I got up early this morning, to take the first train here from Dankville, and I didn't eat much breakfast. So I think I'll go in here for a cup of coffee. You wait outside, and when I get through I guess I can put you in the way of making a few dollars."
"Do you want us to waitoutside?" asked Simon, suggestively.
"Yes; why not? You had your breakfast; ain't you?"
"We also ate early," spoke Guy, with a grin at his companion; "didn't we, Simon?"
"Sure," answered the other. "Besides, if Mr. Larabee has anything to say to us it's more private in the restaurant than out in the street. Some one might see us here."
Uncle Ezra made a wry face. He had outlined a certain plan of procedure for himself, along the lines of what he considered was his duty, and he had made up his mind that it would cost him some money. Yet, when the time came to begin spending, he was averse to it. But he did not see how he could get out of it.
"It's bad to eat in between meals," he remarked, still pausing on the threshold of the restaurant. "I wouldn't do it myself, only I'm quite hungry."
"So are we," said Guy boldly, and he added: "If you want us to play any game on Dick Hamilton, you've got to pay us well for it. He doesn't like us, and he wouldn't hesitate to do us some harm. So if you want us to help you——"
"Hush!" exclaimed Uncle Ezra, nervously looking around, and taking a tighter grip of his purse. "Some one might hear you. Come on in, but, mind you, I'm not going to pay for a whole breakfast for you boys. A cup of coffee, and a sandwich, is all you can have. I'm only going to take coffee, and very weak at that. Maybe I can geta weak cup for three cents. They charge awful for coffee in some of these places."
The boys had gained their point, however, which was to be invited inside the restaurant, and soon the three were seated at a table in a secluded corner of the room.
"A cup of weak coffee," ordered Mr. Larabee, as the waitress came to the table.
"Strong coffee and griddle cakes to start with, and then ham and eggs," ordered Simon.
"I'll take the same," spoke Guy.
Mr. Larabee turned pale and cried out:
"Here! Hold on! I thought you boys were going to——"
"I guess, Guy, we'd better be going," interrupted Simon, gravely, as he got up and reached for his hat. "Mr. Larabee doesn't want to do business with us."
"Yes, I do. Sit down!" cried the miserly old man. "Oh, dear! boys have such terrible appetites. You may bring me a very small cup of weak coffee," he said to the waitress, who seemed amused at something.
"It's all the same price," she stated.
"What? Haven't you any cheap cups—any at half price?"
"No."
Uncle Ezra groaned, and, while he sipped his beverage, he kept a watchful eye on the well-filled plates of Simon and Guy. They were doing hearty justice to the meal they ordered.
"Pretty good cakes they have here; eh, Guy?" mumbled Simon, pouring some maple syrup over the last brown one on his plate.
"Fine! yes," agreed his crony.
"What do you say to another helping before we tackle the ham and eggs?"
"I don't mind."
Simon raised his finger to summon the waitress. "We'll have some more cakes," he ordered grandly, "and be sure to have the ham and eggs kept hot. Two more plates of cakes."
"No—no!" gasped Uncle Ezra, almost over-turning his cup of coffee.
"Do you want three plates?" asked the girl, turning to him.
"I—er—no—of course, not," stammered the old man. "I never eat 'em. They give me indigestion, and then I have to pay a doctor's bill. I was just going to say——"
He looked appealingly from Guy to Simon and from Simon to Guy. The lads winked at each other.
"Queer what an appetite I've got," murmured Simon. "I didn't know I was so hungry."
"Me either," added Guy. "Do you think another plate of cakes will be enough?"
"Well, I don't know——"
"It's all you'll git!" snapped Uncle Ezra, quickly. "Do you think I'm going to pay—I mean you'll have indigestion something terrible," hefinished, for he saw that the pretty waitress was looking sharply at him.
"Oh, well, I guess with one more stack of the buckwheats and with the ham and eggs and another cup of coffee we can make out," conceded Simon, and the second plates of cakes were brought.
Uncle Ezra sat in gloomy silence during the remainder of the meal. Simon and Guy ate the last of the ham and eggs, and drained their coffee cups.
"Iwouldlike a cigar," began Simon, in a reflective sort of tone.
"Then, you'll buy it yourself," fairly growled Mr. Larabee. "Boys shouldn't smoke, nor men neither. Now, if you've finished, and the land knows you've eaten enough for two days, we'll talk business. I have some work I think you can do for me, but it must be kept quiet. I'll pay this bill, though probably it'll be terrible high, and then we can go to some private room. Is there a secluded room here?" the old man asked the waitress.
"Yes," she assented, as she handed Mr. Larabee a slip with the amount of the charge on it.
"As much as that?" he gasped. "Can't you make it a little less?"
"Those are the regular prices," she answered with scornfully curling lip, as she handed him the bill of fare. He scanned it carefully through his spectacles, and, finding that the waitress wasright, slowly counted out the change. He wanted the girl to accept, with the other money, a quarter with a hole in it, which piece he had vainly tried to pass several times before, but without success. She took it to the proprietor, who offered to accept it at fifteen cents.
"No, I won't take less than twenty-three for it," said Uncle Ezra. "It's a very small hole," and he put the quarter back in his pocket, to save for a future occasion.
Carefully closing the door of the private room, to which the waitress showed him, Mr. Larabee had a long talk with Guy and Simon. That there were differences of opinion was evident from the loud voices which came from the apartment at times. Finally the old man was heard to say:
"Well, that's my offer; take it or leave it."
"It's very small pay, considering the risk we run, and counting that the boat might sink in a storm," said Guy.
"Hush!" begged Mr. Larabee, "not so loud! Some one might hear you. Will you do the work, or not? I only want you to help the two men I've engaged."
"Guess we might as well," assented Simon. "It will be a good trip for us. And you want us to help get Dick——"
"Will you be quiet?" pleaded Mr. Larabee. "Now it's settled, and you can meet me in New York, say, in two days."
"Then leave us the money for our railroadfares," demanded Guy, and with many a wry face, and after some hesitation, Uncle Ezra took out his wallet, removed a leather strap and several wrappings of cord from around it, and counted out some bills. With crafty smiles on their unpleasant faces, Guy and Simon pocketed the cash.
"Now, Dick Hamilton can look out for himself," said Guy, as the three left the room. "I'll get even for the way he once treated me."
"So will I," added Simon. "Only I hope Grit, his dog, isn't around when the thing comes off."
Remaining on deck until the yacht was well on her way down the Jersey coast, Dick and his chums at length decided that they would go below and arrange their belongings in their staterooms. Captain Barton turned the wheel over to Ted Midwell, the first mate, who, with old Widdy, and his short pipe to keep him company, would navigate theAlbatrossuntil the commander returned on deck. Mr. Barton wanted to have a talk with Dick, to arrange certain details, and then pick out the two watches who would, in turn, have charge of the vessel.
"Isn't this slick, though!" exclaimed Tim Muldoon, as he gazed about below decks, and inspected the stateroom assigned to him. "It's great to be a millionaire!"
"Yes, it's lots of fun when you can have a boat like this," admitted Dick, "but——" He did not complete the sentence. He was thinking of the men who had attacked him in the dark, and those who had lured him to the other yacht. "A millionaire's life is not all roses."
Captain Barton showed the boys how to stow away their belongings to the best advantage. Dick's things had been put in the owner's cabin, which consisted of a large stateroom, a little parlor and a private bath.
"Oh, say, this is too gorgeous for me," objected the young millionaire. "I want a room like the other fellows."
"No, you stay here," advised Paul. "Don't you s'pose we want to put on some style when we have visitors? As soon as you come on board, down comes the blue burgee, to show you're ready for company, and then we chaps will escort 'em down below here, chuck a big bluff, and you can serve 'em with cocoa and cakes, or whatever other form of stuff they are addicted to."
"It sounds good," admitted Dick, with a laugh, and he was finally prevailed upon to occupy the rooms designed for the owner. Captain Barton had a good-sized stateroom near Dick's, and the other boys were provided with comfortable quarters adjoining, so they were all together. Grit was given a kennel on deck, but he knew the freedom of the yacht was his, and he poked his nose into every corner, from the engine room to the chart house.
Their trunks were put away, after their clothes had been taken out, and the boys arranged their rooms, donned suits in keeping with their characters as sailors, and then were ready to go againon deck. That is all but Dick and the captain, who wanted to have a talk.
"What's the matter, Henry?" asked the millionaire's son, as he saw the young iron merchant standing irresolutely in front of his stateroom.
"I don't know, but I can't seem to get used to it," was the reply. "Seems as if I'd ought to be hitching up, to go out and get a load of junk, or see a man about buying some, or else I ought to feed my horse, so his ribs won't stick together."
"Drop all that," commanded Dick, with a laugh. "You're out for pleasure now, and I want you to enjoy yourself. Get up on deck and watch the waves. Maybe you'll sight a wreck, and can get a lot of old iron out of it."
"Maybe," assented Henry, chuckling, but it gave him something to think about, and he hurried up the companionway with the others.
Dick and the captain discussed various details of the voyage. As the youthful owner was in no hurry, it was agreed not to crowd on any speed, but to proceed leisurely along, stopping at Savannah to see if Innis Beeby would join them, and then going on down the coast to Cuba. They would land at Havana, and from there Dick would begin to make inquiries concerning his mother's distant relatives. After that their program was not made out, but the young millionaire wanted to cruise about between Florida and Cuba, stopping at some of the many Florida keys, and, perhaps, spending a few days camping on one.
Captain Barton submitted to Dick a schedule of the management of the yacht, how he proposed dividing the crew into watches, and other matters which the lad, as owner, must sanction.
"I leave it all to you," said Dick. "We're out for a good time, and we're going to have it. I guess we'd all like it if we could help navigate some."
"Of course, you may," agreed the captain. "I'll be glad to teach you boys the rudiments of it, for it will be useful in case of trouble. Well, now that's settled, I think I'll go on deck and take the noon observation."
"And I'll watch you," said Dick, "for that's a good thing to know how to do. Another matter, Captain Barton, let the crew have plenty of good stuff to eat. I've read how sailors weren't treated any too well, and I'd like those on this boat to have the best."
"They'll get it," was the answer, with a laugh. "Your lawyer, Mr. Blake, said your father had written to him on that point, and the stores we took aboard can't be beat, even on an ocean liner. The crew will live higher than they have on many a voyage before this."
"I'm glad of it," and then Dick followed the captain on deck, while the other lads gathered about them to witness the taking of the noon observation.
TheAlbatrossfairly flew along the blue sea, putting knot after knot behind her, leaving NewYork and Hamilton Corners farther and farther astern, and slowly forging toward Cuba, where, had Dick but known it, a curious and trying experience awaited him.
"Let's get Widdy to tell us a sailor's yarn," proposed Frank Bender, toward the close of that afternoon, when the lads had inspected every part of the ship, from the engine room to the chart house, and had even climbed part way up the shrouds.
"Fine!" cried Dick. "Widdy knows some good sea stories," and they gathered about the sailor who sat on a coil of rope, smoking.
"An' so," concluded the old salt, at the finish of his story, as he loaded his short, and rapidly blackening pipe, with some very dark tobacco, "an' so we was rescued an' taken aboard, an' the first thing my messmate, Marlinspike Ned, called for was plum duff, an' what's more, he got it."
"What's plum duff?" asked Paul Drew.
"It's a sailor's plum pudding," volunteered Dick, who had read many sea tales.
"Right," assented Widdy, "only it's better."
"I think I could make some," said the wealthy lad, who was not a little proud of his cooking abilities, and who had often shown his culinary skill when in camp.
"Ah, my boy!" exclaimed the old sailor, "plum duff ain't what it used to be. It ain't got the same flavor, split my lee scuppers if it has!"
"I'm sure I could make some that would have,"declared Dick. "I'm going to try, too. Do you think the crew would like some?"
"Dash my belayin' pin, but they would!" exclaimed Widdy.
"That settles it!" cried the young yacht owner. "I'll make a lot, and we'll have some aft, too, fellows."
"Not any for mine, thank you," said Frank Bender, hastily, moving off to try a new acrobatic stunt he had been practising.
"Why not?" asked Dick, somewhat indignantly.
"I don't believe you know the difference between plum duff and sea biscuit," was Frank's answer, and he dodged behind a deck chair, to be safe, in case Dick threw anything at him.
"You'll see," was the yacht owner's comment, as he moved toward the galley, where a fat German cook, Hans Weyler, presided.
Dick's chums wanted to see him at work, but he shut himself in with the cook, and soon curious sounds proceeded from the galley. There was the rattle of pots and pans, and an occasional deep-voiced German exclamation, followed by Dick's calm words.
"Ach himmel!Vy you do it dot way?" cried the cook, so that he could be heard from one end of the yacht to the other.
"Because that's the right way," answered Dick.
"But, oxcuse me, Herr Hamilton, dot stuffshould boiled be, und you haf roasted it on der oven alretty yet."
"Sure, I'm baking it. That's the proper way to do it. I'll steam it afterward."
"Ach!Vot a foolishness vaste of der good t'ings," was the cook's despairing remark.
"Fellows, there's going to be some fun before this plum duff is made," prophesied Paul Drew.
"It sure looks that way," agreed Frank, as he balanced himself on his hands and head on a coil of rope.
Dick was in and out of the galley several times. On each occasion he seemed to have accumulated a little more flour on his clothes or face. Finally, after more than an hour's work, he announced triumphantly:
"Now, fellows, it's done, and I want old Widdy to have the first sniff of it. He said I couldn't make one, and I want to show him that I can. Ask him to step here, Tim."
The newsboy found the old salt splicing a rope, and soon Widdy, having put away his pipe, stumped toward the galley. Dick emerged, gaily bearing on a large platter a round, brown, smoking object, with a cloud of steam hovering over it, and a most appetizing odor wafting from it all about the deck.
"Here, Widdy, take a look at this!" cried Dick, proudly. "Is this plum duff, such as you used to get, or not?"
"It looks like it," admitted the old sailor, carefully.
"How does it smell?" asked the young millionaire, holding it toward the old salt.
"It certainly do smell like it," further confessed Widdy.
"Itisit!" insisted Dick. "Now the crew will have some for supper to-night, and I guess you fellows will admit that I can make a sailor's plum pudding as good as the next one."
With a smile of triumph at his chums, Dick advanced toward them, bearing the smoking platter. He was going to display the duff to them, but, as he neared the rail, the yacht lurched, and Dick gave a little jump to retain his balance. The platter tilted. The plum duff began to slide off.
"Look out!" shouted Frank Bender, making a spring toward Dick.
"I've got it!" cried the millionaire's son.
He tried to straighten up, and, at the same time, keep the platter on a level keel. A moment later, before the eyes of all his chums, the elaborate concoction slid off the big plate, over the yacht's rail, and splashed down into the sea.
"Plum duff overboard! Plum duff overboard!" yelled old Widdy, stumping forward and catching up a coil of rope on the way. "Plum duff overboard! Lower a boat!"
"Well, split—my—lee—scuppers!" exclaimed Dick, slowly, as he peered over the side. "Wouldn't that frazzle your main topsail!"
For an instant after Dick's disgusted exclamation no one spoke. Then Paul, with a regretful sigh, remarked:
"It certainly smelled good."
"Itwasgood," declared Dick. "I put twice as much stuff in it as was necessary."
"Maybe that's what was the trouble," suggested Henry Darby. "Likely it was topheavy, as I once had a load of old iron, and it overbalanced."
"Well, I like your nerve!" spluttered the young millionaire, with a show of pretended anger. "Comparing my plum duff to a lot of old iron! It was Frank Bender's fault that it was lost overboard."
"My fault?" demanded Frank. "How do you make that out?" and he leaned far over the rail, to look back toward where the plum pudding had disappeared in the ocean.
"Your fault—yes!" repeated Dick. "But look out, or you'll go overboard, too. If you hadn't made that jump for me, when you did, I'd havemanaged it all right. It's up to him, fellows! Frank's to blame!"
"I am like pie!" cried the acrobatic lad, turning a handspring to calm his excited feelings.
"Of course, it's your fault," added Paul, with a wink at the others.
"Sure," came from Henry.
"Maybe it was Grit's fault," suggested Tim Muldoon, gently, for he wasn't quite sure whether Dick and his chums were in earnest or not. "I saw Grit trying to wag his tail, just as the puddin' went overboard."
"Tim, you've solved the mystery!" declared Dick. "ItwasGrit's fault. Grit, you old sinner, don't you know any better?" and the dog leaped about joyously, barking in delight at the fun and excitement.
"Well, it's gone, and I reckon the crew doesn't mingle any plum duff with their ship's biscuit to-night," observed Widdy, with a sigh. "It sure did smell good, Mr. Hamilton, and it looked good, too," and the old sailor recoiled the rope he had grabbed up in his excitement. Captain Barton came on deck, then, to inquire the cause of the fun, and laughed when told the story of the pudding, to the rescue of which Widdy had sprung so valiantly.
But if there was no plum duff for supper there were other good things, for Dick had well stocked the yacht's larder.
"Der crew needn't mind so mooch," spoke thefat German cook. "I'll make 'em noodle soup, mit onions in, und I makes it goot und strong," and the crew did full justice to the generous quantity Hans sent to the forecastle.
The boys did not go to their staterooms early that night, but sat up on deck, listening to yarn after yarn, reeled off by old Widdy, who, every now and then, interrupted his narratives to stump to the side, empty out the ashes from his short pipe, and refill it. But at length Captain Barton suggested that it was getting late, so Dick and his chums went below, for their first night aboard the steam yacht.
They were lulled to rest by the soft swish and murmur of the waves, and the hum and throb of the powerful engines, which were urging the fine craft over the water.
The young yachtsmen were up in time next morning to witness the swabbing down of the decks, in which task Dick and the others insisted on taking a hand, as the work was a novelty to them. Barefooted, and with trousers rolled up, they helped with the hose, which was attached to a steam pump, and used the big swabs with good intentions, if not with skill.
"Pretty good for land-lubbers," Widdy condescended to say, as he watched the work.
"Well, if it doesn't do anything else," observed Dick, "it gives one a tremendous appetite. Hans, don't you dare burn the omelet this morning."
"Ach himmel!Me burn a omelet! I vould assoon bite mine own ear, Herr Hamilton. Me burn a omelet!" and the cook was quite indignant, until Dick's laugh told him it was a joke.
Coming up on deck after a substantial meal, Tim Muldoon, who was first out of the companionway, uttered a cry.
"Hi, fellers, here's a ship that's been wrecked!" he cried. There was a rush to the rail and the boys saw, not far off, on the port side, a large vessel, with queer stumpy masts, on the tops of which were big, round objects.
"Is it sinking?" asked Henry Darby. "Can't we rescue the people?"
"That's a lightship," explained Captain Barton, who was just being relieved at the wheel by Widdy. "It's the one about twenty miles off Cape May, the southernmost point of New Jersey. We haven't made very good time during the night, or we'd be farther south. But I thought it best to proceed slowly, until I got better acquainted with the yacht."
"That's right," agreed Dick. "We're in no hurry." The lads watched the lonely vessel, anchored so far off from land, until they had left it quite a distance aft, and then they found new matters to occupy their attention.
"This is certainly great, Dick," remarked Paul Drew, some hours later, as he sat in a steamer chair near his chum. "It beats turning out at reveille, forcing yourself into a tight uniform, and getting ready for drill and chapel; doesn't it?"
"Yes, but old Kentfield is all right, at that. This is good for a change. But wait until we get to Cuba, and wait until we camp out on one of the Florida keys. Then we'll be right in it."
"This is good enough for me," observed Henry. "If I only was sure that the old iron business, and my horse——"
"Drop it!" commanded Dick, with a laugh. "This is no time——"
He ceased speaking, and arose to observe Widdy, who had stumped to the yacht's side, and was earnestly gazing at some object on the water.
"What is it?" demanded Dick, as he advanced to where the old sailor stood, bracing himself against the rail, for there was quite a sea on.
"It's a small boat!" was the reply, "and I think some one is in it."
"A small boat!" repeated Dick. "Wait and I'll get a glass."
"A boat," murmured Paul, as he came forward, while his chum hurried to the chart house. "Maybe there's been a wreck, and these are the survivors."
"Such things have happened," agreed Widdy. "Yes, it's a boat, sure enough," he added a moment later, as a small object was seen for an instant on the crest of a wave, and then disappeared in the trough of the sea.
Dick took a quick observation through the binoculars when the boat next rose, and immediately uttered a cry:
"There is some one in it!" he shouted. "I can see 'em moving about! Where's Captain Barton? We must stop the yacht to rescue them!"
"What's up?" asked the commander, coming on deck at that moment.
"Yes, it's some one, or something in that boat," he agreed, after an observation. "Mr. Midwell," he added to the first mate, "signal for the yacht to lie to, and order a boat lowered. We can't pass the poor creature by."
"I'm going to help with the rescue!" cried Dick. "Come on, fellows! We'll all go."
"Better take the dory, then," suggested Captain Barton, for one of those substantial small craft, which could live in almost any sea, was included in the complement of theAlbatross'boats.
Tim Muldoon was not quite bold enough a sailor to care to venture in the small craft, and Henry Darby did not want to go, but Dick, Paul and Frank Bender, with two of the sailors, made up the party that set off to the rescue. Grit was wild to accompany his master, but Dick gently ordered him back.
With lusty arms the sailors, aided by Dick and Paul, who insisted on each taking an oar, pulled toward the small boat, which was seen one instant, and the next lost to view. As they neared it, after fifteen minutes of rowing, for it was farther off than it looked, Dick cried:
"Fellows, there's a baby in that boat!"
WITH LUSTY ARMS
WITH LUSTY ARMS THE SAILORS, AIDED BY DICK AND PAUL,PULLED TOWARD THE SMALL BOAT.—Page 110.
Dick Hamilton's Steam Yacht.
The oars were rested between the thole-pinsand, above the gentle swish of the water against the sides of the dory, could be heard a wailing cry, coming over the waste of water.
"Give way!" shouted Dick, as he bent to the ashen blade once more. "We've got to save that baby!"
Forward shot the boat, impelled by the sturdy muscles of the sailors, Dick and Paul. In another minute the dory was lifted high on the crest of a wave, while the drifting craft was down in the hollow. The pitiful crying-whine sounded more plainly, and a moment later Dick shouted:
"Fellows, it isn't a baby at all. I can see it plainly now. It's a puppy! A little, brown puppy!" And, at the sound of the lad's voice the frantic animal redoubled its cries.
"Well, we've got to rescue it just the same," declared Frank, after a moment's blank look at his chums.
"We'll go alongside and take him out," suggested the young millionaire. "The poor brute must be almost starved."
"Better go easy," cautioned one of the sailors. "If you and Mr. Drew will unship your oars, Mr. Hamilton, Larson and I will go as close as we can. I don't want to have the side of our dory stove in, and there's quite a swell on."
Dick recognized the fact that neither he nor Paul were skilful enough in handling a heavy boat at sea to successfully accomplish the work of rescue, so the two lads took in their oars.
"Maybe we can pick up the painter and tow the dinghy back," suggested Larson, and Kenby, the other sailor agreed. By this time they were quite close to the drifting craft, and the puppy was leaping from seat to seat in its eagerness, crying, whining and barking by turns, and almost ready to leap overboard, so lonesome and terrorized by hunger was it.
"Easy now, old chap," counseled Dick, in soothing tones, and the puppy nearly wagged off its tail in joy.
Fishing about at the bow of the dinghy, Larson did manage to pick up the rope, without coming dangerously close. It was made fast, and once more the oars began to propel the dory toward the yacht, it being decided to wait until the arrival there before taking out the puppy.
But the animal had no such intentions. Seeing what probably looked as if its rescuers were deserting it, the little dog, with a frantic howl, leaped overboard, and tried to swim to the boat containing Dick and the others.
"Grab him!" cried the young millionaire, ceasing rowing, an example followed by the others, and when the half-starved pup came alongside Frank Bender lifted him in. Instantly the brutewiggled away from him and tried to crawl over and nestle in Dick's arms.
"Here, hold on! Wait a minute! Not so fast! Give me a sponge and a towel!" begged the wealthy lad with a laugh, trying to keep the dog in the bottom of the boat, at the same time appreciating the poor brute's evident pleasure in being rescued. "He must have absorbed about a gallon of water," added Dick, ruefully, as he looked at his clothes, and the little salty puddle forming at his feet.
"Queer looking baby," commented Paul, with a grin at his chum.
"That's all right. It did sound like one crying; didn't it?" and Dick appealed to the sailors.
"Sure," agreed Larson, respectfully.
"Certainly," said Frank.
"I'll take him on board and feed him up," went on the millionaire's son, "and then——"
"Maybe Grit will eat him before you get a chance to feed him," suggested Paul.
"By Jinks! I never thought of that," admitted Dick. "I wonder if I can risk it?" for Grit had little use for other dogs, though he never went out of his way to fight. "I'll chance it, though," the lad went on. "I'll make Grit be friends with him."
Nor was it a difficult task, for the little puppy was so weak and forlorn, as it sprawled awkwardly on deck that Grit, after an ominous growl and a showing of his ugly teeth, changed his temperall of a sudden, and began to lick with his tongue the rescued brute.
"They're all right now," declared Dick, with an air of relief. "That's the way to behave, Grit. I'm proud of you!" Grit wagged his stump of a tail, and the puppy thumped his longer appendage weakly on the deck.
"What will you call the new one?" asked Captain Barton.
"Call him Gritty," suggested Henry Darby, "for he has some of Grit's grit to live all that while in the open boat."
"Gritty it shall be," decided Dick. "I wonder where he came from, and how the dinghy got adrift?"
"It's a boat from some fishing vessel," said Captain Barton, when the craft that had contained the puppy was hoisted aboard and examined. It had no name on, and was rather battered and old. "It must have gone adrift, for the end of the painter is frayed, as though it was chafed through. Probably the dog was asleep in it when it drifted off," added the commander.
"Well, he's a new member of the crew," said Dick. "Here, Hans, give my puppy some quail on toast, or beefsteak smothered in onions. He's hungry."
"I gif him some veak soup—dot's vot he needs vurst," decided the big German cook, picking up the half-starved animal, and carrying it off to the galley. Grit followed, with a happy bark. Heseemed to have accepted Gritty at once as a friend and companion.
The yacht was gotten under way once more, slipping through the water like some graceful fish, and making better time, for now the new crew was familiar with the engine and boilers, and more speed was being maintained.
What with watching the running of the engines, helping in taking observations, signaling other vessels they passed, and strolling about the deck, Dick and his chums found plenty to occupy their time. The young millionaire and Paul had taken up the study of wireless telegraphy during their last term in Kentfield, and, as theAlbatrosshad an apparatus aboard, the two cadets crackled off several greetings to their friends, while Mr. Hamilton was kept informed of the progress of the yacht, and also sent some messages in answer to those of his son.
TheAlbatrossran into a storm on the third day out, as she was rounding Cape Hatteras, that always treacherous point on the Atlantic coast, and for a time the boys had all they wanted of sailor life, and a bit more. It was the first time any of them had been seasick, and Henry Darby and Frank Bender were the ones to succumb. Frank was too limp to even move an eyelash, Dick said pathetically as his friend was stretched out in his berth. As for Dick and Paul, they behaved like old sea dogs, and even Tim Muldoon, though itwas his first voyage, stood up well under the strain.
The yacht pitched and tossed, now on top of a big green wave, and again sliding down into the trough, as though she was going to the bottom. But she was a staunch craft, and when they had passed the point, with its conflicting currents, the storm had blown itself out, and a period of calm and fog succeeded.
Through the gray, damp mist theAlbatrosswas creeping one afternoon, with her whistle sounding mournfully at regular intervals, and Widdy, and another sailor, stationed in the bow to peer through the blanket of whiteness, to give warning when anything should loom up in front of them.
"Wouldn't it be better to anchor, or run in to shore?" suggested Paul, as he and Dick were standing forward, trying in vain to pierce the mist.
"It's just as well to keep on going," explained Widdy, with the freedom engendered by the young millionaire's treatment of him. "It's better to run into some other ship than to be run down yourself, if it's goin' to be done. An' we're safer out here than in nearer shore. We'll be all right, if——"
Widdy suddenly paused, and leaned forward in a listening attitude. Dick and Paul rubbed the drops of fog from their eyes, in a vain attempt to see something. What would loom up in front ofthem? Some ocean liner, which might cut them in two, and send them swirling to the bottom? Dick felt a sense of fear.
Then, out of the fog, there came the sound of a voice singing, and at the first words the old sailor fairly leaped back from the rail, his wooden leg thumping on the deck. To the ears of the watchers came this song:
"Oh, it's ten long years since I sailed away,When the wind was blowing free.And I've anchored since in every portThat's touched by the salty sea."There was once just ten in the Sallie Sue,As we sailed the watery plain.But the sharks gobbled every one but me,And now I'm back again."
"Oh, it's ten long years since I sailed away,When the wind was blowing free.And I've anchored since in every portThat's touched by the salty sea."There was once just ten in the Sallie Sue,As we sailed the watery plain.But the sharks gobbled every one but me,And now I'm back again."
"Oh, it's ten long years since I sailed away,When the wind was blowing free.And I've anchored since in every portThat's touched by the salty sea.
"Oh, it's ten long years since I sailed away,
When the wind was blowing free.
And I've anchored since in every port
That's touched by the salty sea.
"There was once just ten in the Sallie Sue,As we sailed the watery plain.But the sharks gobbled every one but me,And now I'm back again."
"There was once just ten in the Sallie Sue,
As we sailed the watery plain.
But the sharks gobbled every one but me,
And now I'm back again."
"Get below, boys! Get below!" yelled Widdy, showing every appearance of fear. "Get below, if you value your lives!" and he clapped both hands over his ears, and hobbled toward the companionway, his pipe falling from his chattering teeth, and smashing to fragments on the deck.
"What's the matter?" cried Dick.
"That's a mermaid! A mermaid singing!" replied the old salt, "and it's death to every man within the sound of her voice! Get below, boys! Get below!"
Dick and Paul did not know whether to laugh at the old sailor, or follow him in his mad rush for the forecastle. This latter inclination was not because of any fear of the superstition regarding mermaids, but because they thought there might be a collision with the unseen vessel, and it would be wise to prepare for it.
Once more, out of the fog and mist came the voice:
"I remember well, in the days of old,How a sailor lad named BillFell overboard near the Hole in the Wall,A dolphin's maw to fill."Oh, it's there one night, a terrible sight,Did happen——"
"I remember well, in the days of old,How a sailor lad named BillFell overboard near the Hole in the Wall,A dolphin's maw to fill."Oh, it's there one night, a terrible sight,Did happen——"
"I remember well, in the days of old,How a sailor lad named BillFell overboard near the Hole in the Wall,A dolphin's maw to fill.
"I remember well, in the days of old,
How a sailor lad named Bill
Fell overboard near the Hole in the Wall,
A dolphin's maw to fill.
"Oh, it's there one night, a terrible sight,Did happen——"
"Oh, it's there one night, a terrible sight,
Did happen——"
"Ahoy there!" yelled Dick. "Who are you, and where are you going?" for it needed but a moment's harkening to the second part of the song to demonstrate that it issued from the mouth of some burly follower of the sea and not from the salty lips of some fish-maiden.
"Who are you?" back came the challenge from the swirling fog.
"The yachtAlbatross, bound for Havana," answered Dick. "Who are you?"
"I'm a lobsterman, fog-bound, and my 'put-put' boat is out of gasolene. For the love of Davy Jones, have you any aboard? I've been here ten hours, and I'm hungry enough to eat a raw crab. Give a hail until I get my bearings."
"A lobsterman!" cried Paul. "And old Widdy thought it was a mermaid!"
Jack called to Midwell, the mate, to have the whistle sounded, and then, yelling to the unseen mariner to approach slowly, the two lads peered forward from the bow of the yacht, for the first glimpse of the helpless craft. There was the sound of oars being used, and presently there loomed up through the mist a small dory motorboat, containing a grizzled son of the sea, his craft piled high with boxes of lobsters.
A moment later Widdy popped his head up through the companionway. Behind him were several of the crew.
"Is—is she—has she sung again?" asked the wooden-legged sailor, cautiously.
"It doesn't happen to be a 'she,' Widdy," answered Dick.
"You don't mean to say that it's a he-one, do you?"
"It's a lobsterman," spoke Paul. "He's out of gasolene. Have we any, Captain Barton?" for the commander was approaching.
"Yes, I guess there's some among the stores."
The lobster boat came alongside, and a very much relieved fisherman looked up at the trim yacht.
"Hum, that's quite some of a smack," he remarked with calm enthusiasm. "I'm right glad I met-up with you. I calculated I'd have t' stay out all night, or until the fog lifted, an' that ain't goin' to be very soon. Has any one a chaw of tobacco?"
"Was that you singin'?" demanded Widdy, suspiciously, while one of the crew, at Captain Barton's direction, went to get some gasolene.
"Well, if you call it singin' I was," guardedly answered the lobster man.
"Why and wherefore was you a-doin' of it?" inquired the wooden-legged sailor. "I took you for a mermaid, an'——"
"A mermaid! Ho! Ho! A bloomin' mermaid I'd make! Why I was only a sort of hummin' to myself because I'd lost my fog horn overboard, an' I didn't want to be run down, with all these lobsters aboard, for lobsters is high now. That's why I was sort of hummin' an' singin', as you call it. Has any one got a chaw of tobacco?"
"Well, seein' as how you're not a mermaid, you can have it," responded Widdy, as he passed over a generous portion. "But it's the first time I ever heard of a lobsterman losin' his fog horn overboard. Some careless of you, wa'n't it?"
"You might call it that," admitted the other, cautiously, "but I was so busy haulin' up my pots an' emptyin' 'em that I didn't notice it right away, an' you know," he added gravely, "a horn won't float."
"Hum," remarked Widdy, as he took back what was left of the plug of tobacco. The gasolene was handed down into the small craft, and the lobsterman insisted on giving Dick a generous portion of his catch in payment therefor.
"Ho, for some lobster salad!" cried the young millionaire, as he held up by the back a squirming crustacean. "Hans, get busy making about a peck of mayonnaise dressing."
"Yah!I dresses dot sea-bug all right!" exclaimed the cook with a grin. "I knows how to fix dem!"
The lobsterman started his gasolene engine, and "put-putted" off through the fog, seeming to get his bearings instinctively. He called a good-by, and once more started his fog-horn song.
"Well, I wish we'd meet such mermaids every day in the week," commented Paul Drew, as he looked at the pile of lobsters on deck, for he, too, was very fond of them.
TheAlbatross, which had been hove to on meeting the small craft, was once more sent slowly forward. The fog lifted about two hours later, and the speed was increased. There was a fine supper aboard Dick's yacht that night, and even the crew had lobster salad, as a sort of side dish with their pork and beans.
"We'll be at Savannah to-morrow," announced Captain Barton one afternoon—a glorious, sunny afternoon, when Dick and the boys were sitting about the deck in steamer chairs. "Do you think your friend, Mr. Beeby, will meet you there, Captain Hamilton?"
"I don't know," answered Dick. "You never can tell what Innis Beeby will do. He's always changing his mind at the last moment, and he's so fat that it doesn't worry him."
"Nothing does," said Paul. "I hardly think he'll join us, though."
"Well, we'll put in and see," decided the lad of millions.
At Savannah, when the yacht had docked, Dick found a telegram awaiting him from his chum, Beeby. It read:
"Will be with you at tenA.M.to-morrow."
"Will be with you at tenA.M.to-morrow."
"And, just as likely as not he won't," commented the young captain. "But we'll lay up here over night and see."
Ten o'clock the next morning came, and the boys eagerly scanned the pier for a sight of the fat lad. There were all sorts of people coming down to the water-front, but Innis Beeby was not of them.
"Guess we'd better get under way," suggested Dick, when eleven o'clock had passed, and there was no sign of the cadet.
The gang-plank was being hauled in, and Captain Barton was about to swing the engine room telegraph signal over to "half-speed ahead," when a shout sounded up the broad pier.
"Here he comes!" cried Paul. "Here comes Innis, on the run!"
The boys saw a very stout lad waddling along at what he probably considered a run, but which was far from it. In front of him, trundling a hand-truck, containing the cadet's trunk and suitcase, was a tall, thin porter, built on the lines of a racer. He would rush along and, on looking back, would see his employer about twenty feet in the rear, coming slowly.
"Can't you hurry, sir?" the porter shouted, so that Dick and the others heard him. "The ship's about to sail, sir."
"Tell—'em—to—hold—her," panted Beeby. "I'm—com—ing!"
Forward ran the porter, trundling the truck. After him came Beeby, going slower and slower, for he was winded. Captain Barton, unaware of the impending arrival of Dick's guest, had shoved the telegraph lever over. There was the ringing of a bell in the engine room, and the yacht gathered way.
"Hold on!" cried Dick. "Stop the engines!"
"Run out the gang-plank again!" ordered Paul.
"Come on, Innis, come on!" yelled Dick to his friend.
"Get on the truck, and let the porter wheelyou," suggested Paul. He scarcely believed the fat cadet would do it, but the suggestion came at just the right time, and the fleshy lad called:
"Here, porter, let me sit on top of my trunk. I can't go another step."
"Sure!" assented the man, and, a moment later, he was assisting the late passenger up on top of the baggage. There was a laugh from the crowd on the pier, in which Dick and his chums joined, but Innis Beeby cared little for that. He could breathe easier now, and there was a better chance of him catching the yacht.
The porter broke into a run with his load, and soon was alongside theAlbatross. But the vessel was now in the grip of the tide, and, though the engine had been stopped, the yacht was moving. The gang-plank could not be run out, for a snubbing post was right in the way.
"Get off, and I'll throw your baggage on board!" cried the porter, for there was, as yet, but a small space of water between the steamer's rail and the bulkhead.
"Yes—but—how—am—I—going—to—get—on—board?" panted the exhausted cadet.
"We'll pull you up!" yelled Dick, for it would mean a lot of work to stop, and back up to the landing place.
Up over the rail went tumbling the trunk and suit-case. Dick threw Beeby a rope's end. The stout lad grasped it firmly. He was quite muscular, from his athletic practice at the academy.
"Now, all together, fellows!" ordered Dick. "Haul him up!"
There was a heave and a pull—a straining and creaking of the rope. Innis planted his feet against the side of the yacht, and "walked" up, after the manner of scaling a wall at the military school. His training stood him in good stead. A moment later Beeby was on deck, and only just in time, for the yacht swung far out from the pier.
"Well—I'm—here—fellows," said Beeby, slowly, as he flung a dollar to the dock for the porter. "I—said—I'd—come—and—I'm—here—(puff) I'm—(puff) here—(puff) all right—(puff) am—(puff) I—not—(puff), Dick?"
"To use a classical and poetical expression, yoube," answered Dick, with a laugh, as he grasped his chum's hand, "and we're mighty glad to see you, Innis. Let her go, Captain Barton."
TheAlbatrossswung out into the channel.
"Well, Beeby, and how are you?" asked the young millionaire, when the late arrival had somewhat recovered his breath, and had slumped down in a steamer chair, with a sigh of relief.
"Fine and dandy. Came pretty near not making it, though; didn't I? I'd been visiting some relatives, here in Savannah, and they kept me until the last minute. I tried to run, but——"
"The less said about your running the better, Innis. Let me shake hands with thelateMr. Beeby," and Paul Drew joined the group about the fat cadet.
"I may be a bit late, but I'm far from being a dead one, Paul. Say, Dick, my boy, it looks very fit here," and the new guest gazed about the yacht with marked approval.
"Yes it'll do for a starter," admitted the owner of theAlbatross. "We've hardly got settled down to the run of things yet."
"It looks all right to me," went on Beeby. "She's a pretty boat, and I'm glad I didn't miss her. Got much of a party aboard?"
"No, not many. Oh, I forgot, you haven't met my friends, Henry Darby, Frank Bender and Tim Muldoon," and Dick introduced the newsboy with no less ceremony than that with which he presented the young acrobat, who, as some would have regarded it, was more in Innis Beeby's "set."
"Glad to meet you fellows," said the fat cadet, rising slowly and ponderously, and shaking hands. "Guess I'm able to go below now, Dick, and stow away my luggage. Where am I to berth; in the engine room?"
"We're going to put you forward with the crew," spoke Paul. "They need a fat and jolly companion."
"It wouldn't be a bad idea for me," answered Beeby. "I was off yachting down east with a friend of mine, once, and I enjoyed being with the crew immensely. They had no end of good yarns to spin."
"We've got a chap aboard who can do the same thing," said Dick. "We'll have to introduce him to Widdy, fellows."
"Sure thing," chimed in Frank Bender, and then, as he had been keeping quiet for nearly ten minutes, he proceeded to climb up the shrouds and pretend to make a dive into the bay.
Beeby was given a stateroom near Dick's, and when his trunk and suit-case had been put away, and he had donned a rough suit, in which he said he felt more at home, he went on deck with the others, and was shown about the yacht. He foundmuch to admire, and warmed Dick's heart with his praise.
For the stout cadet was a bit older than our hero and his chums, and had seen more of the world. In consequence the young millionaire rather looked up to him, and valued his opinion. On his part Beeby had formed a strong liking for Dick, and soon made friends with the other three lads. Paul Drew he had known for some time.
In Captain Barton, Beeby discovered an old friend. They had met once, when Beeby was on a yachting cruise, and, though the commander had not recollected the name when Dick had casually mentioned his friend, the sailor at once recalled the fat lad's face and figure. Soon they were renewing their acquaintanceship, and swapping yarns in the pilot house.
Swinging out of the harbor, and into the deep water beyond, theAlbatrosswas quickly making good time down the coast. Dinner was served, and a jolly party gathered in the dining saloon, Hans Weyler outdoing himself in the matter of providing good things to eat.
"I say, Dick, but youarea lucky dog," remarked Beeby, somewhat enviously, as he leaned back in his chair, after the dessert. "How did it all happen, anyhow—this fine yacht, the way you take it off, and all that?"
"I hardly know myself," answered Dick. "I'm afraid I'll wake up some morning and find it all a dream."
"And you've nothing to do on the entire trip but have fun, eh?" asked the stout lad.
"Well, mostly; though, as I've told you, I expect to look up some of my mother's distant relatives in Cuba. But that may not take long, and then we'll go off on an exploring expedition, and live on a desert island for a change."
"Fine and dandy!" exclaimed Beeby, enthusiastically.
The rest of the day was spent in sitting about deck, the boys telling stories, or swapping school experiences, while occasionally Widdy would come aft on some errand, and Dick would detain him long enough to have him tell some sea yarn, more or less true.
Grit and Gritty gamboled about together, playing like two puppies, for Grit, usually grave and dignified, as suited a blooded bulldog, seemed to renew his youth in the presence of the little waif from the sea.
There was an indication of a storm that night, and Captain Barton, looking anxiously at the barometer, ordered everything made snug below and aloft. The wind freshened about midnight, and when the boys awoke early in the morning they found the yacht pitching and tossing in an angry sea.
"Whew!" exclaimed Beeby, as he just avoided being tossed out of his berth, "rather rough, isn't it, Dick?"
"Oh, so-so. Does it bother you?" asked Dick, from his stateroom.
"Not a bit. I've got my sea legs on now, and I feel fine. I'm going on deck for a breath of air. Come along."
They dressed hastily and, followed by the other lads, ascended the companionway, not without some difficulty, for at times theAlbatrossseemed trying to stand on her beams' ends, while at others she appeared to want to plunge to the bottom of the sea.
"It's some rough," remarked Paul Drew, as he clung to the handrail.
"But the boat seems to go right through it," added the young owner, proudly.
Once they poked their heads outside they were made aware that there was plenty of what sailors call "dirty" weather. There was a strong wind blowing, and a rain was falling, being driven sharply into the faces of the lads, while the spume and spray from the sea, with its tang of saltiness, soon made their cheeks feel as though they had on thin masks of brine.
"Oilskins and sou'westers to-day," remarked Dick, as he dodged back inside, almost wet through from a brief dash across the deck.
"It'll be stay below for mine," decided Frank Bender. "I can practise some of my new motions without much effort. All I'll have to do is to stand still and be tossed about."
"Yes, stand on your head in the dishpan,balanced on a tumbler," suggested Paul. "You'll have a nice tumble, if you do."
"And I guess you'd like to see me," suggested the aspiring acrobat. "Well, I'm not going to. Tim, you and I will get up a daily paper. We can gather news by wireless. I'll write out the sheets by hand, and you can sell 'em."
"Sure," agreed the newsboy. "I'm lost without something like that to do. I'm not used to this sporting life. I'd like to see an extra edition out now."
They ate breakfast under difficulties, and many cups of coffee were spilled in places not intended for them. But, for all that, it was jolly fun, and, donning oilskins a little later, they all went on deck, where they watched the big waves which were running quite high, their crests whipped into foam and spray by the wind, which every moment was increasing.
Tiring of the exposure to the rough weather, they came below in about half an hour, and put in the rest of the morning at various occupations. Some wrote letters, to be posted when sighting the next inward-bound coast steamer; Dick was going over some details of the mysteries of navigation with Captain Barton, and Beeby was peacefully slumbering, braced up on a divan, with many cushions to soften his descent in case he was pitched to the cabin floor.
The striking of eight bells, or the noon call to dinner, saw reassembled in the dining-room Dickand his friends. None of them seemed to have lost their appetites because of the rolling and pitching, for, by this time, even the most indifferent lad was a good sailor.
"Well, I guess we can sit down, and spill some soup in our laps," remarked the young yacht owner, looking around at his chums. "But, hold on, where's Tim?"
"He was here a while ago," volunteered Henry Darby. "I saw him going toward the engine room."
"Yes, he likes to see the machinery," added Frank Bender. "I'll call him." But Frank presently returned to report that Tim had not been in the engine compartment.
"Look in his stateroom; maybe he's asleep," suggested Beeby. "I had a nice nap myself."
But Tim was not there, and by this time Dick was becoming a bit worried. He and Paul made a search in various parts of the yacht, but Tim was not seen, nor did he answer their calls.
"That's rather odd," mused Dick, with a puzzled air.
"Did you look in the pilot house?" asked Frank. "Maybe he's in there with Captain Barton, who hasn't come out yet to get his dinner."
"Tim's not here," was the commander's report a little later, and on his face there came an anxious look, as Dick mentioned the newsboy's absence. "Did you try the forecastle?"
But Tim was not in the crew's quarters, thoughhe was a general favorite with the men forward, and often spent much time in their company.
"Let's get this down to a system," suggested Dick. "Who saw him last—and where?"
It developed that they had all seen the newsboy quite recently, but when it came to saying where there was a conflict of opinion.
"Well, this yacht isn't such a big place," remarked the owner. "If he's on board we ought to find him."
"Maybe he's fallen overboard," spoke Henry Darby, almost before he thought of the significance of his words.
"I saw him with his oilskins on," volunteered Widdy, who had been called into the general conference.
"Was this before or after we all had them on, and were on deck?" asked Paul Drew.
"Afterward. In fact, it wa'n't more'n an hour ago. He come up on deck in 'em, an' then went below."
"Are you sure he went below?" asked Dick, quickly.
"Well, no; not exactly. I saw him start for the companionway, but just then we struck a big wave, and I had to grab a lifeline myself. So I didn't notice, but I think he went below."
A curious hush fell upon them all. They were all thinking of the same direful thing. Another hasty, but thorough search of the yacht was made, and there was no trace of Tim.
"Hecan'thave fallen overboard!" cried Dick. "We'd have heard him cry."
"Not in the noise of this storm," spoke Captain Barton, solemnly. "I'm afraid he's gone, boys. We were boarded by some big waves," and a gloomy silence followed his words.
"Poor Tim," murmured Dick, "and to think I urged him to make this voyage. It's all my fault!"
"Don't give up so soon," urged Beeby, who was the most hopeful person in the group. "Let's have another look. Dinner can wait. We'll find Tim Muldoon, if he's aboard. He's a New Yorker, and they're hard to lose anywhere. We'll find him yet," and the search was begun again.