CHAPTER XIII
MR. SHALLEY MAKES AN OFFER
The two men conversed together for fully half an hour, and during that time Andrew Shalley learned much concerning the Thompson family and their struggle to make both ends meet.
"I live at Nyack," said Andrew Shalley. "And my headquarters for boats is there also. But the passenger steamer runs from New York City to Albany. The tugs run anywhere on the river, and on New York Bay."
"It must be a nice business," said Randy. "I like boats of any kind."
"If I had a boat on the river here I might give you a job," went on the gentleman. "But all of my craft are on the Hudson."
"They tell me that the Hudson is a grand stream."
"Nothing finer in this country, my boy, nothing finer. I have traveled all over the United States and I know. I think it is fully equal to the German Rhine and the St. Lawrence."
"Maybe you could give me a situation on one of your Hudson River boats," went on Randy, struck by a sudden idea.
"Would you care to leave home?"
"Oh, Randy, you wouldn't want to go away!" cried Mrs. Thompson.
"I would if it paid to do so," answered Randy, quickly. "There isn't much chance for work in Riverport."
"And I can keep an eye on the garden," said Mr. Thompson. "I know I am going to feel some better now this spell is passing."
"If you cared to leave home I might give you some sort of a job on one of my boats," went on Andrew Shalley, thoughtfully.
"What kind of a job?"
"I'd have to see about it first. I'll tell you what I'll do, I'll send you a letter next week."
"Thank you."
"That will be best. But now I am going to do something else." The steamboat man drew out his wallet. "I want you to accept this." And he held out five crisp ten-dollar bills.
Randy did not wish to take the money, but the steamboat man urged it and finally laid the bills on the table.
"I am sure you are more than kind, Mr. Shalley," said Mrs. Thompson. "I shall remember you."
"Let us call it a loan," said Mr. Thompson, "to be paid back when I am at work once more."
"Yes, call it a loan," said Randy, "otherwise I, for one, don't want it."
"Have your way," laughed Mr. Shalley. "But don't worry about the payment."
Before he left he walked around the little farm and praised what Randy had done.
"Evidently not a lazy boy," he told himself, "and one who is willing to aid his parents. That is the sort I like."
"He is a very nice man," said Mrs. Thompson, when the visitor had departed. "Randy, you were fortunate to make such a friend."
"Yes. But, mother, I think we ought to pay back that money some day."
"I can do that—when I am able to go at carpentering again," put in Mr. Thompson.
After that a week passed quietly enough. Randy worked early and late and got the little farm in good shape and also visited Jack and bade his friend good-by.
"Maybe I'll get a position on one of the Hudson River boats," said our hero.
"If you do, and you stop at Albany, you must come and see me," answered Jack, and gave his new address.
On the following Monday came a letter from Andrew Shalley. It was short and to the point and read in part as follows:
"All I can offer you at present is the position of a deckhand on my steamboat, theHelen Shalley. If you wish to accept that I will pay you twenty dollars per month and your board at the start, and more when you are experienced. If you wish to accept, write to me and come on to Nyack, to my office."
"All I can offer you at present is the position of a deckhand on my steamboat, theHelen Shalley. If you wish to accept that I will pay you twenty dollars per month and your board at the start, and more when you are experienced. If you wish to accept, write to me and come on to Nyack, to my office."
"Here's an offer at last!" cried Randy, as he read the communication. He had been fearful that Andrew Shalley might forget him.
"Twenty dollars per month is not so very much," said his mother.
"Yes, but I am to get my board, so the money will all be clear profit, outside of the cost of my clothing."
"I suppose you will live on the boat," put in Mr. Thompson. "Most of the crew do."
"I can send the most of the money home each month," continued Randy.
"The boat won't run during the winter," said his mother, who did not much relish having her son leave home.
"Well, it will run until cold weather, anyway, and perhaps after that Mr. Shalley will give me something else to do."
The matter was discussed that evening, and before he retired, Randy penned a letter to the steamboat owner, stating he would come to Nyack two days later.
The prospects ahead filled our hero with pleasure. The new position would enable him to see a little of the world and meet other people, and he was sure steamboat life would suit him thoroughly. He knew there would be plenty of hard work, handling freight and baggage, but this did not daunt him.
"I'll try to do my best," he reasoned. "Then maybe Mr. Shalley will give me something better later on."
Randy did not have many clothes, so there was not a great deal to pack. What he possessed was gone over by his mother, and then packed in a valise. Out of the money on hand he was given the price of his stage and railroad ticket and five dollars for other expenses.
"I shan't spend only what is necessary," said he to his parents.
Randy was glad to see that his father was improving. A good deal of the rheumatic pains had left Mr. Thompson and he could get around the house and the garden. It would be some time before he could go at carpentering again, but he could aid a good deal on the farm, which was something.
All too soon for his mother came the time for Randy to depart. Mrs. Thompson kissed him affectionately and his father shook him by the hand.
"Come back home if it doesn't suit you, Randy," said the mother.
"Yes, come back, and we'll get along somehow," added his father.
"I am sure it will suit me," said the boy. "I know the kind of a man Mr. Shalley is. We'll be sure to get along."
Randy left home early in the morning and half an hour later was on the stage, bound for Leeville, where he was to take the train for Tarrytown, which is directly across the Hudson River from Nyack. His going away was done so quietly that not a dozen persons knew of his departure. The stage was but half filled, so he had plenty of room both for himself and his valise.
Arriving at Leeville he had an hour to wait for the train and spent the time in walking around the little town.
He had just passed one of the largest stores when he felt a hand on his shoulder and turned, to find himself confronted by Bob Bangs.
"What are you doing here?" demanded the big boy, rather impudently.
"What business is that of yours?" retorted Randy, not liking the manner in which he had been addressed.
"Oh, you needn't answer if you don't want to," sniffed Bob Bangs.
"I am going to Nyack."
"To Nyack? What for?"
"I am going to work for a steamboat owner."
"Humph! Going to work on the river?"
"Yes."
"Cabin boy, I suppose," sneered the rich boy.
"No, as a deckhand."
"I thought so. It's a dirty enough job, and you are welcome to it."
"It's honest work, and the money is clean," answered Randy, warmly.
"Ha! What do you mean by clean money," demanded the big boy, suspiciously.
"Just what I said."
"Maybe you are trying to help spread that report that the Bartletts started about us," said the rich youth.
"What report do you mean, Bob?"
"You know well enough—the one about my father."
"I don't know."
"Ain't the Bartletts telling everybody that my father shoved 'em out of the iron works and that our money wasn't clean?"
"I haven't heard it."
"Bah! You needn't play the innocent. I know you, and I know Jack Bartlett, too."
"I don't think your folks treated the Bartletts just right," went on our hero, resolved to stand up for his friends.
"We treated 'em better than they deserved. If I had been my father I should have kicked old man Bartlett out."
"Your father wouldn't have dared, Bob Bangs. But I am not going to quarrel with you. What brings you to this place?"
"That's my business."
"You needn't tell me if you don't wish to."
"I am here to get a new horse. I am going to ride horseback after this," went on the rich boy, boastfully. "It's a horse that costs four hundred dollars, too."
"Then you are in luck," was all Randy answered, and walked away, leaving the rich youth gazing after him doubtfully.
CHAPTER XIV
BOB BANGS AND HIS HORSE
Randy continued to wander around the country town, taking in such sights as came to view.
In the meantime Bob Bangs went after the horse he had mentioned. The rich youth had bothered his father for a horse for a long time and at last Mr. Bangs had consented to give him a steed. The horse was to be taken in exchange for a debt, and Bob had agreed to go to Leeville after him and take the animal to the summer resort at which he and his mother were stopping. It may be mentioned that the horse was worth only a hundred and fifty dollars, but the falsehood he had told in regard to the horse's value did not bother Bob Bangs in the least. He loved to boast upon every possible occasion.
"Is he gentle?" asked the rich boy, as he approached the horse, that was standing in the yard of the former owner.
"As gentle as a lamb," was the answer.
"He—he won't run away, will he?" went on Bob, timidly. To tell the truth he knew very little about horses, although he pretended to know a great deal.
"He never ran away in his life," declared the man who was disposing of the horse.
"Then I guess it is all right," said the rich boy, and started to mount into the saddle, for the steed was ready for use.
"Wait a minute."
"What's wanted now."
"I want you to sign a receipt first," said the man.
"Oh, all right."
The receipt was produced, stating that the horse was received in good condition and that the debt was canceled thereby, and the rich youth signed his father's name and his own under it. Then the man held the horse while the boy mounted.
"All safe and sound?" asked the man.
"Yes," answered Bob Bangs. "Good-day," and off he rode.
"Good-day, and good luck to you," answered the man, and he smiled rather grimly to himself as he entered his house.
"The horse seems to be a nice one," thought Bob Bangs, as he rode away. "I wish I could meet Randy Thompson, it would make him feel sick to see me on such a fine animal."
The rich youth's wish was gratified, for turning a corner he caught sight of our hero just as the latter was crossing the street.
"Out of the way there, Randy Thompson!" he cried, and urged his horse forward.
Randy had to jump back, or he might have been knocked down.
"Ain't this a fine horse?" Bob Bangs cried. "Don't you wish you had him?"
And he cut the steed with the whip he carried, to make him increase his speed.
The horse did not like the treatment received and up came his hind hoofs viciously.
"Stop! None of that!" roared Bob Bangs, in fright. "Whoa there!"
He began to saw on the reins, and as a consequence the horse turned first in one direction and then another. Then he started to back and came up on the sidewalk, scaring several women and children.
"Whoa! Get up!" screamed Bob Bangs, more frightened than ever. "Whoa, I say! What in the old Harry is in the beast, anyway!"
"Look out there!" shouted a man in the crowd. "You'll go through a window next."
"Bob, let me lead him into the street," cried Randy, rushing up and catching the horse by the bridle.
"You let my horse alone!" shouted the rich boy, unreasonably. "I can manage him well enough."
"Very well," answered Randy, quietly, and dropped his hold. As he did so the steed made a plunge along the sidewalk for several yards, knocking over a barber's pole and a newsstand.
"Stop dot! Vot you mean py dot?" yelled the German barber, rushing from his establishment in alarm.
"Get along there, you brute!" cried Bob Bangs, savagely, and struck the horse once more. Again the steed swerved, and made a half turn and began to back.
"Stop him!"
"He is going into the window!"
Crash! And then followed a jingle of glass, and into the window of a grocery next to the barber shop backed the horse, until his hind hoofs rested on a row of canned tomatoes and sardines. Bob Bangs gave a yell of fear and terror and dropped to the sidewalk and then caught the horse by the head. The groceryman came forth from his store in a hurry, and a bitter argument ensued, while a big crowd began to collect. In the end Bob Bangs had to promise to pay for all damage done, and led his horse away by hand, too fearful of further trouble to mount once more.
Randy did not wait to see the end of the dispute, for the train was now due and he had just time enough to hurry to the depot and get aboard the cars. He dropped into the first seat that came to hand and laughed heartily.
"You seem to be enjoying yourself," said a man sitting near.
"I just saw something very funny," answered our hero, and told what it was. The man laughed, too.
"It puts me in mind of the time I tried to ride the mule in the circus. It was a trick animal and got me into seven kinds of trouble."
Randy had not had many opportunities to ride on the cars and he enjoyed the trip to Tarrytown very much. Noon found him in the city named and he crossed the river on the ferryboat. Then he hunted up a cheap but neat restaurant, where he got dinner.
"No use of bothering Mr. Shalley just at noon hour," he thought, and so did not go around to the steamboat man's office until one o'clock. A clerk was present who said his employer would come in at two o'clock, so our hero had another hour to wait.
"Is your name Randy Thompson?" questioned the clerk. When told that it was, he continued: "Mr. Shalley is expecting you. I believe you are to be one of the new deckhands."
"Yes."
"I hope you find the work agreeable."
"So do I."
"The other new hand didn't last long."
"How long?"
"Just one week."
"What was the matter?"
"I believe he said he couldn't get along with Polk, the purser."
"I hope I don't have any trouble with anybody," said Randy, anxiously. "I am willing to work hard."
"You'll find Captain Hadley a fine man to deal with. I think he is one of the nicest captains on the river."
"What do you do here?"
"Oh, I am general office clerk. My name is Bart Sandwood."
"I am glad to know you, Mr. Sandwood," answered our hero, and smiled. "I hope business is good with the steamer."
"Travel has been very good and we are getting our share of freight. The other lines bother us some, but not a great deal."
"Is theHelen Shalleyone of the big boats of the river?"
"Not one of the largest, but she is by no means a small boat. Then you haven't seen her?"
"Not yet, but I hope to soon."
"She will be on her way down the river this afternoon. She runs from New York to Albany one day and back the next. She doesn't run on Sundays."
"I am glad of that. I don't care to work on Sunday."
"Well, you'll have to do a little. When there are no passengers on board, that is the time to put things in order."
"True enough. I am afraid I will be green."
"Were you never a deckhand before?"
"Never."
At this the clerk gave a low whistle.
"I don't know if Captain Hadley will like that or not. He is a very strict man, even though kind."
"I shall do my best to please him."
"Early in the spring we had two green hands, but they couldn't learn at all, and the captain said they were more bother than they were worth."
"I am sure I can learn—anyway, I mean to try."
"You certainly look bright enough to learn. The other fellows were illiterate foreigners and always tumbling over their own feet. One dropped a trunk on a passenger's foot and the other broke open a box with some fine dishes. That capped the climax, and the captain got rid of them just as soon as he could find some other hands to take their places," concluded Bart Sandwood.
CHAPTER XV
RANDY AS A DECKHAND
When Mr. Andrew Shalley came in he was full of business. He nodded pleasantly to Randy.
"I will see you in a little while," he said, and turned to his clerk. Then Bart Sandwood was sent off on an errand and the steamboat owner turned to look over some letters that had come in.
"Now I am at liberty," he said, pleasantly, shaking hands. "Are you ready for work?"
"Yes, sir," answered Randy, promptly.
"Good! Have you ever been on a large river steamer?"
"No, Mr. Shalley, but I am willing to do all I possibly can to make myself truly useful."
"Well, if I am any judge of character, you'll get along. All you've got to do is to keep your eyes open and obey orders. We have one old deckhand, Pat Malloy. He will teach you what to do."
"When can I go to work?"
"The boat will be along down the river soon. I'll take you on board, as I want to see the captain. As soon as you are settled I'll have you fitted out with a uniform."
"How much will that cost me?"
"In your case it won't cost anything."
"You are very kind."
"Remember, I take a personal interest in you, Randy, and I want to see you get along. Do your duty and rest assured I shall not forget you."
"I don't think I'll disappoint you, Mr. Shalley."
Randy waited around the office until it was almost time for the steamboat to make a landing. Then he went down to the dock with his newly-found friend. Here were a number of passengers, and also a quantity of baggage and freight.
Presently theHelen Shalleyhove into sight, with flags flying bravely in the breeze. As Randy had been told, she was not a particularly large steamboat, but she was well proportioned and graceful, and well liked by those who patronized her. We will get better acquainted with the craft as our story proceeds.
As soon as a landing was made, Mr. Shalley went on board, taking Randy with him. Captain Hadley was at hand.
"So this is the new deckhand, eh?" said the captain, in bluff tones. "Pretty strong, are you?"
"I think so," answered Randy, respectfully.
"Well, you'll have to be, to stand this work. Know anything about handling trunks and such stuff?"
"Not a great deal, but I think I can learn."
"We are shorthanded, so you can jump right in," went on the captain of the steamboat.
"Yes, sir. Who will tell me what to do?"
"Pat Malloy. He is the head man of the gang. Here, Malloy," he called out.
"Aye, aye, sur," answered a brawny and jolly-looking Irishman, coming forward and touching his cap.
"Here's your new hand."
Pat Malloy looked at Randy in some astonishment. Our hero was neatly dressed and did not look as if he was used to hard labor.
"Sure an' it's only a boy," murmured the head deckhand.
"He says he can work. Give him a chance," put in Andrew Shalley.
There was plenty to do, and Randy threw off his coat, took off his collar and tie, and pitched in. The labor was by no means easy, and he had not the trick of throwing up a trunk to the best advantage, yet he did very well, and Pat Malloy nodded approvingly.
"Sure, an' ye do better nor some o' thim foreigners already," he declared. "Kape it up an' we'll git along foine together."
Captain Hadley and Andrew Shalley watched the work for several minutes, and then walked to the cabin of the steamboat. Here the owner of the boat told something about Randy.
"I want you to give him a chance even if he is a bit green," said he. "I want the lad to get along."
"He shall have all the chance possible," answered Captain Hadley. "I am glad to get a hand who is intelligent."
Then the two conversed upon private matters until the boat was ready to leave Nyack.
"Good-by, my boy!" cried Mr. Shalley, on leaving. "Take good care of yourself, and let me know how you get along."
"Thank you, I will," answered our hero.
"It may be hard work at first, but you'll get used to it."
"I am not afraid of hard work."
"The captain will give you a uniform in a few days."
The gangplanks were hauled in, the lines cast off, and with a hoarse whistle theHelen Shalleycontinued on her course down the Hudson. There was a small Italian band on board, consisting of two violins, a harp and a clarionet, and they struck up a popular air.
The work at the dock had somewhat exhausted Randy, who was not used to handling such heavy stuff so quickly, but he took pains to conceal his feelings.
"I am not going to back down, no matter how hard the work is," he told himself. "Others can do it and so can I."
Among the deckhands was a tall, limber American man named Jones. He came up to Randy after the work was done.
"Malloy told me to show you around the boat and give you some pointers," said Jones. "Come ahead."
They passed from one end of the steamboat to the other, through all of the three decks, and Jones named over the various parts and told what the deckhands were expected to do. Then they went below and he told of some work there. Lastly he took Randy to the sleeping quarters.
"This is my bunk," said Jack Jones. "That will be yours over there. When you get the chance, I'll advise you to air your bedding. You can do it after we tie up in New York and the passengers go ashore."
The quarters were small, but not any smaller than Randy's garret apartment in the cottage. Everything was kept as clean as wax, for both Malloy and Jones were enemies to dirt. Randy was glad to learn this and resolved to give the others no cause for complaint regarding his own personal habits.
"Some boats are very dirty and the bunks not fit for a dog to sleep in," said Jack Jones. "But Malloy won't allow it on this boat, and I won't have it either."
"And I am with you," answered our hero.
"Came from a farm, didn't you?"
"Yes, but our family wasn't on the farm long."
"I came from a farm myself."
"How long have you been on this boat?"
"Came the middle of last season."
"Do you like it?"
"If I didn't I shouldn't be here."
"I suppose that is so."
"Captain Hadley is a fine man to work for. He is strict but fair, and that is what I like."
"What about the others?"
"The mate, Tom Blossom, is nice, too. The man we all hate is Peter Polk, the purser."
"What's the matter with him?"
"Well, between you and me, I think he is a sneak."
"In what way?"
"He is always making trouble for somebody. Nobody seems to like him much, although he attends strictly to business."
"I hope I don't have trouble with Mr. Polk."
"Well, you will have to watch yourself."
Several other landings were made, and promptly at the appointed time theHelen Shalleyswung into her dock at New York City and the remaining passengers went ashore. Then began the labor of unloading the baggage and freight, after which the deck was swabbed up, the brass-work polished, and such baggage as was at hand taken on board for transportation up the river the next day.
When he had finished his day's labors Randy was tired and perfectly willing to rest for a while. He had had a good supper and might have gone directly to bed, but instead he sat up to write a letter to the folks at home, telling his father and mother of his day's experience.
Our hero had to go ashore to post the communication, and once out in the street he resolved to take a little walk around before returning to the steamboat. He was soon walking along West Street, and then took to a side street running up to the avenues.
Now, although our hero did not know it, he had chosen one of the worst streets in this part of the great city. It was filled with tenements and groggeries of the lowest description, and the sidewalks swarmed with all sorts of low characters.
He had scarcely walked two squares before a rough-looking fellow jostled him. The next instant Randy felt a hand in his pocket.
"Stop that!" cried Randy. But the fellow was already running up the street. Our hero clapped his hand in the pocket and discovered that eighty cents in change was missing.
"I am not going to lose that money!" he told himself, with vigor. "I may be a greeny, but I'll give that thief some trouble."
At first he thought to cry out, but then reconsidered the matter and remained silent. He set off after the thief, and away went man and boy along the crowded thoroughfare.
The man evidently thought he could lose himself in the crowd, but by the aid of the street lights, Randy kept him in sight. He passed along for two blocks and then turned into a side street and then into a blind alley.
Our hero managed to keep him in view and saw him spring up the steps of a dilapidated tenement house. The man ran through the lower hallway and into the back yard, piled high with rubbish of all kinds. Here he hid behind some empty boxes.
Randy was soon in the yard and gazing around eagerly. As he did so he saw a thin and pale girl of about ten standing near. Soon she came up to him timidly.
"Did you see a man run in here?" said Randy.
"Yes," she answered, but in a hesitating voice.
"Where did he go?"
"I don't dare tell you," whispered the girl.
"Why not?"
"That is Bill Hosker."
"And who is Bill Hosker?"
"Don't you know him?" And the little girl's eyes opened in astonishment.
"No, I don't."
"Bill Hosker is the boss around here. He does just as he pleases. If anybody crosses him Bill 'most kills them."
"Oh, he's a bully, is that it?"
"Yes."
"Well, where did he go?"
"You won't tell him I told you?"
"No."
"He crawled in behind those boxes," answered the little girl and then ran away.
Randy waited to hear no more, but made a dash for the boxes. As he did so, the fellow who had robbed him leaped up, club in hand.
"Go out of here!" he cried, in a hoarse voice. "I don't want anything to do with a kid like you."
"You give me my money," answered Randy, vigorously. "I am not going to let the like of you rob me."
"Ho! ho! Hear the kid talk! Go away, before I maul ye!" And Bill Hosker brandished his club.
But our hero was not to be daunted thus readily, and looking around he espied a stick and picked it up. Then he advanced upon Bill Hosker, who promptly leaped to the top of a big packing case. The next instant he came down upon Randy, bearing him to the ground. Our hero tried to defend himself, but it was useless. He was crushed beneath that heavy weight, and then the rascal gave him a crack on the head that stretched him senseless.
CHAPTER XVI
IN NEW YORK CITY
"Will he live, mamma?"
"I think so, Rose. But he has been badly misused."
"Bill Hosker ought to be locked up for it."
"Nobody will lock Bill up. He has too much influence with the politicians," answered the woman.
She was bending over Randy, who was still unconscious. Mother and daughter had carried our hero from the yard to their room in the rear of the tenement. Nobody else had been around. The girl had witnessed Bill Hosker's nefarious deed and had at once summoned her parent.
Mrs. Clare was a poor widow lady who supported herself by sewing. Rose was her only child and did what she could to help her mother. Sewing did not pay well, and the Clares had all they could do to make both ends meet.
But Mrs. Clare had a warm heart and so had Rose, and it pained them greatly to see Randy so mistreated. They carried him into their one room and placed him on their bed and did what they could for him.
At last he opened his eyes and stared around him. Then he sat up slowly.
"Where am I?" he asked, faintly.
"We brought you into the house—mother and I," answered Rose. "Don't you remember, Bill Hosker struck you down?"
"Oh, yes; I remember that now." Randy took a deep breath and put his hand to his head. "He hit me pretty hard, didn't he?"
"I am afraid he did," answered Mrs. Clare. "It was a shame, too."
"Where is he now?"
"He ran away."
"He stole eighty cents from me."
"Perhaps he took more," said Rose. "He went through your pockets after he knocked you down. I saw him do it."
With his head still aching, our hero felt in first one pocket and then another. He gave something like a groan.
"Every cent is gone!"
"How much did you have?"
"Between four and five dollars."
"I am sorry for you," said Mrs. Clare. "But I am afraid you will never see your money again."
"Does that rascal live around here?"
"Sometimes. He comes and goes to suit himself. I suppose he will stay away now for a while."
"Is there any use of my reporting this to the police, do you think?"
"I don't think so. He once took my pocket-book from the table here—I am sure of it—but when I reported it to the police nothing was done. They said his word was as good as mine."
"How long have I been here?"
"About half an hour."
"Then he has had a good chance to get away. Did you bring me here?"
"Yes."
"You are very kind, Mrs. ——"
"I am Mrs. Clare and this is my daughter Rose."
"And I am Randy Thompson, a deckhand on the Hudson River steamboatHelen Shalley."
"Oh!" Mrs. Clare paused for a moment. "Do you know Mr. Polk, the purser?"
"Yes, but not very well. I just got the job as a deckhand to-day."
"Mr. Polk is a relative of mine by marriage."
"I see."
"We—that is—well, we are not very good friends," went on Mrs. Clare.
"Mamma thinks Mr. Polk hasn't been honest with us," put in Rose, quickly. "I don't think so either."
"Rose, you must not talk so!"
"But it is true, isn't it?" returned the daughter.
"I may be misjudging Cousin Peter," said Mrs. Clare. "You see," she added, by way of an explanation, "my cousin Peter Polk had the settlement of my husband's affairs when he died, and I have always imagined that—well, that Rose and I did not get exactly what was coming to us."
"Mamma thought the account was three hundred dollars short," said Rose, who was inclined to be blunt.
"Couldn't you get a clear statement?" questioned Randy, with interest.
"We got a statement, but it was not clear to me," answered Mrs. Clare.
As soon as he felt able to do so, Randy got on his feet. He felt rather dizzy and he had a large lump over his left ear, where he had been struck by the club.
"See here," he said, when he was ready to depart, "I am much obliged to you for what you have done. But I'd like you to do more, if you will. As soon as this Bill Hosker comes back to this neighborhood let me know. You'll always find me on board of theHelen Shalley."
"I'll let you know," answered Rose. "But don't let Bill Hosker know who told you, or he'll want to kill me."
When Randy got back to the steamboat he felt so weak he could scarcely walk on board. Jones came forward to meet him.
"Say, you ain't been drinking, have you?" he demanded, as he saw our hero stagger.
"No, I don't drink," answered Randy. "I've been knocked down and robbed."
And sitting down on a bench he told his story to the other deckhand, and let Jones feel of the lump on his head.
"I was going to warn you when you went ashore, but I thought you'd be wise enough to keep out of trouble. It's a shame."
"They told me it wouldn't do any good to tell the police."
"I am afraid not. Such things happen pretty often in that kind of a neighborhood."
Randy was glad enough to turn in. He bathed the lump with cold water and put on some witch-hazel, which made it feel better. Despite the adventure he slept soundly until it was time to turn out in the morning.
"I suppose you'll want some money," said Jones. "I can lend you a dollar till pay day, if you wish."
"Thank you," returned Randy. "You are kind, and I'll accept the loan. I'll pay you back just as soon as I get my pay. I hate to be without a cent in my pocket."
"I have been there myself and know just how it feels," answered Jones. He had, in his rough way, taken a fancy to our hero, which feeling was reciprocated.
There was plenty to do before the steamboat left the dock at New York City, and Randy's arms ached when the command came to cast off the lines. He had done his full share of the labor, and Pat Malloy nodded approvingly.
"Kape it up an' you'll be all roight," said the head deckhand.
The trip to Albany that day had much of novelty in it for Randy. There was a good deal of work, of which he had not dreamed before, yet there were also times when he could look at the scenery as the big craft glided along. At the newsstand on board there was a big folding map of the river, showing the different towns and points of interest, and this the standkeeper loaned him for a couple of hours. He studied the map closely and was soon able to recognize certain points as they appeared.
Several days slipped by and Randy felt quite at home on board. He had been supplied with the regulation deckhand's outfit; dark blue shirt and trousers, and a cap to match, and looked very well when thus attired. He was getting acquainted with the work and could handle a trunk, or a box or barrel almost as well as Jones or Malloy.
"How does the boy do?" asked Captain Hadley of Malloy.
"It's the new broom as swapes clane," answered the head deckhand. "I ain't braggin' yit, captain."
"But he is doing all right so far?"
"Aye, aye, sur—very well indade."
"I am glad to hear it. Mr. Shalley told me the boy needed the job. His father is on the sick list, and he has got to do what he can to help support his parents."
"I reckon he'll be all right," answered Pat Malloy. "He's better than thim foreigners, anyway." To him, the only foreigners were Italians and Germans. He did not think himself one, although he had come from the "ould sod" less than six years before.
CHAPTER XVII
THE PURSER HAS HIS SAY
One night, when the steamboat was tied up at Albany, Randy donned his street clothes and hunted up the place where Jack Bartlett lived. He found his former friend at home and glad to see him.
"Come in," said Jack, shaking hands. "How have you been since we met last?"
"Pretty fair, Jack. And how have you been?"
"I'm all right. I've got a job. That is why I haven't used my boat pass."
"A job?"
"Yes, I am working in the same place where father has a position."
"Then you are not going to school again?"
"Not for the present." Jack lowered his voice. "You see, father isn't earning any too much, so I—well, I thought I'd help the family along."
The two friends sat down in the parlor and our hero told his tale, and then Jack related some of his own experiences.
"My father is in hopes that he can get at Mr. Bangs before long," said Jack. "The trouble is, some papers are missing. He had them in a desk at the works, but when he came away he couldn't find them."
"Perhaps Mr. Bangs got them."
"It is possible, but father can't prove it."
"Have you seen or heard anything of Bob Bangs lately?"
"He is along the Hudson somewhere—on a vacation with his mother."
"I met him when he was getting a horse," answered our hero and told of what had happened.
"I wish I had been there!" cried Jack, laughing heartily. "I'll wager Bob was as mad as seventeen hornets."
"Yes, indeed. He must have had a good bill to pay for damages."
Randy spent a pleasant two hours with Jack and then went back to the boat, Jack promising to visit the craft some night when theHelen Shalleyshould tie up at Albany again.
So far matters had gone well on board. Randy was much amused by the passengers, especially those who were peculiar in their manners. There was one fussy old gentleman who went up and down the river twice a week. He always wanted to sit in a corner in the shade and asked a dozen times a day if they weren't behindhand.
"We are exactly on time," said Randy, to him, one day.
"Hum!" cried the old gentleman, consulting a watch he carried. "I think we are twenty minutes behindhand."
"We haven't been twenty minutes behindhand since I've been on the boat," said Randy, as he moved off.
The old gentleman grumbled to himself and restored his timepiece to his pocket.
A minute later Randy saw an Englishman saunter along the deck and stop close to the old gentleman. Randy had noticed the Englishman before, because he spoke with a strong Cockney accent—that is, he dropped h's where they were wanted and put them in when not needed. At this time the steamboat was just approaching the Highlands.
The Englishman pointed to the Highlands with his cane and addressed the old gentleman.
"Hexcuse me," he said, "but are those the 'Ighlands you brag about in this country?"
"The islands?" was the astonished reply.
"Why, no, sir, those are not islands at all. Have you never studied geography? An island is entirely surrounded by water," continued the fussy old gentleman.
"Oh, you mean hilands. I don't mean them at all, don't you know. I repeat, are those the 'Ighlands you talk about so much?" went on the Cockney, blandly.
"They are not islands, sir—they are the Highlands," shouted the old gentleman.
"Just exactly what I said, sir—the 'Ighlands."
"No, not islands—Highlands."
"Hexactly."
"But you said islands."
"No, I did not say hilands, I said the 'Ighlands," went on the Cockney. "Hevidently you don't understand good, plain Henglish," and he walked off in disgust.
"The imp, the blithering imp," growled the old gentleman. "May he never come near me again!"
At one of the landings a barrel for use on the boat broke, spilling some fancy flour on the deck. Randy was clearing up the muss when the purser, Peter Polk, came along. Our hero did not witness his approach, and consequently the purser received some dust on his shoes, which had just been polished.
"Hi! hi! Have a care there!" he cried. "What do you mean by covering me with dust?"
"Excuse me, sir," said Randy, hastily. "I didn't see you coming."
"I just had those shoes shined!"
"I am sorry, sir."
"You're the new man, eh?"
"Yes, sir."
"You're a blockhead, it seems to me," went on the purser, who was in particularly bad humor that day.
An angry remark rose to Randy's lips, but he repressed it.
"You be more careful in the future, or you'll get into trouble," grumbled the purser, and walked away.
The moment the purser was gone Jones came up to our hero.
"Brute, ain't he?" he said, in a low voice.
"He called me a blockhead." Randy's eyes were flashing.
"Don't you mind him, lad. He is sour all the way through—he don't seem to be able to help it."
"I didn't see him coming."
"He should have looked where he was walking."
"I don't wonder the hands don't like him," went on Randy. "I don't think Captain Hadley would have spoken so."
"Not a bit of it—the captain's a gentleman, every inch of him."
"How do he and the purser get along together?"
"None too good, so I've been told. I wish we had a man in place of Polk."
"So do I."
"More than likely, when he comes to pay you your wages, he'll take out the price of a shoe shine."
"Would he really be mean enough to do that?"
"Polk is about mean enough to do anything."
There the talk ended and Randy finished up his work. The day passed, and when the steamboat tied up that night Randy was more than usually sleepy. It was very warm, and he went on the upper deck to get a breath of fresh air.
"See here," said the purser, coming up to him rather suddenly. "Are you talking about me?"
"Talking about you?" repeated our hero, somewhat puzzled.
"That is what I said."
"Not particularly, Mr. Polk."
"Somebody on this boat is telling tales about me, and I don't like it."
To this Randy made no answer.
"Have you heard any stories?" went on Peter Polk.
"What kind of stories?"
"That I was going to leave the steamboat?"
"No, sir."
"No stories at all?"
"No, sir."
"Humph!" And with this the purser walked away.
"What did he want now?" asked Jones, coming up a little later.
"Wanted to know if I had been circulating stories about him."
"Did you tell him no?"
"I did."
"I've heard a story—in a roundabout way—that Mr. Shalley is getting tired of the way Polk runs the money matters on this boat."
"Does he run all the money matters?"
"Sure—that is a purser's business. He does the buying—or most of it—too."
"I see."
"I don't believe he buys to advantage," went on Jones, closing one eye suggestively.
"I don't understand."
"Maybe he buys at two prices—some of 'em do, you know."
Randy did not know, but he did not say so.
"I knew a purser once—on theSea Shell—who used to pay one price for a thing and then charge the owners of the vessel another price. At last they caught him at it and sent him to prison."
This opened Randy's eyes to what his fellow-deckhand was driving at.
"Do you imagine Polk is that sort?"
"He is certainly close."
"So you said before. Well, he ought to be watched."
"Oh, it's not my affair," said Jones. "Say, I am going to bed," he added.
"So am I," said Randy, and retired, thinking of what Jones had said and also of what the Clares had told him regarding Peter Polk.