CHAPTER XVI.WHITE WINGS.With that understanding, the Walcott Hall lads sought their beds that night, and arose betimes in the morning. The sun was scarcely up when they were aboard the catboat and drifted out of the tiny cove in which she had been anchored.They selected to have breakfast aboard and, as he knew very little about sailing a boat, Cloudman agreed to be the "doctor" during the cruise.There is no more comfortable, roomy, or safe boat for her size than a cat, and, despite her broad beam, with a stiff breeze blowing, theSpoondriftcould walk the water in amazing fashion. Beside, Kingdon was skillful at sailing a craft of her kind."How did you learn so much about it, Rex?" asked Peewee Hicks."Sailed in pretty near every kind of a one-man or two-man dish all around the seven seas," declared Kingdon airily. "From a catamaran to an outrigger, or an Esquimaux kaiak, yours truly has tempted Father Neptune.""Wish to goodness you'd be really serious once in a while, Rex," grumbled Midkiff. "Never know whether you're dreaming or just plain fibbing.""There!" ejaculated Red Phillips. "Some rap that, Old Grouch; right in the solar-plexus.""But you surelyhavetraveled, Kingdon?" put in Cloudman, who had come up from the low-roofed cabin to breathe."That used to be my middle name—before my father settled in Maine for the sake of mother's health, and went into the lumber game. Rexford Traveler Kingdon—that's me. Isn't it perfectly delightful to hear me boast like this? I'm so modest about it, what?""There's another sail over yonder," cried Peewee suddenly. "Is she heading in, too, Kingdon?""She's making a leg that way," announced the skipper. "Blackport Channel is narrow, but deep. We'll have to make about the same number of tacks as she'll make to get in. Another cat, too; but bigger than theSpoondrift.""And a whole lot fancier," Red Phillips declared."See her canvas!" cried Peewee. "White as snow.""And this old tub looks like a slop bucket," complained Midkiff."Handsome is as handsome does," laughed Kingdon. "We know how well theSpoondriftacted the other day in that squall.""She certainly spoke her little piece coming up from Boston," Red admitted."That other boat's going to cross our bow, Kingdon," Peewee announced excitedly."Don't you believe it, infant," was the prompt rejoinder."But she is, I tell you——""Watch out!" called Kingdon. He swung the tiller hard over and theSpoondriftturned almost on her heel. The white spume flew across the decked-over bows into the cockpit, Cloudman getting about half a bucketful down the back of his neck."What do you think you're doing?" he yelled, leaping up."Hold on!" advised Red, choked with laughter.The sail of theSpoondriftcaught and held every ounce of wind possible. She was shooting along, splashing through the waves with a lift of her nose that shook her from stem to stern."Hold on to what?" cried the Colorado lad, grabbing the edge of the centerboard well. "She's pitching like a wild bronco!""Stick to the saddle," chuckled Pewee. "You should like this.""I do—like fun!" grumbled Cloudman. "Spilled my kettle of hot water. How can I wash greasy pans without hot water?""Let 'em stay greasy till the next meal. Then they're all ready to use again," Red suggested."We ought to have a dog," Peewee declared."What for?""Like the lazy woman's dog. She called it 'Three Waters' and when folks asked her if her dishes were washed clean, she always said, 'Just as clean as Three Waters can make them.'""That's an awful chestnut," Red said. "We'll have no such housekeeping as that. Better let 'em stay greasy."Meanwhile theSpoondriftwas tearing through the jumping waves, with the wind in the most favorable quarter. The strength of the wind was increasing, too, and theSpoondriftwas distinctly a heavy-weather craft.In saving her from being "cross-bowed" by her handsome rival, Kingdon had lost a bit on the length of that leg. Now theSpoondriftrushed down toward the opening of the channel like a steam tug. As the other sailing craft was about to tack, the Walcott Hall boys crossed the stranger's bows.So near were the two catboats that a biscuit might have been tossed from one to the other. No biscuits were tossed, but certain chaff was."Oh, you lubbers!" shouted a young fellow in a yachting cap, rising upon the forward deck of the strange catboat, and hanging to a stay for support. "Some sailors! Where are you from? What cart is that?"There seemed to be half a dozen persons aboard the hailing craft, all young fellows. Kingdon answered the laughing challenge:"Spoondrift, from Storm Island; Kingdon, skipper; bound in. What boat's that?""Nothing To It, Blackport Boat Club. My name's Yansey. Will see you fellows later. Some tub you got there.""Tub!" flung back Peewee. "Like your nerve! We've got her entered for the International Cup Races.""Sure you have. Tea cup races, you mean," gibed the other. "Come, now, get that old catamaran out of our way, so we don't fall over her. We're going to tack.""Look like a lively lot," Red Phillips remarked as theSpoondriftpulled ahead and got into the choppy channel."Blackport Boat Club boys. We ought to know them," Kingdon agreed. "I understand they've set up a fancy eight-oared shell, too. That's where we are weak, fellows.""Where?" Midkiff asked."Rowing. Walcott Hall should pull as good an oar as any prep. school in the East. What do we do?""It's what the other schools have always done to us, not whatwedo," sighed Red Phillips."Why is that?" demanded Cloudman, who knew little about boating of any kind."We never seem to develop good rowing material," Midkiff said."Don't go after it," Kingdon rejoined, with vigor. "Not as we do after football and baseball timber.""Ain't that the truth?" drawled Peewee. "I'd like to see Old Hall set up a good eight-oared boat—I'd be cox.""You're the right size—below your ears," said Red."If we had a shell," began Kingdon."Where? Here?" Midkiff demanded."Yes. Why not? Plenty of quiet water in that sound.""But there aren't eight of us," squealed Peewee."More than eight on the island," Kingdon returned with a sudden grin."Jumping jacks!" Red exclaimed. "He's raving again. Thinks he can work those loafers over there on Storm Island into rowing material. Going to make a Christy Mathewson out o' that Horrors kid, too.""Like fun he will!" said Cloudman, mockingly."What's the matter—jealous, Eat-'em-alive Jack?" drawled Kingdon. "Don't be narrow—don't! If we could put in some practice this summer——""Get up a crew and race these Blackport fellows, I suppose?" Midkiff asked, scowling."Your supposing is good, Jawn," observed Kingdom, shifting the tiller just a little so as to ship the cap of a wave that came inboard with a mighty splash and broke up the group of critics forward of the centerboard.TheSpoondriftkept well ahead of theNothing To Itthrough the channel. It was a fine day, and there were plenty of small sailing craft, as well as motorboats, astir on the ample bosom of Blackport Cove.To the westward, toward the Beaches, was the anchorage of the Boat Club, where, if any inshore gale did hit them, the small fry would find no rocks to go ashore on.TheNothing To Itwended her way to these moorings; theSpoondrift, with reefed sail, loafed in to a dock near the middle of the water-front.Rex and Midkiff went up to a machine shop for the new engine parts and needed repairs. On their way back to the dock, the big fellow again tried to reason with his roommate."Why not send a letter while we're here to the Manatee Company, and tell them how the permit was lost?" he begged. "They'd give us another, wouldn't they? That Enos Quibb will be coming around again—and he isn't going to be put off so easy a second time. You can see that.""Beautiful day, Midkiff," Kingdon observed, his head in the air."Don't you hear what I say?""We're going to have some job beating back against this wind—if she doesn't change.""Hang it all, Rex! Come on! Take a fool's advice——""No, Jawn; I'm foolish enough myself. Why load up with an overstock of the same goods?""Hang it all!" ejaculated Midkiff again."Do, Jawn," Kingdon advised mildly. "Hang it all up—and forget it.""You'd try the patience of a saint!""Don't know. Never knew one personally. You don't claim to have been canonized, do you, Jawn?"Midkiff flung up his hands and fell silent.CHAPTER XVII.AN OFF-SHORE BLOW.Before the two friends reached the dock an automobile drove across their path. There were several men in it, but Midkiff did not give the party any attention—being in a retrospective state of mind—until one of the men hailed Kingdon jovially."Ahoy, Rex! 'Ullo, boy! How's Rex Kingdon?"The curly-haired lad looked up, with a smile, and waved his hand in response to the greeting as the automobile whisked away."Who's that?" Midkiff asked."Ahem!" coughed Kingdon, a twinkle in his eye. "A man who knows my father.""Humph! He seemed to know your father's son, too," said the dark fellow, and then forgot the incident.But there was somebody within sight and hearing of the occurrence who was not likely to forget it. The two Walcott Hall boys, however, went on down to the dock without marking the presence of this curious individual.The fellow, who had said his name was Yansey, skipper of theNothing To It, was sitting on the stringpiece of the wharf, swinging his legs and chaffing with the trio aboard theSpoondrift.He was a smart-looking, cheerful lad, with the spirit of a sparrow—a friendly soul who even made Midkiff warm toward him. He hailed the latter and Rex as though he was an old friend."Say," he began on the blond chap, "I hear your name is Rex Kingdon?""Who told you so much?""These chaps here in the tub.""Of course. They are devoted to the unadorned truth," said Kingdon whimsically. "You know, Old Till wants a chair of Truth endowed at Walcott Hall.""Maybe he feels the need of one there?" suggested Yansey cheerfully."Don't be so dazzling! What have you come over here for—to try to get our angoras because you couldn't beat us out with that old log of wood you were attempting to sail?""Came because I fell in love with you all at first glance," returned Yansey, grinning up at the curly-haired lad. "Bet you can't say that of me.""Your crew look like good sports," said Rex. "Come aboard?""Yes. If you'll sail me over to the clubhouse. I came on purpose for you fellows," explained Yansey. "It's almost lunch time, and we want you to eat with us. Got a darkey for a cook, and he makes a fine chowder—and apple pie! My eye!""Home made apple pie? Say not so!" croaked Red Phillips. "You make my mouth water like a hydrant.""You can stuff yourself," assured Yansey. "What say?""Is this just a polite invitation, or is it a dare?" asked Kingdon."Dare you to come!" laughed Yansey, hopping down into theSpoondrift."We never take a dare," responded Kingdon."Never!" was the chorus from the other Walcott Hall lads."But you don't know what you are getting that darkey cook in for," Cloudman warned. "We haven't had a square meal since we left Boston."The wind was shifting and unsteady as they sailed across the broad cove. "Hope it comes into the right quarter for us to get back easy on," Kingdon observed."Think we're in for a spell of weather?" Red asked Yansey, who was Blackport born and seemed to be weather wise."Shouldn't wonder. Though we don't often have anything out of the no'theast this time of year. Just the same, there's been bad wrecks along the coast in June. They keep the life-savers on the job through this month nowadays."None of the visitors thought of the weather, however, when once they were ashore at the boathouse. It seemed to be a club including all ages and the owners of all manner of craft. But the youngsters had it to themselves just now, as it was too early in the season for their fathers to get away save on Saturdays.The visitors looked over several of the better-sailing craft while dinner was preparing. Kingdon took up the eight-oared shell question with Yansey, and learned that in August there was always a race with two other boat clubs, and that the Blackport eight considered themselves to be a little the best oarsmen anywhere along the Maine coast."To be real modest," Yansey grinned, "there's nothing to it for the other eights. We've got the race cinched already.""Modesty adorns you," Kingdon told him. "I can see that. Also, why you chose that name for your catboat, too.""Right! There's nothing to it!" proclaimed the optimistic Yansey. "We've got a new shell, and we keep her greased. Wait till you see us out practicing some day. I'm stroke.""What did you do with your old shell?" Kingdon asked, reflectively."It's for sale over yonder at the boat builder's. Good boat, too, though battered some. Come and see our new one."Kingdon went, and said nothing more about the thought that had become fixed in his mind regarding the eight-oared shell race.The Walcott Hall boys had a good time at the boat club; but they were delayed in getting away, and when theSpoondriftran down toward the Channel it was plain the wind had come around into the north and was blowing strongly. The sea outside was streaked with foam over the caps of the jumping waves."Guess your old wind's changed, all right," grumbled Peewee."We won't have to beat up against itallthe way back to the island," Rex responded with cheerfulness. "Keep up hope, infant. All is not lost.""I don't want to lose everything," said Cloudman as the cat began to pitch in the choppy sea. "That apple pie was too good to waste.""Stop that talk!" groaned Peewee, his hand upon his stomach.Cloudman really suffered from seasickness before they got out into open sea. There the waves were less choppy, and theSpoondriftrode them like a seafowl. It was easier on all hands.But the wind increased in strength, and to beat up into the sound—which was all a-streak with foam and very blusterous to look upon—was really more of an undertaking than Kingdon cared to tackle."We can do it all right. She's safe enough," Rex said to Midkiff. "But it will make rough going, Jawn—awful rough. These lubbers will be set on their ears.""Never mind them. They'll feel better after it's all over.""Unfeeling words, old boy. That's a narrow breach into our little cove where the camp is. Believe I'll go t'other side of the island.""To the seaward side?""Right. The island will break the wind. I noticed one good anchorage, at least, over there. We can make it easily with the wind like this.""You're the doctor," said Midkiff. "I suppose you know what you are about once in a blue moon.""Your confidence in me almost brings the tears to my eyes. Shake a reef out of that sail, Jawn. We're going to run down wind for a long lap."With this change in the sailing of theSpoondrift, Applejack and Peewee felt greatly relieved. With the wind practically astern, the catboat was less acrobatic in her motions. But when the high eastern point of the island began to draw in on their port quarter, the other fellows wanted to know where they were bound."What're you aiming to do, King?" asked Red Phillips. "Sail us clear over to Spain? You're heading that way.""Get out your Spanish phrase book, and learn to speak the language with a pleasant accent," advised Kingdon, "if you think we're likely to reach that coast. Forewarned is forearmed.""What do you mean, 'four-armed'?" grinned Red. "Think I am ananthropoidean quadrumanousanimal? Isn't that a good one? I learned it by heart after Old Yad suggested I might be one on occasion.""I'd have had him arrested," Cloudman said, weakly. "Didn't know Yad could talk so mean to a fellow."It was growing late when the catboat swung into the smoother patch of ocean south of the island. On their left, the surf roared far up the rocks and narrow beaches, and the swell, forerunning a storm, was quite apparent. The boat sailed on more even keel.Kingdon pointed her for the sheltered gulf that indented the island coastline, which he had noticed when they battled with the squall the day they had reached Storm Island."We'll have to stay aboard all night, I suppose?" Cloudman groaned. "Oh, boy!Terra firmafor mine as soon as possible!""We might as well stay on the boat," Midkiff said. "No knowing what those other fellows have done to our camp.""Cheerful, aren't you, Jawn?" chuckled Kingdon.At that moment Peewee Hicks seemed suddenly to have a brainstorm. He had crept forward and was standing, hanging to a stay, looking off at the tumbling sea east of the island. Now he began to dance and yell."Come down out of that!" ordered Red Phillips. "What are you—going crazy? That's no place to be fox-trotting.""Look there! See 'em! There's going to be a mess now.""What do you mean?" questioned Red, climbing gingerly upon the deck to get a glimpse of what Peewee evidently saw.The bulging sail shut out Rex Kingdon's vision. He called to know the cause of the disturbance. Red Phillips turned a perfectly pallid countenance to the stern, shouting:"Canoes! Blown off shore, I guess. Two fellows in each, Rex. What will we do about it?"CHAPTER XVIII."THE HAPPY FAMILY.""It's that Horrors kid and his chums," Cloudman cried. "They're in for it, I reckon!""They'reoutfor it, you mean," Midkiff said."What can we do?" wailed the dancing Peewee. "They're trying to paddle back to the island.""Right into the eye of the wind," said Phillips, who now had a good view of the two canoes."They'll be drowned!" declared little Hicks."Easy there, Midget," Kingdon requested. "Don't weep yet. Steady, you fellows. I'm going to wear ship. Give me the course, Red.""You're sure not going to run down to them, Kingdon?" questioned Cloudman.It looked dangerous to him. Even Midkiff said:"Better look before you leap, Rex.""Pshaw! As our Blackport friend says, 'There's nothing to it!' We can reach 'em all right—without shipping a capful of water.""Yes," Midkiff muttered. "But can we get back to the island again?"Kingdon did not answer that question. He knew he had a sound craft under him. A catboat of merely theSpoondrift'slength has run many a mile out to sea and lived through an offshore gale; but it wasn't a chance he fancied, and Kingdon fully felt the responsibility of taking the risk. Nevertheless, he could not think of letting those other fellows drown.Drown they might unless they received immediate aid. Under the lift of the boom, Rex caught a glimpse of the two canoes. One fellow in each was paddling madly while his companion was bailing out the water shipped from the curling top of every wave.It was a bad outlook for Horace Pence and his friends. Undoubtedly they had been fishing off the eastern point of Storm Island when the wind shifted. If that was so, then for nearly two hours the boys had been battling to get back to safety."Careless goats," Kingdon said to Midkiff, who stood beside him. "They ought never to have brought such dinky craft out here. Canoes are all right in the sound when it's quiet; but to try to manage a canoe out here, with the surf running the way it does on this south shore of Storm Island, is craziness.""Guess they know all that now," grunted Midkiff."True for you, Jawn. Stand by to give them a hand. Save the canoes if you can. I've got to run her in between the two, and you and Red will each have to handle one of the cockleshells.""Cockleshells. Now you've said a bushel, Rex," Midkiff rejoined. "Those fellows ought to be at home sailing chips on a puddle.""They're putting up a plucky fight, just the same," Kingdon said, peering ahead. "Take your place. Speak to Red. Stand by the sheet to lower!" he bellowed."Aye, aye, skipper!" Phillips shouted back."Come aft here, Peewee, and help Cloudman pull 'em over the side. Keep your wits about you, Applejack.""Oh, thank ye!" grunted the boy from the West. "I didn't spill them back there in that choppy channel."Carried on by her own momentum, theSpoondriftshot in between the two canoes. The struggling boys paddling at the moment—Pence in one canoe and Pudge MacComber in the other—might have ceased their work, seeing the catboat so near, had not Kingdon shouted:"Keep it up, you fellows! Stick to the paddle. We've got to snake those other fellows inboard first."Cloudman and Peewee each seized their man, while Red and Midkiff, lying precariously themselves on the decked over portion of the catboat, got a grip on the gunwales of the canoes.Ben Comas and Kirby were hauled into the cockpit; but each canoe shipped so much water it began to sink.Pudge was frankly crying; but he tried to balance his boat and use the paddle on the starboard side. Pence's countenance wore its usual sneering smile. His black eyes flashed and his glance did not quail in the least."Awfully decent of you, Kingdon," he shouted. "Try to save the canoes, if you can.""Scramble aboard!" commanded the skipper of theSpoondrift. "Never mind the canoes."But Midkiff and Phillips did their part nobly. They hung onto the sinking craft until Horace Pence and Harry Kirby could aid in dragging both upon the deck of the catboat."Lash 'em there," commanded Kingdon. "Give us more sail. We've got to make headway against this breeze."He had brought theSpoondriftinto the eye of the wind and, when a reef was shaken out, the sail got the breeze on such a slant that she staggered and rolled like a drunken man."Oh, Rex!" squealed the frightened Peewee. "You'll have us turned turtle!""Don't worry, infant," responded Kingdon. "You couldn't tip this old girl over. She's as safe as a house."The plunging of the catboat made them all hang on for dear life. Pudge had stopped crying, and he showed a courage far superior to that of his cousin. Deathly pale, Ben Comas was accusing Horace of having dragged them all into this perilous adventure.That Pence had elements of the right stuff in him was proved by what he said in return: "You keep that to yourself, Comas, or I'll chuck you over the side. Thank Kingdon and his friends—as I do. We'd all been by-low in a few moments if it weren't for them.""Huh!" grunted Ben. "What chance have we now?""If we are to drown we'll go down with these fellows who have done their best to save us," Pence put in curtly. "Don't forget that. Let's be decent—or, as decent as we can be—if we really have got to drown."Kingdon smiled at the black-browed fellow."You're improving, Horrors," he said. "But we're not going to be swamped. We'll pull through all right.""You'll never get us safely around to the other side of the island with the wind this way," Kirby shouted."Am not going to try," retorted Kingdon, shrugging his shoulders. "But we'll be all right—in time.""Yes we will!" sneered Ben Comas."Drop that, or I'll punch you!" threatened Horace Pence, edging over toward the coward."Nice crowd, aren't they?" said Red Phillips, happening to be near Kingdon. "They must get along fine together in that camp up there. Regular happy family, such as you see in the sideshows—what?"Kingdon laughed and shook the damp hair out of his eyes, for the spray had wet them all pretty thoroughly. Their oilskins had saved the Walcott Hall boys; but the canoeists were saturated above their waists."I'd feel better if I co-could get dry," chattered Pudge."So say we all of us, Fatty," Cloudman told him. "But no use trying to light the oilstove below. Might set the cabin afire.""Don't take any favors from 'em, Pudge," ordered Ben in his nastiest way."Why don't you get out and walk," demanded Peewee hotly, "if you don't want to accept any favors? You're a fine chap—I don't think.""Close up, infant," commanded Kingdon, hearing this. "Try to be hospitable.""Hospitable!" muttered Hicks. "They've been so nice to us—stealing that permit and trying to get us put off the island——"Horace Pence actually grinned at this. "You must have put it all over Enos Quibb," he said in his drawling way. "How did you do it? Gratitude for saving him from a watery grave, no doubt?""If he showed gratitude, it's more than somebody else," snapped Midkiff, boiling over."You're the fellow they call Grouch, aren't you?" Horace asked, still smiling. "Name seems to fit."Kingdon interfered before the slow Midkiff could get back at his tormentor."Let them rave, Midkiff," the skipper said. "They got the best of us the other day. We have to admit it. But the affair isn't over yet.""We got the permit just the same," laughed Horace openly."We'd ought to take it away from them," put in Red Phillips, inclined to feel as Midkiff did."Remember they are our guests," drawled Kingdon. "Hands off. We must put them ashore in safety. After that——"If the truth were told at that moment, Rex would gladly have gone to a clinch with the sneering Pence. There was something about the crass ingratitude of the cheeky fellow that made it hard for Kingdon to restrain himself. Pence and his crew were unbeaten cubs.But Rex gave his first, and very earnest attention to the sailing of theSpoondrift. She staggered along for an hour, making very heavy weather, and very short legs in her tacking, but finally, the eastern head of Storm Island began to break the wind."We're pulling out of it," Red shrieked in Kingdon's ear, for the roar of the nearby surf was now almost deafening."By the way," Rex asked of Kirby, "where's your Indian friend?""He didn't come out with us.""Oh! I fancied he might have been drowned. That would have been a sad calamity. I think he has it in for me.""Maybe he has," Ben said, overhearing this conversation. "But he doesn't dislike you any more than the rest of us do.""Aw, Ben!" said Pudge MacComber, "I'm sureI'mgrateful to Mr. Kingdon and his friends. He may not believe it——""Oh, I do," Rex interrupted, sweetly. "But don't lay it on too thick. I begin to feel slight symptoms ofmal de mere. A little of the kind of gratitude you fellows feel goes a long way with me."CHAPTER XIX.MORE OF MR. QUIBB."Lower away!" shouted Rex, as he put the nose of theSpoondriftinto the passage between the two charging files of breakers. In a moment, it seemed, the catboat drifted on the heaving but quiet bosom of the small cove.Rex Kingdon dealt in melodrama; no doubt of that. He liked to do things to startle his comrades. But they were not always chance things done on the spur of the moment. More often he shrewdly molded circumstances to lead up to his most startling successes. He had had both his friends and "The Happy Family," as Red had named their guests, speculating during these last few minutes. It had looked as though the oldSpoondriftcould not possibly be brought into this haven in safety."By George!" Horace Pence unwillingly said. "You're some pilot, you are!""Me!" Rex returned lightly. "If I'd sailed with Columbus, we'd landed at New York, not at a little picayune island down in the West Indies.""Well, we'll be getting our canoes over and going ashore, I guess," Horace said in rather an embarrassed tone for him."So long," returned Kingdon carelessly. "Come up and give me another look at that fast ball of yours to-morrow.""Perhaps," said the black-eyed fellow, non-committally.The four went ashore. The Walcott Hall boys saw Joe Bootleg meet them at the edge of the water with a lantern. He had evidently been aware of their peril, and from the headland had watched theSpoondriftmaking her anchorage."Good riddance to bad rubbish," muttered Red Phillips."All but the fat chap," Peewee observed. "He isn't such a bad sort.""Most onery crowd of coyotes I ever saw," Cloudman acclaimed with force."Forget it!" advised Rex, with more tartness than he usually displayed. "Not worth talking about.""Those chaps from the other camp have really gotten under his hide at last," Peewee whispered to Red.They spent the night in some comfort. The summer wind-storm blew itself out before midnight, and in the morning they were able to sail around to the little cove below their camp. Nothing had been disturbed there. They found the tent-fly laced down as they had left it.Kingdon insisted on taking his two pitchers to the top of the island for practice in the afternoon. Neither Horace Pence nor any of his chums appeared. The Walcott Hall boys caught only distant glimpses of the other campers-out during the day.The morning following Kingdon was too busy with Midkiff, tinkering with the engine of theSpoondrift, to bother about the rival campers. The other Walcott Hall boys went fishing off the rocks in the still water, and caught a mess of cunners that made a nice change from the usual cod, or flounders."Never knew there were so many kinds of fish," Cloudman admitted. "Always thought, till I came East, that fish was justfish. All tasted the same. But even those squirmy eels taste better than Texas venison.""What's Texas venison?" questioned Phillips."Jackrabbits," Applejack replied, grinning."Fellers in N'York, they tell me, pay a dollar a pair for them. They kill 'em in big drives in Texas, and use flivvers instead of ponies to run 'em. Then they cold storage the jacks and push 'em up to the Eastern market. All they are worth in Texas is a bad word; and a dollar a pair in the effete East. Some dish, jackrabbit stew—if a feller has good teeth."Pudge MacComber came over to the Walcott Hall camp about dark, to borrow a hatchet. He seemed rather embarrassed about asking for it, his cousin's insistence evidently having been all that brought him."We've mislaid ours somewhere," he confessed. "We've got to cut some more firewood and a few tent pegs. The wind, the other day, pretty near blew our tents away.""You're welcome to the hatchet," Kingdon said. "Thought you had a fellow with you who knew all about camping—and was cookee, too?""That Injun," Cloudman put in."He's a good deal of a frost," admitted Pudge. "He's lazy. Won't work any more than he can help. And his cooking!" The fat youth sighed, shaking his head mournfully. "I know I'm going to reduce all right if we stay on Storm Island. I do all the work and haven't had a square meal once since we landed.""You're looking bad. I noticed that when you came along," Red Phillips said with commiseration. "You tottered. I bet you've lost half a pound.""Oh, you can laugh——""No laughing matter," said the lean Cloudman, "to lose flesh. I lost some once, and it made me lopsided. Got thrown from my pony and scraped off some thigh meat against a rock, on one leg. Walked with a list to starboard, as you mariners would say, for a couple of weeks.""I wouldn't care to lose flesh that way," Pudge said. "When I'm not fat I don't feel so well. I begin to get weak and all run down——""So that you don't cast a shadow, I s'pose?" suggested Peewee."Oh, I guess I always cast more of a shadow than you do, little feller," Pudge told him, to the amusement of the others."But if you get thin, I suppose you are afraid of losing your right proportions," Kingdon chimed in gravely. "You know, a fellow hates to lose his shape.""According to what kind of a shape he's got," muttered Peewee."Why, the rules for perfect pulchritude are easily remembered," the curly-haired youth said with serious mien. "You know, 'Twice around the thumb, once around the wrist; twice around the wrist, once around the neck; twice around the neck, once around the waist'——""And in this fellow's case twice around the waist, once around the 'big top' at a circus, I s'pose?" put in Red. "Just about.""Oh," said Pudge, mildly, "you fellows can poke fun if you like. I don't mind. I'm used to it anyway. I'd rather be fat than uncomfortable. Besides, after what you fellers did for us the other day——""Now don't get maudlin," begged Kingdon quickly. "The least said the soonest mended. We had to save you from a watery grave! We're not proud of it."This rather closed Pudge up, and he mournfully went away. Midkiff said with scorn:"They must be having a nice time over at that camp! They don't open their tent-flies before nine o'clock. Sleep away the best of the day. Then they lay around and squabble most of the time, I s'pose.""Don't let their behavior worry you, Grouch," Red advised. "You haven't got to play father confessor to that bunch.""I'd like to give 'em penance, all right," growled Midkiff. "What they need is a rattling good shaking up. Being half an ace from drowning the other afternoon wasn't enough."It looked, the next forenoon, as though the "shaking up" was about to come to the first party of campers on Storm Island. Kingdon and his mates had got the engine of the catboat into running order, and were just about to try her out, when the sound of another motor approaching brought them all up standing. Motor crafts, thus far, had not been very plentiful in the sound."See who's coming to be in our midst again," invited Peewee. "It's the jolly constable.""Now we're in for it!" predicted Midkiff, looking solemnly at Rex.The latter seemed the least disturbed of any of them. Indeed, he smiled quietly and went about preparing for the trial of the catboat."Is he coming here?" queried Cloudman after a minute."Not first, I guess," said Red, who was likewise pretty solemn. "But he'll be here all right. He's going over to take another squint at that permit, I s'pose. If you had only let us get that paper away from those fellows, Rex——""Never mind the ifs and ands, Red," said Rex. "Let's go over there and see what happens.""He's got something in reserve," declared Peewee."I believe he has," muttered Red.Kingdon went about his business, without further word. In a minute or two their own engine was going, and soon theSpoondriftmoved easily out of the cove. By that time Enos Quibb's motorboat was almost at the landing where the two canoes lay.The Walcott Hall boys could see that the fellows at the other camp had been rounded up by the excitable Pudge. They were all at the landing when Enos Quibb shut off his engine and stepped forward to make fast a line. Joe Bootleg remained in the background; but even he, it seemed, was more than usually interested.The boys aboard the catboat could not hear what first was said by the constable, but they heard Horace Pence laugh his sneering, musical laugh, and reply:"You're going to have some job proving that, aren't you, Mr. Quibb? We have the permit——""Then, by gum," the excited constable shouted, "you stole it! That's what you did. You ain't got no right to it.""You'd better try to prove that, Enos," Horace said, still laughing."I'm a-goin' to," cried Quibb. "I'm a-goin' to take you fellers—all of ye—over to Squire Lowder's, an' let him decide this business. No school of tomcods like yeou, is goin' to fool Enos Quibb right along. No, sir!"
CHAPTER XVI.
WHITE WINGS.
With that understanding, the Walcott Hall lads sought their beds that night, and arose betimes in the morning. The sun was scarcely up when they were aboard the catboat and drifted out of the tiny cove in which she had been anchored.
They selected to have breakfast aboard and, as he knew very little about sailing a boat, Cloudman agreed to be the "doctor" during the cruise.
There is no more comfortable, roomy, or safe boat for her size than a cat, and, despite her broad beam, with a stiff breeze blowing, theSpoondriftcould walk the water in amazing fashion. Beside, Kingdon was skillful at sailing a craft of her kind.
"How did you learn so much about it, Rex?" asked Peewee Hicks.
"Sailed in pretty near every kind of a one-man or two-man dish all around the seven seas," declared Kingdon airily. "From a catamaran to an outrigger, or an Esquimaux kaiak, yours truly has tempted Father Neptune."
"Wish to goodness you'd be really serious once in a while, Rex," grumbled Midkiff. "Never know whether you're dreaming or just plain fibbing."
"There!" ejaculated Red Phillips. "Some rap that, Old Grouch; right in the solar-plexus."
"But you surelyhavetraveled, Kingdon?" put in Cloudman, who had come up from the low-roofed cabin to breathe.
"That used to be my middle name—before my father settled in Maine for the sake of mother's health, and went into the lumber game. Rexford Traveler Kingdon—that's me. Isn't it perfectly delightful to hear me boast like this? I'm so modest about it, what?"
"There's another sail over yonder," cried Peewee suddenly. "Is she heading in, too, Kingdon?"
"She's making a leg that way," announced the skipper. "Blackport Channel is narrow, but deep. We'll have to make about the same number of tacks as she'll make to get in. Another cat, too; but bigger than theSpoondrift."
"And a whole lot fancier," Red Phillips declared.
"See her canvas!" cried Peewee. "White as snow."
"And this old tub looks like a slop bucket," complained Midkiff.
"Handsome is as handsome does," laughed Kingdon. "We know how well theSpoondriftacted the other day in that squall."
"She certainly spoke her little piece coming up from Boston," Red admitted.
"That other boat's going to cross our bow, Kingdon," Peewee announced excitedly.
"Don't you believe it, infant," was the prompt rejoinder.
"But she is, I tell you——"
"Watch out!" called Kingdon. He swung the tiller hard over and theSpoondriftturned almost on her heel. The white spume flew across the decked-over bows into the cockpit, Cloudman getting about half a bucketful down the back of his neck.
"What do you think you're doing?" he yelled, leaping up.
"Hold on!" advised Red, choked with laughter.
The sail of theSpoondriftcaught and held every ounce of wind possible. She was shooting along, splashing through the waves with a lift of her nose that shook her from stem to stern.
"Hold on to what?" cried the Colorado lad, grabbing the edge of the centerboard well. "She's pitching like a wild bronco!"
"Stick to the saddle," chuckled Pewee. "You should like this."
"I do—like fun!" grumbled Cloudman. "Spilled my kettle of hot water. How can I wash greasy pans without hot water?"
"Let 'em stay greasy till the next meal. Then they're all ready to use again," Red suggested.
"We ought to have a dog," Peewee declared.
"What for?"
"Like the lazy woman's dog. She called it 'Three Waters' and when folks asked her if her dishes were washed clean, she always said, 'Just as clean as Three Waters can make them.'"
"That's an awful chestnut," Red said. "We'll have no such housekeeping as that. Better let 'em stay greasy."
Meanwhile theSpoondriftwas tearing through the jumping waves, with the wind in the most favorable quarter. The strength of the wind was increasing, too, and theSpoondriftwas distinctly a heavy-weather craft.
In saving her from being "cross-bowed" by her handsome rival, Kingdon had lost a bit on the length of that leg. Now theSpoondriftrushed down toward the opening of the channel like a steam tug. As the other sailing craft was about to tack, the Walcott Hall boys crossed the stranger's bows.
So near were the two catboats that a biscuit might have been tossed from one to the other. No biscuits were tossed, but certain chaff was.
"Oh, you lubbers!" shouted a young fellow in a yachting cap, rising upon the forward deck of the strange catboat, and hanging to a stay for support. "Some sailors! Where are you from? What cart is that?"
There seemed to be half a dozen persons aboard the hailing craft, all young fellows. Kingdon answered the laughing challenge:
"Spoondrift, from Storm Island; Kingdon, skipper; bound in. What boat's that?"
"Nothing To It, Blackport Boat Club. My name's Yansey. Will see you fellows later. Some tub you got there."
"Tub!" flung back Peewee. "Like your nerve! We've got her entered for the International Cup Races."
"Sure you have. Tea cup races, you mean," gibed the other. "Come, now, get that old catamaran out of our way, so we don't fall over her. We're going to tack."
"Look like a lively lot," Red Phillips remarked as theSpoondriftpulled ahead and got into the choppy channel.
"Blackport Boat Club boys. We ought to know them," Kingdon agreed. "I understand they've set up a fancy eight-oared shell, too. That's where we are weak, fellows."
"Where?" Midkiff asked.
"Rowing. Walcott Hall should pull as good an oar as any prep. school in the East. What do we do?"
"It's what the other schools have always done to us, not whatwedo," sighed Red Phillips.
"Why is that?" demanded Cloudman, who knew little about boating of any kind.
"We never seem to develop good rowing material," Midkiff said.
"Don't go after it," Kingdon rejoined, with vigor. "Not as we do after football and baseball timber."
"Ain't that the truth?" drawled Peewee. "I'd like to see Old Hall set up a good eight-oared boat—I'd be cox."
"You're the right size—below your ears," said Red.
"If we had a shell," began Kingdon.
"Where? Here?" Midkiff demanded.
"Yes. Why not? Plenty of quiet water in that sound."
"But there aren't eight of us," squealed Peewee.
"More than eight on the island," Kingdon returned with a sudden grin.
"Jumping jacks!" Red exclaimed. "He's raving again. Thinks he can work those loafers over there on Storm Island into rowing material. Going to make a Christy Mathewson out o' that Horrors kid, too."
"Like fun he will!" said Cloudman, mockingly.
"What's the matter—jealous, Eat-'em-alive Jack?" drawled Kingdon. "Don't be narrow—don't! If we could put in some practice this summer——"
"Get up a crew and race these Blackport fellows, I suppose?" Midkiff asked, scowling.
"Your supposing is good, Jawn," observed Kingdom, shifting the tiller just a little so as to ship the cap of a wave that came inboard with a mighty splash and broke up the group of critics forward of the centerboard.
TheSpoondriftkept well ahead of theNothing To Itthrough the channel. It was a fine day, and there were plenty of small sailing craft, as well as motorboats, astir on the ample bosom of Blackport Cove.
To the westward, toward the Beaches, was the anchorage of the Boat Club, where, if any inshore gale did hit them, the small fry would find no rocks to go ashore on.
TheNothing To Itwended her way to these moorings; theSpoondrift, with reefed sail, loafed in to a dock near the middle of the water-front.
Rex and Midkiff went up to a machine shop for the new engine parts and needed repairs. On their way back to the dock, the big fellow again tried to reason with his roommate.
"Why not send a letter while we're here to the Manatee Company, and tell them how the permit was lost?" he begged. "They'd give us another, wouldn't they? That Enos Quibb will be coming around again—and he isn't going to be put off so easy a second time. You can see that."
"Beautiful day, Midkiff," Kingdon observed, his head in the air.
"Don't you hear what I say?"
"We're going to have some job beating back against this wind—if she doesn't change."
"Hang it all, Rex! Come on! Take a fool's advice——"
"No, Jawn; I'm foolish enough myself. Why load up with an overstock of the same goods?"
"Hang it all!" ejaculated Midkiff again.
"Do, Jawn," Kingdon advised mildly. "Hang it all up—and forget it."
"You'd try the patience of a saint!"
"Don't know. Never knew one personally. You don't claim to have been canonized, do you, Jawn?"
Midkiff flung up his hands and fell silent.
CHAPTER XVII.
AN OFF-SHORE BLOW.
Before the two friends reached the dock an automobile drove across their path. There were several men in it, but Midkiff did not give the party any attention—being in a retrospective state of mind—until one of the men hailed Kingdon jovially.
"Ahoy, Rex! 'Ullo, boy! How's Rex Kingdon?"
The curly-haired lad looked up, with a smile, and waved his hand in response to the greeting as the automobile whisked away.
"Who's that?" Midkiff asked.
"Ahem!" coughed Kingdon, a twinkle in his eye. "A man who knows my father."
"Humph! He seemed to know your father's son, too," said the dark fellow, and then forgot the incident.
But there was somebody within sight and hearing of the occurrence who was not likely to forget it. The two Walcott Hall boys, however, went on down to the dock without marking the presence of this curious individual.
The fellow, who had said his name was Yansey, skipper of theNothing To It, was sitting on the stringpiece of the wharf, swinging his legs and chaffing with the trio aboard theSpoondrift.
He was a smart-looking, cheerful lad, with the spirit of a sparrow—a friendly soul who even made Midkiff warm toward him. He hailed the latter and Rex as though he was an old friend.
"Say," he began on the blond chap, "I hear your name is Rex Kingdon?"
"Who told you so much?"
"These chaps here in the tub."
"Of course. They are devoted to the unadorned truth," said Kingdon whimsically. "You know, Old Till wants a chair of Truth endowed at Walcott Hall."
"Maybe he feels the need of one there?" suggested Yansey cheerfully.
"Don't be so dazzling! What have you come over here for—to try to get our angoras because you couldn't beat us out with that old log of wood you were attempting to sail?"
"Came because I fell in love with you all at first glance," returned Yansey, grinning up at the curly-haired lad. "Bet you can't say that of me."
"Your crew look like good sports," said Rex. "Come aboard?"
"Yes. If you'll sail me over to the clubhouse. I came on purpose for you fellows," explained Yansey. "It's almost lunch time, and we want you to eat with us. Got a darkey for a cook, and he makes a fine chowder—and apple pie! My eye!"
"Home made apple pie? Say not so!" croaked Red Phillips. "You make my mouth water like a hydrant."
"You can stuff yourself," assured Yansey. "What say?"
"Is this just a polite invitation, or is it a dare?" asked Kingdon.
"Dare you to come!" laughed Yansey, hopping down into theSpoondrift.
"We never take a dare," responded Kingdon.
"Never!" was the chorus from the other Walcott Hall lads.
"But you don't know what you are getting that darkey cook in for," Cloudman warned. "We haven't had a square meal since we left Boston."
The wind was shifting and unsteady as they sailed across the broad cove. "Hope it comes into the right quarter for us to get back easy on," Kingdon observed.
"Think we're in for a spell of weather?" Red asked Yansey, who was Blackport born and seemed to be weather wise.
"Shouldn't wonder. Though we don't often have anything out of the no'theast this time of year. Just the same, there's been bad wrecks along the coast in June. They keep the life-savers on the job through this month nowadays."
None of the visitors thought of the weather, however, when once they were ashore at the boathouse. It seemed to be a club including all ages and the owners of all manner of craft. But the youngsters had it to themselves just now, as it was too early in the season for their fathers to get away save on Saturdays.
The visitors looked over several of the better-sailing craft while dinner was preparing. Kingdon took up the eight-oared shell question with Yansey, and learned that in August there was always a race with two other boat clubs, and that the Blackport eight considered themselves to be a little the best oarsmen anywhere along the Maine coast.
"To be real modest," Yansey grinned, "there's nothing to it for the other eights. We've got the race cinched already."
"Modesty adorns you," Kingdon told him. "I can see that. Also, why you chose that name for your catboat, too."
"Right! There's nothing to it!" proclaimed the optimistic Yansey. "We've got a new shell, and we keep her greased. Wait till you see us out practicing some day. I'm stroke."
"What did you do with your old shell?" Kingdon asked, reflectively.
"It's for sale over yonder at the boat builder's. Good boat, too, though battered some. Come and see our new one."
Kingdon went, and said nothing more about the thought that had become fixed in his mind regarding the eight-oared shell race.
The Walcott Hall boys had a good time at the boat club; but they were delayed in getting away, and when theSpoondriftran down toward the Channel it was plain the wind had come around into the north and was blowing strongly. The sea outside was streaked with foam over the caps of the jumping waves.
"Guess your old wind's changed, all right," grumbled Peewee.
"We won't have to beat up against itallthe way back to the island," Rex responded with cheerfulness. "Keep up hope, infant. All is not lost."
"I don't want to lose everything," said Cloudman as the cat began to pitch in the choppy sea. "That apple pie was too good to waste."
"Stop that talk!" groaned Peewee, his hand upon his stomach.
Cloudman really suffered from seasickness before they got out into open sea. There the waves were less choppy, and theSpoondriftrode them like a seafowl. It was easier on all hands.
But the wind increased in strength, and to beat up into the sound—which was all a-streak with foam and very blusterous to look upon—was really more of an undertaking than Kingdon cared to tackle.
"We can do it all right. She's safe enough," Rex said to Midkiff. "But it will make rough going, Jawn—awful rough. These lubbers will be set on their ears."
"Never mind them. They'll feel better after it's all over."
"Unfeeling words, old boy. That's a narrow breach into our little cove where the camp is. Believe I'll go t'other side of the island."
"To the seaward side?"
"Right. The island will break the wind. I noticed one good anchorage, at least, over there. We can make it easily with the wind like this."
"You're the doctor," said Midkiff. "I suppose you know what you are about once in a blue moon."
"Your confidence in me almost brings the tears to my eyes. Shake a reef out of that sail, Jawn. We're going to run down wind for a long lap."
With this change in the sailing of theSpoondrift, Applejack and Peewee felt greatly relieved. With the wind practically astern, the catboat was less acrobatic in her motions. But when the high eastern point of the island began to draw in on their port quarter, the other fellows wanted to know where they were bound.
"What're you aiming to do, King?" asked Red Phillips. "Sail us clear over to Spain? You're heading that way."
"Get out your Spanish phrase book, and learn to speak the language with a pleasant accent," advised Kingdon, "if you think we're likely to reach that coast. Forewarned is forearmed."
"What do you mean, 'four-armed'?" grinned Red. "Think I am ananthropoidean quadrumanousanimal? Isn't that a good one? I learned it by heart after Old Yad suggested I might be one on occasion."
"I'd have had him arrested," Cloudman said, weakly. "Didn't know Yad could talk so mean to a fellow."
It was growing late when the catboat swung into the smoother patch of ocean south of the island. On their left, the surf roared far up the rocks and narrow beaches, and the swell, forerunning a storm, was quite apparent. The boat sailed on more even keel.
Kingdon pointed her for the sheltered gulf that indented the island coastline, which he had noticed when they battled with the squall the day they had reached Storm Island.
"We'll have to stay aboard all night, I suppose?" Cloudman groaned. "Oh, boy!Terra firmafor mine as soon as possible!"
"We might as well stay on the boat," Midkiff said. "No knowing what those other fellows have done to our camp."
"Cheerful, aren't you, Jawn?" chuckled Kingdon.
At that moment Peewee Hicks seemed suddenly to have a brainstorm. He had crept forward and was standing, hanging to a stay, looking off at the tumbling sea east of the island. Now he began to dance and yell.
"Come down out of that!" ordered Red Phillips. "What are you—going crazy? That's no place to be fox-trotting."
"Look there! See 'em! There's going to be a mess now."
"What do you mean?" questioned Red, climbing gingerly upon the deck to get a glimpse of what Peewee evidently saw.
The bulging sail shut out Rex Kingdon's vision. He called to know the cause of the disturbance. Red Phillips turned a perfectly pallid countenance to the stern, shouting:
"Canoes! Blown off shore, I guess. Two fellows in each, Rex. What will we do about it?"
CHAPTER XVIII.
"THE HAPPY FAMILY."
"It's that Horrors kid and his chums," Cloudman cried. "They're in for it, I reckon!"
"They'reoutfor it, you mean," Midkiff said.
"What can we do?" wailed the dancing Peewee. "They're trying to paddle back to the island."
"Right into the eye of the wind," said Phillips, who now had a good view of the two canoes.
"They'll be drowned!" declared little Hicks.
"Easy there, Midget," Kingdon requested. "Don't weep yet. Steady, you fellows. I'm going to wear ship. Give me the course, Red."
"You're sure not going to run down to them, Kingdon?" questioned Cloudman.
It looked dangerous to him. Even Midkiff said:
"Better look before you leap, Rex."
"Pshaw! As our Blackport friend says, 'There's nothing to it!' We can reach 'em all right—without shipping a capful of water."
"Yes," Midkiff muttered. "But can we get back to the island again?"
Kingdon did not answer that question. He knew he had a sound craft under him. A catboat of merely theSpoondrift'slength has run many a mile out to sea and lived through an offshore gale; but it wasn't a chance he fancied, and Kingdon fully felt the responsibility of taking the risk. Nevertheless, he could not think of letting those other fellows drown.
Drown they might unless they received immediate aid. Under the lift of the boom, Rex caught a glimpse of the two canoes. One fellow in each was paddling madly while his companion was bailing out the water shipped from the curling top of every wave.
It was a bad outlook for Horace Pence and his friends. Undoubtedly they had been fishing off the eastern point of Storm Island when the wind shifted. If that was so, then for nearly two hours the boys had been battling to get back to safety.
"Careless goats," Kingdon said to Midkiff, who stood beside him. "They ought never to have brought such dinky craft out here. Canoes are all right in the sound when it's quiet; but to try to manage a canoe out here, with the surf running the way it does on this south shore of Storm Island, is craziness."
"Guess they know all that now," grunted Midkiff.
"True for you, Jawn. Stand by to give them a hand. Save the canoes if you can. I've got to run her in between the two, and you and Red will each have to handle one of the cockleshells."
"Cockleshells. Now you've said a bushel, Rex," Midkiff rejoined. "Those fellows ought to be at home sailing chips on a puddle."
"They're putting up a plucky fight, just the same," Kingdon said, peering ahead. "Take your place. Speak to Red. Stand by the sheet to lower!" he bellowed.
"Aye, aye, skipper!" Phillips shouted back.
"Come aft here, Peewee, and help Cloudman pull 'em over the side. Keep your wits about you, Applejack."
"Oh, thank ye!" grunted the boy from the West. "I didn't spill them back there in that choppy channel."
Carried on by her own momentum, theSpoondriftshot in between the two canoes. The struggling boys paddling at the moment—Pence in one canoe and Pudge MacComber in the other—might have ceased their work, seeing the catboat so near, had not Kingdon shouted:
"Keep it up, you fellows! Stick to the paddle. We've got to snake those other fellows inboard first."
Cloudman and Peewee each seized their man, while Red and Midkiff, lying precariously themselves on the decked over portion of the catboat, got a grip on the gunwales of the canoes.
Ben Comas and Kirby were hauled into the cockpit; but each canoe shipped so much water it began to sink.
Pudge was frankly crying; but he tried to balance his boat and use the paddle on the starboard side. Pence's countenance wore its usual sneering smile. His black eyes flashed and his glance did not quail in the least.
"Awfully decent of you, Kingdon," he shouted. "Try to save the canoes, if you can."
"Scramble aboard!" commanded the skipper of theSpoondrift. "Never mind the canoes."
But Midkiff and Phillips did their part nobly. They hung onto the sinking craft until Horace Pence and Harry Kirby could aid in dragging both upon the deck of the catboat.
"Lash 'em there," commanded Kingdon. "Give us more sail. We've got to make headway against this breeze."
He had brought theSpoondriftinto the eye of the wind and, when a reef was shaken out, the sail got the breeze on such a slant that she staggered and rolled like a drunken man.
"Oh, Rex!" squealed the frightened Peewee. "You'll have us turned turtle!"
"Don't worry, infant," responded Kingdon. "You couldn't tip this old girl over. She's as safe as a house."
The plunging of the catboat made them all hang on for dear life. Pudge had stopped crying, and he showed a courage far superior to that of his cousin. Deathly pale, Ben Comas was accusing Horace of having dragged them all into this perilous adventure.
That Pence had elements of the right stuff in him was proved by what he said in return: "You keep that to yourself, Comas, or I'll chuck you over the side. Thank Kingdon and his friends—as I do. We'd all been by-low in a few moments if it weren't for them."
"Huh!" grunted Ben. "What chance have we now?"
"If we are to drown we'll go down with these fellows who have done their best to save us," Pence put in curtly. "Don't forget that. Let's be decent—or, as decent as we can be—if we really have got to drown."
Kingdon smiled at the black-browed fellow.
"You're improving, Horrors," he said. "But we're not going to be swamped. We'll pull through all right."
"You'll never get us safely around to the other side of the island with the wind this way," Kirby shouted.
"Am not going to try," retorted Kingdon, shrugging his shoulders. "But we'll be all right—in time."
"Yes we will!" sneered Ben Comas.
"Drop that, or I'll punch you!" threatened Horace Pence, edging over toward the coward.
"Nice crowd, aren't they?" said Red Phillips, happening to be near Kingdon. "They must get along fine together in that camp up there. Regular happy family, such as you see in the sideshows—what?"
Kingdon laughed and shook the damp hair out of his eyes, for the spray had wet them all pretty thoroughly. Their oilskins had saved the Walcott Hall boys; but the canoeists were saturated above their waists.
"I'd feel better if I co-could get dry," chattered Pudge.
"So say we all of us, Fatty," Cloudman told him. "But no use trying to light the oilstove below. Might set the cabin afire."
"Don't take any favors from 'em, Pudge," ordered Ben in his nastiest way.
"Why don't you get out and walk," demanded Peewee hotly, "if you don't want to accept any favors? You're a fine chap—I don't think."
"Close up, infant," commanded Kingdon, hearing this. "Try to be hospitable."
"Hospitable!" muttered Hicks. "They've been so nice to us—stealing that permit and trying to get us put off the island——"
Horace Pence actually grinned at this. "You must have put it all over Enos Quibb," he said in his drawling way. "How did you do it? Gratitude for saving him from a watery grave, no doubt?"
"If he showed gratitude, it's more than somebody else," snapped Midkiff, boiling over.
"You're the fellow they call Grouch, aren't you?" Horace asked, still smiling. "Name seems to fit."
Kingdon interfered before the slow Midkiff could get back at his tormentor.
"Let them rave, Midkiff," the skipper said. "They got the best of us the other day. We have to admit it. But the affair isn't over yet."
"We got the permit just the same," laughed Horace openly.
"We'd ought to take it away from them," put in Red Phillips, inclined to feel as Midkiff did.
"Remember they are our guests," drawled Kingdon. "Hands off. We must put them ashore in safety. After that——"
If the truth were told at that moment, Rex would gladly have gone to a clinch with the sneering Pence. There was something about the crass ingratitude of the cheeky fellow that made it hard for Kingdon to restrain himself. Pence and his crew were unbeaten cubs.
But Rex gave his first, and very earnest attention to the sailing of theSpoondrift. She staggered along for an hour, making very heavy weather, and very short legs in her tacking, but finally, the eastern head of Storm Island began to break the wind.
"We're pulling out of it," Red shrieked in Kingdon's ear, for the roar of the nearby surf was now almost deafening.
"By the way," Rex asked of Kirby, "where's your Indian friend?"
"He didn't come out with us."
"Oh! I fancied he might have been drowned. That would have been a sad calamity. I think he has it in for me."
"Maybe he has," Ben said, overhearing this conversation. "But he doesn't dislike you any more than the rest of us do."
"Aw, Ben!" said Pudge MacComber, "I'm sureI'mgrateful to Mr. Kingdon and his friends. He may not believe it——"
"Oh, I do," Rex interrupted, sweetly. "But don't lay it on too thick. I begin to feel slight symptoms ofmal de mere. A little of the kind of gratitude you fellows feel goes a long way with me."
CHAPTER XIX.
MORE OF MR. QUIBB.
"Lower away!" shouted Rex, as he put the nose of theSpoondriftinto the passage between the two charging files of breakers. In a moment, it seemed, the catboat drifted on the heaving but quiet bosom of the small cove.
Rex Kingdon dealt in melodrama; no doubt of that. He liked to do things to startle his comrades. But they were not always chance things done on the spur of the moment. More often he shrewdly molded circumstances to lead up to his most startling successes. He had had both his friends and "The Happy Family," as Red had named their guests, speculating during these last few minutes. It had looked as though the oldSpoondriftcould not possibly be brought into this haven in safety.
"By George!" Horace Pence unwillingly said. "You're some pilot, you are!"
"Me!" Rex returned lightly. "If I'd sailed with Columbus, we'd landed at New York, not at a little picayune island down in the West Indies."
"Well, we'll be getting our canoes over and going ashore, I guess," Horace said in rather an embarrassed tone for him.
"So long," returned Kingdon carelessly. "Come up and give me another look at that fast ball of yours to-morrow."
"Perhaps," said the black-eyed fellow, non-committally.
The four went ashore. The Walcott Hall boys saw Joe Bootleg meet them at the edge of the water with a lantern. He had evidently been aware of their peril, and from the headland had watched theSpoondriftmaking her anchorage.
"Good riddance to bad rubbish," muttered Red Phillips.
"All but the fat chap," Peewee observed. "He isn't such a bad sort."
"Most onery crowd of coyotes I ever saw," Cloudman acclaimed with force.
"Forget it!" advised Rex, with more tartness than he usually displayed. "Not worth talking about."
"Those chaps from the other camp have really gotten under his hide at last," Peewee whispered to Red.
They spent the night in some comfort. The summer wind-storm blew itself out before midnight, and in the morning they were able to sail around to the little cove below their camp. Nothing had been disturbed there. They found the tent-fly laced down as they had left it.
Kingdon insisted on taking his two pitchers to the top of the island for practice in the afternoon. Neither Horace Pence nor any of his chums appeared. The Walcott Hall boys caught only distant glimpses of the other campers-out during the day.
The morning following Kingdon was too busy with Midkiff, tinkering with the engine of theSpoondrift, to bother about the rival campers. The other Walcott Hall boys went fishing off the rocks in the still water, and caught a mess of cunners that made a nice change from the usual cod, or flounders.
"Never knew there were so many kinds of fish," Cloudman admitted. "Always thought, till I came East, that fish was justfish. All tasted the same. But even those squirmy eels taste better than Texas venison."
"What's Texas venison?" questioned Phillips.
"Jackrabbits," Applejack replied, grinning.
"Fellers in N'York, they tell me, pay a dollar a pair for them. They kill 'em in big drives in Texas, and use flivvers instead of ponies to run 'em. Then they cold storage the jacks and push 'em up to the Eastern market. All they are worth in Texas is a bad word; and a dollar a pair in the effete East. Some dish, jackrabbit stew—if a feller has good teeth."
Pudge MacComber came over to the Walcott Hall camp about dark, to borrow a hatchet. He seemed rather embarrassed about asking for it, his cousin's insistence evidently having been all that brought him.
"We've mislaid ours somewhere," he confessed. "We've got to cut some more firewood and a few tent pegs. The wind, the other day, pretty near blew our tents away."
"You're welcome to the hatchet," Kingdon said. "Thought you had a fellow with you who knew all about camping—and was cookee, too?"
"That Injun," Cloudman put in.
"He's a good deal of a frost," admitted Pudge. "He's lazy. Won't work any more than he can help. And his cooking!" The fat youth sighed, shaking his head mournfully. "I know I'm going to reduce all right if we stay on Storm Island. I do all the work and haven't had a square meal once since we landed."
"You're looking bad. I noticed that when you came along," Red Phillips said with commiseration. "You tottered. I bet you've lost half a pound."
"Oh, you can laugh——"
"No laughing matter," said the lean Cloudman, "to lose flesh. I lost some once, and it made me lopsided. Got thrown from my pony and scraped off some thigh meat against a rock, on one leg. Walked with a list to starboard, as you mariners would say, for a couple of weeks."
"I wouldn't care to lose flesh that way," Pudge said. "When I'm not fat I don't feel so well. I begin to get weak and all run down——"
"So that you don't cast a shadow, I s'pose?" suggested Peewee.
"Oh, I guess I always cast more of a shadow than you do, little feller," Pudge told him, to the amusement of the others.
"But if you get thin, I suppose you are afraid of losing your right proportions," Kingdon chimed in gravely. "You know, a fellow hates to lose his shape."
"According to what kind of a shape he's got," muttered Peewee.
"Why, the rules for perfect pulchritude are easily remembered," the curly-haired youth said with serious mien. "You know, 'Twice around the thumb, once around the wrist; twice around the wrist, once around the neck; twice around the neck, once around the waist'——"
"And in this fellow's case twice around the waist, once around the 'big top' at a circus, I s'pose?" put in Red. "Just about."
"Oh," said Pudge, mildly, "you fellows can poke fun if you like. I don't mind. I'm used to it anyway. I'd rather be fat than uncomfortable. Besides, after what you fellers did for us the other day——"
"Now don't get maudlin," begged Kingdon quickly. "The least said the soonest mended. We had to save you from a watery grave! We're not proud of it."
This rather closed Pudge up, and he mournfully went away. Midkiff said with scorn:
"They must be having a nice time over at that camp! They don't open their tent-flies before nine o'clock. Sleep away the best of the day. Then they lay around and squabble most of the time, I s'pose."
"Don't let their behavior worry you, Grouch," Red advised. "You haven't got to play father confessor to that bunch."
"I'd like to give 'em penance, all right," growled Midkiff. "What they need is a rattling good shaking up. Being half an ace from drowning the other afternoon wasn't enough."
It looked, the next forenoon, as though the "shaking up" was about to come to the first party of campers on Storm Island. Kingdon and his mates had got the engine of the catboat into running order, and were just about to try her out, when the sound of another motor approaching brought them all up standing. Motor crafts, thus far, had not been very plentiful in the sound.
"See who's coming to be in our midst again," invited Peewee. "It's the jolly constable."
"Now we're in for it!" predicted Midkiff, looking solemnly at Rex.
The latter seemed the least disturbed of any of them. Indeed, he smiled quietly and went about preparing for the trial of the catboat.
"Is he coming here?" queried Cloudman after a minute.
"Not first, I guess," said Red, who was likewise pretty solemn. "But he'll be here all right. He's going over to take another squint at that permit, I s'pose. If you had only let us get that paper away from those fellows, Rex——"
"Never mind the ifs and ands, Red," said Rex. "Let's go over there and see what happens."
"He's got something in reserve," declared Peewee.
"I believe he has," muttered Red.
Kingdon went about his business, without further word. In a minute or two their own engine was going, and soon theSpoondriftmoved easily out of the cove. By that time Enos Quibb's motorboat was almost at the landing where the two canoes lay.
The Walcott Hall boys could see that the fellows at the other camp had been rounded up by the excitable Pudge. They were all at the landing when Enos Quibb shut off his engine and stepped forward to make fast a line. Joe Bootleg remained in the background; but even he, it seemed, was more than usually interested.
The boys aboard the catboat could not hear what first was said by the constable, but they heard Horace Pence laugh his sneering, musical laugh, and reply:
"You're going to have some job proving that, aren't you, Mr. Quibb? We have the permit——"
"Then, by gum," the excited constable shouted, "you stole it! That's what you did. You ain't got no right to it."
"You'd better try to prove that, Enos," Horace said, still laughing.
"I'm a-goin' to," cried Quibb. "I'm a-goin' to take you fellers—all of ye—over to Squire Lowder's, an' let him decide this business. No school of tomcods like yeou, is goin' to fool Enos Quibb right along. No, sir!"