BY A NARROW MARGIN.
Ysabel made poor work of the flight.
"Go on," she begged; "don't try to save me. You can get away if you don't have to bother to help me along."
"I'll not leave you," answered Matt firmly, taking a quick look over his shoulder. "The soldiers have not yet reached the path and there's a good chance for us. Do your best, Ysabel!"
The girl struggled along as well as she could, Matt bounding ahead and dragging her by main force. The shouts behind were growing louder. A rifle was fired and the bullet hissed spitefully through the air above their heads.
"Fingal will kill you if he catches you," panted the girl.
"I'm not going to let him catch me," answered Matt.
"He will catch you if you try to take me with you! Leave me, I say. I won't be hurt. Perhaps, if I turn around and run toward them, I can do something to help save you."
"You're wasting your breath," said Matt finally. "Save it for running."
Ysabel was a girl who was accustomed, in some things, to having her way. She thought that, if Matt persisted in burdening himself with her, he would surely be captured, and she was anxious to save him at all costs. Thus, in a fashion, she could atone for what she had done in New Orleans.
Suddenly, while Matt was dragging her onward, she threw herself upon the ground.
"I can't go another step!" she cried breathlessly. "Leave me and save yourself."
He made no reply, but bent down and picked the girl up in his arms. Then, thus burdened, he staggered on along the path.
The pursuers were coming closer and closer. Two or three shots rang out, so close together that they sounded almost as one. Matt stumbled and nearly fell.
"You're hurt!" cried the girl, noticing how his left arm dropped at his side, releasing her.
"Nicked, that's all," he answered. "The shock of it came near to taking the strength out of me for an instant. I'm all right now, although the arm isn't much good for the present."
"I'll run along beside you," said the girl, in a strangely subdued tone.
Her ruse to get Matt to leave her—for ruse it was—had not succeeded. On the contrary, it had cost Matt something. The girl, all contrition, ran at his side and did much better than she had done before.
A turn in the woods put them out of sight of their pursuers and presented a screen against the vicious firearms.
"Just a little farther," breathed the girl. "The river is close now."
"We'll make it," returned Matt cheerily.
His face was a trifle pale, but the same dogged look was in his gray eyes which, more than once, had snatched victory from seeming defeat.
"Does your arm hurt, Matt?" the girl asked.
"It's feeling better now," and Matt lifted it.
A little stream of red had run down his hand. The girl stifled a cry as she looked.
He laughed lightly.
"A scratch, that's all," he assured her. "Let's see how quick we can get around that next turn. When we pass that, we'll have a straight run to the river."
They called on every ounce of their reserve strength, and were around the bend before their enemies had had a chance to do any more firing.
Matt was wondering, during that last lap of their run, whether they were to be defeated at the very finish of their plucky flight.
They had delayed too long in leaving the girl's camp. He saw that, plainly enough, and yet he would not have started back to the boat at all unless he had received the news contained in Coleman's note.
Had Dick reached the river in time to attract the attention of those on the submarine and have the craft brought to the surface, ready and waiting for Matt and the girl?
If not, if the slightest thing had gone wrong and caused a delay, then Matt and his companion must surely fall into the hands of Fingal and General Pitou.
Yet, harassed though he was by these doubts, Matt's nerve did not for a moment desert him.
The rebels were behind them, and firing, when he and Ysabel reached the bank of the river. But the soldiers were firing wildly now, and their bullets did not come anywhere near their living targets.
And there, plainly under Matt's eyes, was theGrampus. She was at the surface, he could hear the throb of her working motor, and Dick was forward, swinging back on the cable and holding her against the bank. Carl was half out of the conning tower, tossing his hands frantically.
"Hurry oop! hurry oop!" clamored Carl. "Don'd led dose fellers ged you, Matt. Schust a leedle furder und——"
Matt was about to yell for Carl to drop out of the tower and clear the way, but a bullet, fanning the air close to Carl's head, caused him to disappear suddenly.
"You'll make it!" yelled Dick, reaching over to help the girl to the rounded steel deck.
"Into the tower hatch with you, Ysabel!" cried Matt. "Help her, Dick," he added. "There's no use hanging onto the rope now."
As Matt scrambled to the deck, the impetus of his leap flung the bow of the submarine away from the bank. Dick was already pushing and supporting Ysabel toward the tower hatch.
The bullets were now flying too thickly for comfort, but Matt drew a long breath of relief when he saw the girl disappear behind the protection of the tower.
"In with you, Dick!" shouted Matt, thepingity-pingof bullets on the steel deck giving point to his words.
"But you're hurt, matey," answered Dick.
"No time to talk!" was Matt's brief response.
Dick, without delaying matters further, dropped through the top of the tower. The firing suddenly ceased. As Matt mounted the tower and threw his feet over the rim, he saw the reason.
Four of the ragged soldiers had leaped from the bank to the submarine's deck. More would have come, but the gap of water had grown too wide for them to leap across it. These four, scrambling and stumbling toward Matt, caused their comrades to hold their fire for fear of injuring them.
Just as Matt dropped down the iron ladder, the foremost of the negro soldiers reached the tower. His bighands seized the rim as he made ready to hoist himself upward and follow the fugitives into the interior of the boat.
Matt had yet to close the hatch, and the negro's hands were in the way. With his clenched fist he struck the black fingers. His work was somewhat hampered from the fact that his left arm was still not to be depended on, so he had to use his right hand entirely.
With a howl of pain the negro pulled away his hands. Thereupon, quick as a flash, Matt reached upward and closed the hatch. Not a moment too soon was this accomplished, for the other three soldiers had reached the tower and were preparing to assist their comrade.
Matt pushed into place the lever holding the hatch shut.
"Fill the ballast tanks!" he shouted. "Pass the word to Clackett, Dick. Lively, now! Ten-foot submersion! We've got to clear the decks of these negroes. If they should break one of the lunettes we'd be in a serious fix."
Down below him Matt could hear Dick roaring his order to Clackett. With eyes against one of the narrow windows Matt watched the rebel soldiers.
They were beating on the hatch cover with their fists, and kicking against the sides of the tower. On the bank, their comrades were running along to keep abreast of the boat and shouting suggestions.
TheGrampus, steered by Dick with the aid of the periscope, had turned her nose down-stream in the direction of the Izaral.
The hissing of air escaping from the ballast tanks as the water came in was heard by the four ragamuffins on the outside of the steel shell.
From their actions, they began to feel alarm. This strange craft was more than their primitive minds could comprehend.
Slowly the submarine began to sink. As the water crept up the rounded deck, the negroes lifted their bare feet out of it gingerly and pushed up higher. One of them leaped onto the conning-tower hatch.
Then, suddenly, theGrampusdropped below the water. A mud-colored blur closed Matt's view through the lunette, and as he slid down the ladder into the periscope room, he heard faint yells from the negroes.
Dick, hanging over the periscope table, twirling the steering wheel, was laughing loudly.
"Look, Matt!" he cried. "If you ever saw a lot of scared Sambos, there they are, up there in the Purgatoire!"
Matt stepped to Dick's side and peered down upon the mirror. Far behind, in the trail of bubbles sent up from theGrampus, the four negroes were swimming like mad toward the shore. Their comrades on the bank were leaning out to help them, and it was evident that they would all be saved.
"We can laugh at the affair now," said Matt, "yet it was anything but a laughing matter a while ago. Eh, Ysabel?"
"You saved me, Motor Matt," replied the girl, "and now let us see how badly you are hurt."
"A bandage will fix that in a little while, Ysabel," said the other; "just now I've got something else to attend to, and the arm can wait."
Turning back to the periscope, he watched the river bank sliding away behind them, and waited for the moment when they should draw close to the Izaral.
Their work—the work which they had one chance in ten of accomplishing—must be looked after.
WAITING FOR SOMETHING TO HAPPEN.
Ysabel sank down on the top of the locker. Carl had turned on the electric light in the periscope room and was staring at the girl in unconcealed amazement.
"How vas dis?" he asked. "Miss Harris, iss it you, sure enough?"
"Not Miss Harris," answered the girl with a flush, "but Miss Ysabel Sixty."
"You bed you," returned Carl, slightly abashed. "Miss Sixdy, dis vas kevite a surbrise. I hat no itee dot you vas in dis part oof der vorld. How id vas——"
"Slow down your motor, Gaines!" shouted Matt, through one of the tubes. "Make ready the bow anchor, there, Clackett—you don't need to bother with the tanks, because we're going to anchor under the surface. Carl," he added, turning to his Dutch chum, "below with you and make ready to let go the stern anchor when I give the word. Sharp on it now!"
Carl jumped for the bulkhead door leading to the after-part of the ship.
Every one on board, with the exception of Dick and Ysabel, were astounded at these maneuvres of Motor Matt's. However, Matt was in charge, and all hands obeyed him without question.
With his eyes on the periscope, Matt stood and watched, now and then calling a direction to Dick, at the wheel.
When theGrampusshot from the Purgatoire into the Izaral, she went broadside on against the current of the larger stream. The steel hull heaved over a little under the mass of flowing water, but the screw and the rudder held her stiffly to her course.
"Now," shouted Matt into the speaking tube, "let go your anchors!"
The swishing clank of chains, paying out under water, came to the ears of those in the periscope room.
"Anchor's down!" cried Clackett.
"Dot's der same here!" yelled Carl, his voice ringing from aft.
"Stop the motor, Gaines!" ordered Matt.
The humming of the cylinders ceased, and theGrampus, anchored broadside on across the Izaral, tugged at her mooring chains.
"Where are we, Matt?" came the voice of Gaines through the motor-room tube. "I thought we were making a run to get away from the revolutionists."
"Hardly, Gaines," answered Matt. "We don't want to run away and leave our friends in the hands of the rebels. Come into the periscope room, all of you, and I'll explain what we are doing and why we are doing it."
"And while you're explaining," said Ysabel quietly but firmly, "I'll take care of your arm. Where is something I can use for a bandage? And I'd like a sponge and a basin of water."
"You'll find a bandage in that locker you're sitting on, Ysabel," said Matt.
"I'll get the water," said Dick.
By the time Matt had been divested of his coat, and had had his shirt sleeve rolled up, Gaines, Clackett and Carl were in the periscope room, sitting on the low stools that served for chairs. Dick was back, also, with the basin of water and the sponge, and Ysabel began dressing the wounded arm.
"Great guns, Matt!" exclaimed Gaines. "Are you hurt?"
"A scratch, nothing more," Matt answered. "The bullet simply left a mark and then went on. I brought you up here, friends," the young motorist continued, "to tell you where we are. We're anchored, broadside on to the current, in the middle of the Izaral River, our periscope ball some three or four feet above the surface of the water. We are going to stay here and wait for something to happen."
"What's to happen?" asked Clackett.
"Well, we've got news that a motor launch is coming down the Izaral loaded with prisoners. If possible, we must intercept the launch. Dick says we've a chance in ten of winning out, but we can't neglect even so slim a chance as that, inasmuch as it happens to be our only one."
Gaines, Clackett and Carl were even more deeply puzzled than they had been.
"Who are the prisoners?" inquired Gaines.
"Coleman, for one—the man we came to rescue. Then there are Jordan, Speake, and, I hope, Tirzal."
"Jordan and those with him were really captured?" demanded Clackett.
"Yes."
"Ach, du lieber, vat a luck!" wailed Carl. "Ve come afder vone Amerigan consul und lose anodder! Dey vas hootoos, dose consuls."
Matt, carefully watching the periscope as he talked, repeated the experiences that had overtaken him and Dick while they were reconnoitring to find some trace of Jordan's party.
The presence of Ysabel had aroused much curiosity in all of them, and the explanation as to how she came to be on the boat straightened out that part of the matter to the satisfaction of every one. Carl, in particular, was highly pleased. He had dried himself out, after his fall in the river, and was feeling easy in his mind, now that Matt and Dick, at least, had been kept out of the hands of General Pitou.
"You dit a pig t'ing, Miss Sixdy," said Carl, "ven you safed Matt und Tick, und Matt dit some more pig t'ings ven he safed you, so dot vas efen. Now, oof ve don'd make some misdakes in our galgulations und are aple to resgue dot poat loadt oof brisoners, eferypody vill be so habby as I can'd dell. Oof gourse, I don'd vas in id, ad all. I hat my drouple mit an allikator, und hat to shday pehindt und dake care oof der supmarine."
"Do you feel pretty sure, Matt," queried Gaines, "that the motor launch with the prisoners will come down the Izaral?"
"All we have to go on, Gaines, is Coleman's note," answered Matt. "I may say that this move constitutes our only hope. If something doesn't happen, about as we expect and hope it will, then we'll have to give up all thought of doing anything for Coleman, or our friends."
"We'll hope something will happen, mate," said Dick. "In case the launch comes down the river, what are you intending to do?"
"I have my plans, Dick," said Matt. "If every one carries out his orders on the jump, I feel pretty sure the plan will carry. The main thing is to keep a keen watch for the launch."
"That's easy enough during daylight, with the periscope ball elevated as it is," remarked Gaines, "but if the launch happens to come down-stream in the night—which, it strikes me, is altogether likely—then the boat is apt to get past us."
"Not if a good lookout is kept."
"How will you keep a good lookout if you don't go to the surface?"
"Well, what the eye can't see the ear will have to tell us. The hollow ball and the hollow periscope mast will bring thechugof the motor boat's engine into the submarine. The craft ought to be heard a good distance away. One man will have to be at the periscope all the time, and all the rest of you must be at your stations, ready to carry out orders at a second's notice. You go down to the motor room, Gaines, and Clackett, you go to the tank room. I will stay on the lookout. At midnight, I will have Carl and Dick relieve both of you, but all hands must be on the alert to turn out at a moment's warning. Carl will get some supper for us, and pass it around."
Matt, as usual, had made no arrangement whereby he could secure any rest for himself. But he felt that he could not rest, even if he had the chance.
The rescue of Coleman meant much to Captain Nemo, Jr., for on the performance of theGrampusmight depend the sale of the submarine to the United States government. While the failure to rescue Coleman, and even the loss of Jordan, Speake and the pilot had nothing to do with the boat's capabilities, yet failure, nevertheless, would spoil a sale and fill the authorities in Washington with distrust.
TheGrampuswas not a passenger boat, and she had now a lady passenger to take care of. Matt finally solved the difficulty by having Ysabel conducted to a small steel room abaft the periscope chamber. This was set aside entirely for the girl's use, and she arranged a fairly comfortable bed on the floor.
After supper had been eaten, Ysabel retired to her cabin, and Carl and Dick nodded drowsily on the looker in the periscope room. Matt, wide awake as a hawk, kept his eyes on the periscope table and his ears attuned for the first sound of the launch's motor.
Night, however, closed in without bringing any sign of the boat. The gloom, of course, put the periscope out of commission as it deepened, but still Matt watched the table top, looking for possible lights and listening for the clank of machinery.
Dick took Matt's place for an hour or two, while Matt lay down and tried to sleep. Although he had had only three hours' sleep in two days, yet the young motorist found it impossible to lose himself in slumber. He was keyed up to too high a pitch, and was too worried.
At midnight he sent Dick and Carl to relieve Gaines and Clackett, and was alone with his vigils in the periscope room.
From midnight on the night seemed an eternity; and the gloomy hours passed without anything happening. Matt had believed with Gaines that night would be the time the captors would choose for coming down the river with their captives. Inasmuch as they had not come, did this mean that they were not coming at all? that General Pitou had changed his plans?
Desperately Matt clung to his last shred of hope and watched the coming day reflect itself in a gray haze over the top of the periscope table.
Slowly the trees along the river stood out with constantly increasing distinctness, and the bosom of the rolling river took form beneath his eyes. Up-stream he could see nothing, but—what was that he heard?
Scarcely breathing, he gripped at the table top and listened intently.Chuggety-chug,chuggety-chug—there was absolutely no doubt of it! A motor boat was coming down-stream—his ears had heard it before the periscope had been able to pick it up.
"At your stations, everybody!" Matt shouted. "Dick! up here in the periscope room with you!The motor launch is coming!"
MOTOR MATT'S GREAT PLAY.
Instantly all was commotion on board the submarine, but it was orderly commotion. Clackett jumped to his ballast tanks, Gaines "turned his engine over," and Carl and Dick hastened into the periscope room.
"Aft with you, Carl," called Matt, "and stand by to take in the stern anchor. Clackett," and Matt's lips passed to the tube leading to the tank room, "forward, and be ready for the bow anchor. Dick," Matt's eyes were again on the periscope table, "bring all the loose coils of rope you can find and lay them on the locker."
Dick had no notion what the ropes were wanted for, but he went for them, and soon had four coils laid along the top of the locker. After that, he passed to the steering wheel, standing shoulder to shoulder beside Matt in front of the periscope table.
There was an atmosphere of expectancy all through the submarine. Every nerve was strained, and each person stood at his post almost with bated breath. Ysabel, without speaking, came into the periscope room and watched Matt with steady eyes.
"There she is!" cried Dick, his eyes on the periscope mirror; "I see her coming!"
Matt also saw the motor launch, breaking into sight against the background of indistinct foliage, far up the stream. The boat was comparatively small, and well loaded. Fingal was in the bow thwarts, with a rifle across his knees; in the stern was Cassidy and a negro soldier, both likewise armed with rifles. Between Fingal, and Cassidy and the negro, were the prisoners. There were four of them—Jordan, Speake, Tirzal and a slender, full-bearded man in a battered solar hat. Cassidy was close to the gasoline engine and was evidently looking after it. Fingal, from the bow, was doing the steering.
"They're all there," said Matt, in a calm, matter-of-fact tone. "Come here, Ysabel."
The girl stepped obediently to his side. Matt pointed to one of the prisoners reflected in the mirror.
"Is that Coleman?" he asked.
"Yes," was the answer.
"You'd better go back and sit down, Ysabel," said Matt. "Pretty soon we're going to need all the space we have in this vicinity."
Matt was easy, almost smiling. A great relief had come to him, for the launch was in sight with four captives and three captors, and now it lay with Matt alone whether his friends and Coleman should be released or not.
"Why don't you do something, matey?" implored Dick, his hands shaking with excitement.
"I'm waiting for the right time," was the cool answer.
"We've only two revolvers," muttered Dick, "and there are three rifles in that boat. What can we do?"
"Nothing with firearms. We've got to make a different play, Dick."
A moment longer Matt waited, studying the approach of the launch with calculating eyes; then, suddenly, he turned.
"In with the anchors, Clackett, you and Carl," he called. "See how quick you can get them off the bottom. Start your engine, Gaines," he added.
The lifting of the anchors caused theGrampusto drift with the current. But only for a moment. Soon the screw took the push and Dick, under orders from Matt, headed the craft up-stream and the propeller worked just fast enough to hold her steady.
"Anchor's stowed!" called Clackett.
"Same vay mit me!" came from Carl.
"Jump for the tank room, Clackett!" called Matt. "Carl, up here with you."
As Carl came rolling excitedly into the periscope room, Clackett reported, by tube, that he was back at his usual post.
Matt turned to Dick.
"Keep theGrampuspointed for the launch, Dick," said he. "Carl, take a coil of rope and climb to the conning-tower hatch. The moment the tower's awash, open the hatch, get out on the deck and do what you can with the rope."
Carl was bewildered. What was he to do with the rope? "I don'd know no more as a mu-el," he said to himself, but nevertheless he obeyed orders.
Matt continued to watch the periscope table and to calculate. Then, again suddenly, he whirled to the tube communicating with the tank chamber.
"Empty the tanks by compressed air, Clackett!" he called. "See how quick you can do it!Everything depends on you!"
The hiss of the air was heard ejecting the water. The submarine began to rise.
"Bring her up under the launch, Dick!" cried Matt. "Make no mistake, old chap!Under the launch, mind!"
A thrill ran through Dick Ferral's nerves. At last he understood what his old raggie was about! Had he had time, Dick would have liked to give Motor Matt a hug from sheer admiration.
"When the tanks are empty," shouted Matt to Clackett, "come up, take a coil of rope and rush for the deck."
"Aye, aye, sir!" called Clackett.
The periscope revealed a strange situation. The launch was almost upon the periscope ball. Too late those in the motor boat recognized the device. Before the boat could sheer off, theGrampushad risen under her bodily and lifted her clear of the water. The steel hull of the submarine shivered, and wild cries came from those in the motor boat.
Dick grabbed a coil of rope and leaped for the iron ladder.
"Up with the hatch, Carl!" he yelled. "Out on the deck and see how many you can pull out of the river."
"Hoop-a-la!" cried Carl, wrenching back on the lever and throwing up the dripping hatch cover.
He scrambled out.
"Steer from the tower, Dick," Matt called, racing up the ladder, "as soon as the hatchway is cleared."
Clackett followed Matt, and Ysabel Sixty followed Clackett. The thrill of the moment was in the girl's nerves. She could not have held herself back if she had wanted to. Armed with a coil of rope, she climbed over the rim of the hatch and onto the slippery plates of the deck.
What Matt saw, when he struck the deck, was an overturned launch in the water, and two men clinging to the bow of theGrampus. One of these was Cassidy, and the other was Tirzal. The former was clinging to the flagstaff, and the other to one of the wire cable guys. By an accident, they had held to the curved deck instead of slipping back into the water.
Dick, from the tower, was able to direct the boat so as to facilitate the picking up of those in the river.
Carl tossed a rope to Speake, Matt got one to Coleman, and Clackett succeeded in getting a line in the hands of Jordan. Ysabel tossed one end of her rope to Fingal, but he flung it aside with an oath. The negro soldier reached for it, but Fingal struck his hand fiercely aside, seized the soldier by the neck and began swimming with him toward the river bank.
While the rescued prisoners were being hauled aboard, Matt watched Fingal and the negro. The current was swift, but both men were strong swimmers. To Matt's satisfaction he saw the two gain the bank and get safely upon dry ground. Fingal's move was characteristic of him, for, as soon as he could lift himself, he shook his clenched fist at the submarine and those on her deck. If he had had a rifle, undoubtedly he would have done some shooting.
"Motor Matt!" cried Jordan.
He was sitting on the deck, his back against the side of the conning tower, shaking the water out of his ears.
"Well?" asked Matt.
"Did you come up under that launch by accident, or did you do it purposely?"
"I had that all figured out, Jordan," laughed Matt.
"It was the greatest play I ever heard of!"
"It was the only one we could make that would stand any show of winning. When you, and Speake, and Tirzal left theGrampus, you took all the rifles. We were leftwith only a brace of six-shooters. Of course I knew better than to try to get the best of Fingal, Cassidy and the soldier with two popguns when they were armed with rifles."
"Of course you did!" chuckled Jordan. "I'm as wet as a drowned rat, but I'm happy—oh, yes, happier than I ever thought I should be, a few minutes back. By the way, Matt, that gentleman with the dripping whiskers is Jeremiah Coleman, the fellow we came to rescue, and just missed leaving a few more prisoners to keep him company. Jerry, shake hands with Motor Matt. He was cracked up pretty high in those messages from New Orleans, and I must say that he fills the bill."
"Glad to meet you, Motor Matt," smiled Coleman, as he leaned to take Matt's hand. "You've done a fine thing for all of us, and it's something that won't be forgotten in a hurry."
"Dose iss der kindt oof t'ings vat he alvays does," bubbled Carl.
"Cassidy and Tirzal seem to have come aboard without gettin' wet," remarked Clackett, with a glance of contempt in the direction of the mate.
Cassidy sat on the deck with his head bowed, as abject a figure as Matt ever saw.
"Which way now, Matt?" asked Dick.
"Belize," replied Matt. "Go down the ladder and let Tirzal take the wheel until we all get below; after that, Tirzal can steer from the tower. Go below, gentlemen," said Dick. "You'll feel more comfortable after you dry your clothes, and then we can have a talkfest. There are a lot of things I've got to find out."
Ysabel led the descent into the periscope room; Coleman followed her, then Tirzal, then Speake, and then Jordan. Clackett and Carl brought up the rear of the procession, both, with their eyes, telling the melancholy Cassidy what they thought of him as they dropped down the tower hatch.
"Better go below, Cassidy," said Matt calmly.
For answer, the mate jerked a revolver from a belt at his waist and lifted the muzzle to his breast.
In a twinkling, Matt had hurled himself across the slippery deck and knocked the weapon out of Cassidy's hand.
"You're less of a man than I thought you, Cassidy," cried Matt contemptuously, "to think of such a thing as that!"
ON THE WAY TO BELIZE.
"What have I got left to live for?" scowled Cassidy, looking up into Matt's face. "I turned against the best friend I ever had just because he had sense enough to put a better head than mine in charge of theGrampus."
"You took to drinking," said Matt. "That, I think, was at the bottom of what you did. But I don't harbor any ill will, and I don't believe Captain Nemo, Jr., will, either."
"He'll never overlook this," muttered Cassidy, shaking his head. "An' it was him that pulled me out of the gutter, up there in Philadelphia, set me on my feet and done everything possible to make a man o' me. I ain't fit to live!"
"When a man's not fit to live," said Matt, tempted to be out of patience, "he certainly is not fit to die. Look this thing square in the face, Cassidy, and live it down."
"But you don't know all I done."
"I guess I do, pretty near."
"No, you don't. I began plannin' to do some underhand work the minute I heard what the cap'n was going to do for you. Whenever I git a drink in me, I'm ripe for anything. That's why I sampled that brandy I was bringing to the cap'n. I wanted to nerve myself up for what I was plannin' to do. I listened to you when you was reading the sealed orders. I heard it all, and I knew I had something then that was valuable. As soon as you and Ferral left theGrampus, I got away, too. As I stepped out o' the sailboat at the landing, this Cap'n Fingal spoke me. We went into a drinkin' place by the wharf and we spilled a couple of tots of rum down our throats. That was enough to set us both going. I told Fingal what I knowed, and he told me a lot about himself. He said he'd make it right with me if I could get you disabled so'st you couldn't manage theGrampus, and would have to be left behind. That, as Fingal and I both figgered, would put me in command. It was to handle you rough, and land you in a hospital, that we trailed you to the consulate. When we failed there, we come back to the landing and Fingal says for me to jump aboard his schooner with him and then lay for theGrampusup the Izaral. I told Fingal I thought it was the Rio Dolce, but he laughed and said if you'd read it that way you was stringing me.
"I was about ready to quit on the business, after what happened at the consulate, but Fingal got more rum down me, talked about how I'd been imposed on, and told what a fine thing it would be if we could make you fail in the work you had come down here to do.
"That kind of pleased me, too. If I could have fixed it so you'd fall down on the job the cap'n had laid out for you, then, I thought, the cap'n would think he had made a mistake in not putting me up as boss of the submarine. Funny how a feller's idees will git squeegeed that away as soon as he gets a little grog under hatches.
"Well, anyway, I went with Fingal. We left the schooner at Port Livingstone, and Fingal told the mate of the schooner to go down to Barrios and stay there till Fingal joined him. Then we stole the motor boat and hustled up the river to that outfit of ragamuffins that'shopin' to grab the country and turn it over to another dictator. I was disgusted with the lot of 'em, and with old Pitou more'n any of the rest. I wouldn't go near Coleman, and when our information worked out, and Jordan and the half breed was captured, I felt sore enough at myself; but it was Speake that cut me up the worst. Him and me had always been a heap friendly on theGrampus, and there I was, after betraying him into the hands of his enemies. Oh, I tell you, Matt, I felt meechin' enough to go down to the river and jump in. Then, when old Pitou made up his mind to send the prisoners down the river in the launch to another of his hangouts where he thought they'd be safer, and appointed me as one of the guards to go with 'em and see that none of 'em got away, I felt about as respectable as a horse thief. Of course, when you bumped us on the bottom with the submarine, I couldn't sink into the river and never come up; oh, no, I just naturally had to land right on the deck, without so much as getting my feet wet. I don't know how I ever can go back to Belize and look the cap'n in the face. That's honest."
Cassidy's regret for what he had done was so profound that it made a deep impression on Matt.
"You're not a bad fellow at heart, Cassidy," said the young motorist. "Captain Nemo, Jr., knows that, as well as all the rest of us. Besides, it was a little bit rough to jump a fellow like me over the head of an old hand like you, and——"
"It wasn't!" growled Cassidy, "not a bit of it!" He lifted his fierce eyes. "Think I've got the head to do what you done? No, not in a thousand years. The cap'n knowed what he was about, and I didn't have sense enough to see it."
"Well, you buck up and go to the captain. You didn't cause any great harm, anyhow, the way things have come out. The captain will be so pleased over what's been accomplished that he'll overlook a good deal. I'll say a good word for you, Cassidy."
"You will?" demanded the mate incredulously.
"Yes."
"Well, that's a heap more'n I deserve."
"You'll be the mate to help us back to Belize. I'm in charge until we get there, and I order you to go below and go on duty."
"Orders is orders, I reckon," and Cassidy hoisted himself up and followed Matt to the tower hatch and down into the periscope room. The room was fairly crowded, and a roar of delight went up at the sight of Matt. It died away suddenly as Cassidy showed himself. A glitter came into Speake's eyes as he regarded the mate.
"Better lock Cassidy up somewhere, Matt," suggested Jordan.
"Yes," grunted Speake venomously, "or tie his hands and feet an' throw him overboard."
"You're wrong in your drift, friends," said Matt quietly. "Cassidy is a good fellow at heart, and Fingal twisted him around his fingers. I haven't any fault to find with Cassidy, and he's going back to Belize as mate of theGrampus."
"Avast there, matey!" expostulated Dick. "That's playing it kind of rough on some of the honest men that stood by the ship, don't you think?"
"Vat a foolishness, Matt!" exploded Carl. "Dot feller come pooty near being der finish oof you."
"Better think that over a little, Matt," suggested Jordan.
"Him plaanty bad man," said Tirzal, climbing up into the tower in order to do his steering from the lookout.
"If he stays, mate, I resign!" snapped Speake.
"No, you don't, Speake!" answered Matt. "I'm master of this boat until we get back to Belize. Cassidy's mate, and you're in the torpedo room."
"You see how it is, Matt," muttered Cassidy.
"It's as I want it, Cassidy," said Matt firmly, "as far as Belize."
"But, look here," began Speake, disposed to argue the point, "here's a man, holdin' the responsible position of mate, as goes——"
"Forget that for a while, Speake," interrupted Matt, "and remember the number of times Cassidy's pluck and friendship have been a help to all of us. Put all the fine things Cassidy has done into one side of the scale, and this one black mark in the other, and there's still more than enough left to entitle him to our confidence."
"I'm obliged to you, King," said Cassidy. "I'll go on as mate as far as Belize, and then the cap'n can settle the matter as he thinks right. Just now, though, I'm tired and I guess I'll go to the torpedo room and take a rest."
"All right," said Matt. "You go to the torpedo room, too, Speake," Matt added.
Speake hesitated, then followed Cassidy out of the room.
"You're a queer jigger, Motor Matt," remarked Jordan.
"But he's right, all the same," said Coleman.
"Oh, yes, Jerry," grinned Jordan, "you stick in your oar. You're sort o' chesty for a chap that's been stowed away in the jungle with revolutionists for a couple of weeks or more, eating mule meat and making all kinds of trouble for the State Department of your native country, ain't you? How'd you get run away with, in the first place?"
"That was too easy, Hays," laughed Coleman. "I came across from the Pacific to Port Livingstone, and while I was there the revolutionists gobbled me."
"I believe you said they'd treated you well?"
"The best they could. I played seven-up and picquet with Pitou, and I learned, before I had been two days in the rebel camp, that it wasn't safe to beat the general.As long as I allowed him to beat me, I was treated to the best he had. Whenever I beat him, my rations—even the mule meat—were cut down."
Coleman turned to Ysabel, who had been sitting quietly by.
"I'm mighty glad, little girl," said he, "that you are able to get clear of Pitou and Fingal."
"So am I, Mr. Coleman," answered Ysabel. "If it hadn't been for Motor Matt I'd be still in the camp."
"Motor Matt again!" laughed Coleman.
"Always Motor Matt!" chimed in Jordan, with a quizzical look at the king of the motor boys.
"He iss der feller vat does t'ings, you bed you," declared Carl.
"Let's hear about what happened while Speake, Tirzal and I were away from the boat," suggested Jordan.
"Not now," answered Matt. "I'm hungry, whether the rest of you are or not. Speake," he called through the tube leading to the torpedo room, "see if you can rustle something in the way of breakfast."
"Aye, aye, sir," answered Speake heartily.
For some time theGrampushad been heaving and tossing in a way that made it difficult for those in the periscope room to keep their seats.
Matt took a look into the periscope.
"Ah," said he, "we're out of the river and heading for Belize."
"And glad I'll be to get back there," remarked Jordan, with satisfaction. "You've made me a lot of trouble, Coleman."
"I seem to have made a lot of you a good deal of trouble," returned Coleman, "and I'm mighty glad I've ceased to figure as an international issue."
"We all are, for that matter," said Jordan.
A DASH OF TABASCO.
In due course the delayed breakfast came up from the torpedo room. By some error, Speake had mixed an overdose of tabasco sauce with the canned beans which he had warmed up on his electric stove.
"Glory!" sputtered Jordan, reaching for water. "Speake must have mixed a Whitehead torpedo in that mess of beans."
"Only a dash of tabasco," replied Coleman. "Haven't you been in Central America long enough to like hot stuff?"
"Not long enough, anyhow, to acquire an asbestos stomach. Talking about a dash of tabasco, though, Motor Matt's raid on the rebels must have been something of that variety. Reel it off, Matt. We're all good listeners."
"You do it, Dick," said Matt. "You were with me and did as much of the work as I did."
"Belay, on that!" remonstrated Dick. "I didn't take care of Ysabel during that run for the river, did I? And I didn't get that piece of lead through my arm, either."
"You'd hardly know my arm had stopped a bullet, would you?" and Matt showed his ability to use his left hand with the same ease that he did his right.
"Don't sidetrack the relish," chirped Jordan. "Let Matt's hot work come on with the beans. Go on, Matt—or you tell us, Dick, if Matt's too bashful."
Thereupon Dick waded into past events as he and Matt had experienced them. He slighted his own deeds to give a greater lustre to Matt's, and finally Matt, in self-defense, had to take the telling into his own hands and finish it.
"Well, Jupiter!" exclaimed Jordan, "there's enough tabasco in that run of work to satisfy almost anybody. But, if Motor Matt hadn't come up under that launch like he did, all of us prisoners, my dear friends, would now be tramping through the jungle toward Pitou's new camp."
"I'm glad that note of mine proved so valuable to us," spoke up Coleman.
"How did you come to lay all that information aboard, Mr. Coleman?" inquired Dick. "It seemed main queer that a prisoner could have got wise to all that."
"Pitou told me," said Coleman, with a twinkle in his eye, "over a game of seven-up. He indulged in liquid refreshment, as I remember, and the more he beat me, and the more he indulged, the more confidential he became. I knew Pedro was a friend of Ysabel's, and that he was helping her to leave the camp, so I managed to write down what I had heard, hoping that Ysabel might get to Port Livingstone and give the news to somebody there who could and would help us."
"You haven't told us, Mr. Jordan," said Matt, "what happened to your landing party."
"I hesitate to put it into cold words," answered Jordan, "after listening to a recital which shows that you are a general in that sort of affair, Matt, while I am only a private. By rights, my lad, you are the one who should have gone with that landing party. However, since it appears necessary to have our experiences in order to make the testimony complete, here goes.
"By accident we struck a path. Tirzal said he knew about the path, but I think the good-natured rascal was talking for effect, and that he had never seen it before. I was fairly sure in my own mind, mainly because we had seen nothing of Fingal's schooner after leaving Belize nor of a small boat after leaving Port Livingstone, that Fingal and Cassidy hadn't reached the revolutionists and told what they knew. I suspect that that's what made me careless, for I was that when you consider that wewere out on a reconnoitring expedition and ought to have been looking for traps as well as for revolutionists.
"Well, the trap was sprung at a turn in the path. I wasn't able to see around the turn, and a bunch of colored persons in ragged clothes were on us before you could say Jack Robinson. This happened quite a little while after we got away from the boat. As I recollect, we had reconnoitred, and had been led away from the path on some wild-goose chase or other by Tirzal half a dozen times. I was just thinking about returning to the boat when we pushed around that turn.
"I had time to shoot, and it so happened that I wounded a colored person who was a favorite captain of the general's. It wasn't a serious wound, but the general was pretty badly worked up over it, and I didn't know but they would stand me against a tree and shoot me out of hand before I could make the general understand I was in the consular service. At the right moment, Fingal came up, and he recognized me. The general was tickled, and felt sure he had enough consular representatives of the United States in his hands to insure the giving up of Jim Sixty. Nice business, eh, Coleman," and Jordan turned aside to his friend, "when it takes two fellows like you and me to make an even exchange for a fellow like that filibuster?"
"Well," answered Coleman, "Sixty is worth more to the rebels than we are. It's what a thing's worth to somebody else, and not what you think it's worth to you, that counts."
"The point's too fine and gets away from me," went on Jordan. "That's about all of it, Matt. Poor Tirzal was recognized as a spy, and he would have been shot quick enough if I hadn't threatened the general with all sorts of things if he carried out his intentions. Out of consideration for me, Pitou agreed to wait until we got to the new camp before shooting Tirzal. That's the only thing, Matt, that saved the half breed's life."
Matt was beginning to feel the effects of his long period of active duty without sufficient sleep, and he called Cassidy from the torpedo room, left him in charge of theGrampus, and then lay down on the locker and was soon slumbering soundly.
When he was awakened it was by Jordan. It was getting along toward evening, and theGrampuswas anchored in her old berth off Belize. A sailing ship was alongside to take the passengers ashore.
Jordan, Coleman, Tirzal, Cassidy and Matt were to go, and, of course, Ysabel. Dick was left to look after the submarine.
Ysabel left Matt and the rest at the landing.
"Will I see you again, Matt," she asked, "you and the rest of the motor boys?"
"I hope so, Ysabel," answered the young motorist, "but I also hope we won't have such rough times when our trails cross again."
"Have I helped you enough to offset what I did in New Orleans?"
"Don't mention that—forget about it. The account is more than square."
"Good-by, then," she called, in a stifled voice, and hurried off along the street.
Jordan and Coleman went on to the house where the captain had been taken, accompanying Matt and Cassidy. The mate was going to present himself frankly before the captain, acknowledge his fault and then abide by the full consequences.
But fate decreed that the matter should turn out otherwise.
The captain, as it chanced, was very much worse and was unable to recognize any one. The doctor averred that the case was not serious, and that, with good nursing, Captain Nemo, Jr., would pull through all right.
"If he wants a nurse, doctor," said Cassidy, "then it's up to me. I took care of him in New Orleans, the time he was sick there, and I guess I can do it now better than any one else."
"Then pull off your coat," said the doctor, "and go up to his room."
All this was as it should be. For the present, theGrampuswas still under Matt's care, and he started back toward the wharf to secure a sailboat and return to the submarine.
Jordan and Coleman accompanied him part way, then left him to telegraph their report of recent events to Washington.
"We're going to handle you and theGrampuswithout gloves in that report," declared Jordan, with a wink.
"Just so you please the government and make the navy department take the submarine off the captain's hands," returned Matt, "that's all I care."
THE END.
THE NEXT NUMBER (17) WILL CONTAIN
Motor Matt's Close Call
OR,
THE SNARE OF DON CARLOS.
Carl's Serenade—Don Ramon Ortega—The Shadow of Treachery—Don Carlos Lays His Snare—A Mutiny—A Lesson in Who's Who—The Snare Tightens—The Don's Proposal—Ysabel Sixty's Loyalty—An Opportunity—Exciting Work—Capturing the General—Off for the Gulf—Running the Battery—The "Seminole"—Conclusion.
Carl's Serenade—Don Ramon Ortega—The Shadow of Treachery—Don Carlos Lays His Snare—A Mutiny—A Lesson in Who's Who—The Snare Tightens—The Don's Proposal—Ysabel Sixty's Loyalty—An Opportunity—Exciting Work—Capturing the General—Off for the Gulf—Running the Battery—The "Seminole"—Conclusion.
NEW YORK, June 12, 1909.
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By EBEN REXFORD.
Ned was like most other boys, I suppose. Some days he felt so good-natured that his spirits were positively "catching," as they say about colds and the mumps, and you couldn't have had the blues if you had made up your mind to do so, if he was round. But the very next day was apt to be one of his cross days, and he could be as cross and disagreeable as any boy ever could.
One morning he got up feeling very much out of sorts.
"Ned's going to be cross to-day," said Harry, when they gathered round the breakfast table. "It's sticking out all over him now."
"I don't know as it's any of your business," answered Ned promptly. "I'd a good deal rather be cross than make a fool of myself by trying to say smart things when I couldn't."
Which shot, considering that Harry hadn't tried to say anything "sharp," was rather uncalled for, and didn't hit anybody in particular.
"Don't let me hear any more such conversation," said Mrs. Haynes, taking her seat at the table. "You are both of you old enough to behave yourselves as gentlemen ought to."
Ned found any amount of fault with the victuals. The buckwheat cakes had too much soda in them; the sirup wasn't fit to eat; the butter looked as if an old squaw had made it; the potatoes were a little the worst ones he ever tasted. And the result of his fault-finding was, that he was sent away from the table with an unsatisfied appetite.
When he was outside the dining room, he realized that, poor as the breakfast might be, it would have been better than none, and began to wish he had said less, and eaten more.
After breakfast the hired girl began to wash the windows. Ned watched her standing on the stepladder, and thought what fine fun it would be to tip it over when she was on it, but concluded he wouldn't try it just then, as Bridget was apt to be cross as well as himself, and he remembered that some of the practical jokes he had played off on her had resulted in tingling ears, and having his ears boxed was about the worst kind of punishment for Ned. But as Bridget came out of the sitting room with the stepladder, which she was taking to the veranda, in order to wash the windows from the outside, she stumbled over him in the hall, and came so near falling that she had to let the ladder go and catch at the stair railing to save herself. And the ladder in its fall struck against a bracket on which a little vase stood, and away went both of them, and the vase was shivered into fragments.
"You good-for-nothin' spalpeen!" cried Bridget, giving him a slap across the ears; "you got forninst me on purpose, an' now see what you've done! That illigant mug all broke to pieces, jist on account of your bad ways. I've a good mind to tell the missus."
"You needn't 'a' stumbled over me," said Ned angrily. "If you'd look where you were going, you wouldn't go round smashing things up in this style. I'd turn you off if I was in father's place."
"Would you now?" demanded Bridget, her arms akimbo. "Indade I'd like to see ye doin' it. If you don't take yerself off, I'll box ye, mind that, now; an' I'll do it up in illigant style."
Ned concluded that discretion was the better part of valor at present, and repaired to the veranda.
Presently Bridget came out with the stepladder, which she adjusted before one of the windows, and then went in after water.
A bright idea struck Ned. Bridget had been saucy and impudent. He would be even with her. He'd learn her to slap his ears!
He pulled a long piece of stout cord out of his pocket and tied it to one leg of the stepladder, and then hid in the shrubbery.
Presently out came Bridget. She mounted the ladder, unconscious of any danger, and began washing the window vigorously.
All at once the ladder seemed to jerk itself out from under her, and with a whoop that would have done credit to any Apache brave, she landed in the middle of a great lilac bush, before she realized whether her sudden descent was caused by a collapse of the ladder, an earthquake, or one of Ned's pranks. She strongly suspected the latter; but, looking around from her dignified position in the lilac bush, she could see nothing of him, and there was nothing about the innocent-looking ladder, as it lay on the ground at the veranda steps, to indicate that it had been meddled with. But as she proceeded to alight from her elevated pedestal, she heard a chuckle somewhere in the shrubbery, which satisfied her that her suspicions were correct.
Harry came along pretty soon, and wanted Ned to join a party of children who were going down to the old mill after berries.
But Ned answered, very shortly, that he "wasn't going to do any such thing," and Harry went on, without stopping to coax him any.
That made Ned madder than ever. It was quite evident that they didn't want him, and only asked him because they couldn't very well help doing so.
"I'll have some fun with 'em," said Ned, setting off in the same direction, about half an hour afterward.
The berries the children had gone after grew in an old meadow. In this old meadow, through which a brook ran, there was a mill, which was said to be haunted, and every child was afraid to go near it in the daytime.
Ned picked his way through the bushes on the edge of the meadow, and got into the mill on the opposite side from where the children were picking berries.
So busily were they engaged in gathering the ripe fruit that they were not aware how near they were getting to the mill, till a sepulchral groan made them look up in undefined terror, and there, in the farthest shadowy corner, was something awfully ghost-like.
"Repent of your sins!" exclaimed the ghost, uttering thefirst and only thing he could think of; and then, with wild shouts of fright, the children started off in a stampede for the road, spilling their berries and tearing their clothes.
Little Susie Mayne lost her sunbonnet, and Will Blake lost his shoe, but they didn't dare to stop for such trifles.
When they reached the road, panting and breathless, they looked back, half expecting to see the ghost after them.
But instead of a ghost, there stood Ned, waving a sheet and apparently highly pleased at the success of his project.
"I should think you'd be ashamed of yourself," shouted Will Blake. "I'll tell Johnny, an' he'll lick you."
"Don't you wish he could?" answered Ned defiantly. "If any of you young ones go to being saucy, I'll just come over there and trounce you."
The children set off toward home, but, coming to another meadow, where strawberries were quite plenty, they concluded to stop and fill up their baskets.
"Mr. Belding's awful ugly old cow runs in this meadow, I heard father say," said Harry. "We'd better keep a lookout for her."
But in five minutes they had forgotten all about the cow.
Suddenly they all started.
"Moo, moo-o!" sounded in the bushes close by, and they heard an awful racket as if half a dozen cows were coming.
"Oh, dear!" screamed all the girls, and made for the fence, with the boys at their heels.
Susie Mayne tumbled down and bruised her nose so badly that it bled, and Harry dragged her toward the fence in anything but a comfortable way.
"I'd be ashamed to run at every little noise before I knew where it came from," called out Ned, making his appearance from the bushes. "Cowards! cowards!"
The boys were for clubbing together and giving him a whipping, but concluded to leave that to the big boys. The girls all pronounced him, without a single dissenting voice, to be the "meanest boy they ever heard of," and then they all went off in high indignation.
Ned climbed up on the fence, and sat there for some time meditating what to do next. Pretty soon Mr. Belding's Sammy came along without seeing Ned, and got over into the meadow, and began picking berries.
Now, Ned hated Sammy Belding, and he thought it would be fine fun to throw stones at him. He calculated the chances of getting caught, and concluded if he stayed over the fence he could get enough start while Sammy was climbing to take him out of danger. So he filled his pockets with stones, and began throwing them at Sammy.
At first Sammy looked around in astonishment, and couldn't make out where they came from. But by and by he pretended that he was paying no attention to them. But if you could have looked under his broad-brimmed hat, you would have seen that he was keeping keen watch.
Ned continued to throw stones. All at once up jumped Sammy, and made for the fence. Ned was taken entirely by surprise, but turned to run as soon as he realized that Sammy had discovered him. But he caught his foot on a stick, and down he went, and before he got on his feet Sammy had him, and proceeded to give him a good pounding, out of which he came with a black eye and a bloody nose. It was too bad the children couldn't have been there to see it.
"Throw stones at me again, will you?" said Sammy. "I'll teach you to mind your own business, if you don't know how."
Ned went home as soon as Sammy got through with him. He was hungry, and his whipping had discouraged him somewhat.
Harry had got home before him, and had reported his bad conduct. The result was that he was ordered to weed out three onion beds that afternoon. That made him groan in spirit. He hated weeding in the garden about the worst of anything in the world.
But there wasn't any help for it, and he went at it.
The old rooster came along pretty soon. Ned knew he never did any harm, as he was too well-behaved a bird to scratch in the garden, but he wanted to vent his spite on something, so he up with a big stone and shied it at the rooster's head, not once thinking that it would hit him. But it did, and with one shrill squawk the fowl gave a leap into the air, kicked about wildly, and fell dead.
Ned was frightened. What would his father say? He had been very careful of the rooster, because he came of a choice breed. What should he do with him? While he was debating the question with himself, who should come along but his mother.
"Why, Ned!" exclaimed she, seeing the poor old rooster lying there, with one claw stretched up pathetically, as if to call a sympathetic attention to his tragic fate. "How did this happen?"
"Well, you see," began Ned, at a loss for an explanation, "he came along, and I thought maybe he'd go scratching, and I shoed him, but he wouldn't go off. Then I threw a stone that way, and it must have hit him, 'cause——"
"You weren't afraid he would scratch, because he never did that," said Ned's mother severely. "I am very sorry to see you in such a bad temper to-day. Go right up to the garret and stay there till your father comes home. I don't know what he will say when he knows of this."
Ned took himself off to the garret, congratulating himself that that wasn't quite as bad as weeding onions. But he was terribly troubled about what his father would say. He couldn't get that out of his mind.
By and by he heard some one coming up the garret stairs. It sounded like Bridget's steps. A pan stood near by, which had been placed under a leak in the roof, and was full of water. Before he stopped to think what the consequence might be—he felt so ugly that he didn't care much—Ned seized the pan full of water, and just as a head made its appearance in the shadowy depths of the garret stairway he let fly pan and all in that direction.
There was an awful spluttering, as if the water had taken the visitor fairly in the face.
Ned turned pale. It wasn't Bridget, after all, but his father.
"Young man," said that worthy person, making his appearance, dripping from head to foot with water, and looking terribly severe, "I want to see you in the wood shed."
His tone struck terror to Ned's heart. The wood shed, on such occasions, was quite apt to prove a second inquisition.
Ned followed, not daring to do otherwise. He didn't even dare to look at his father's face. What took place in the shed I can't say, but directly after their visit to that part of the house Ned went to bed, and I hope he got up feeling better next morning.