CHAPTER VII

CHAPTER VII

THE BATTLE FOR THE BOAT

“Tramps, as I live!” cried Jack, excitedly. “Did you ever hear of such nerve!”

“The worst ever!” exclaimed Tom. “We ought to rout them out of that pretty fast.”

“And we will, too,” said Bob. “Come ahead, fellows,” and he broke into a run.

“Hold on,” said Fred, solemnly. “Diplomacy is a good word.”

But the others did not seem to hear.

As they crashed through the underbrush, then swooped pell-mell across an open space, the men arose, with ludicrous haste, and were about to leap ashore, when the larger laid a restraining hand upon his companion’s shoulder.

“Why, it’s nothing but a parcel of boys,” he said. “Don’t disturb yourself, pal; let’s continue our peaceful meal.”

He laughed, and sank back against the side of the boat, and calmly surveyed the indignantboys, who arrived on the scene quite out of breath.

They were both large men, ragged and unkempt in appearance—typical specimens of their kind; although the one who had spoken wore a very mild expression for a tramp.

“I say,” began Jack, impetuously, “can’t you chaps find some other place to eat your grub?—and—by Jingo, I’ll bet it’s our grub, too.”

He stared at the open window, then at several familiar pots and pans which rested beside the grinning tramps.

“Well, I like that. I—I——”

“We thought you would. That’s why we done it, pal,” said number one, eating a large slice of broiled ham, with evident relish. “Are you the head duffer, might I ask—but surely you ain’t running this here craft yourselves?”

“You’d better get out!” cried Jack, fiercely, despite the efforts of Fred Winter to resort to diplomatic measures.

“Nuttin’ annoys me pal s’much as when he’s disturbed at eatin’, eh, Duke?” and, asnumber one nodded and helped himself to another supply, the speaker waved his arm threateningly.

“Scat, scatter, an’ fade away; likewise, depart,” he said. “Drift, skip and begone. What d’ye think, Duke, of a lot of youngsters like them bein’ so fur away from their own little firesides?”

“I think,” remarked the other, “that briled ham and potatoes, as a staple article of food, can’t be beat. Some gingerbread, Count; and if you don’t mind, I’ll top off with some crackers and cheese.”

“So be it, Duke. If you see anything you don’t want, ask for it. My good breeding won’t rub off—wilderness an’ parlor life, it’s all the same. Sardines? Certainly, Duke; but them mostly comes at the beginning of repasts. Tote away there, you on shore; it ain’t perlite ter stare at people eatin’.”

“You needn’t think you’re so funny!” cried Jack Lyons, indignantly. “I’ll have the constable after you quicker than a wink, if you don’t skip.”

“The dearest friend I have; he’s cost me many a dollar. Don’t hurry yerself, Duke.”

“I say, my man,” said Fred Winter, in a soft voice, determined to show his chums the beneficial effects of diplomacy, “come now, get out quietly, like good fellows. We don’t want any trouble, and won’t make any fuss about all that grub you—you—swiped.”

“Listen to birdie chirping. Methinks that butter in summer ain’t no softer than him, eh, Duke?”

“A dub,” said tramp number one, squinting at Fred Winter. “His phiz shows it.”

“Needs a good beatin’ ter put some spunk in him,” added number two.

Both howled with laughter, while Fred, much disgusted and red in the face, forgot, in the wave of indignation that swept through him, all about diplomacy.

“I’m only going to tell you fellows once more,” warned Jack. “Better get out, or you’ll meet your dearest friend arm to arm.”

“Well, Duke, did yez hear that? There’s a real live humorist fur ye—‘Arm ter arm.’ More gingerbread? Certainly, Duke. Floatin’ groceries in their wilderness is a wrinkle of the twentieth century wot don’t harm no one.”

The boys looked up and down the river and at the motor boats passing. But no one was in sight on the shore and the boats were too far out. There seemed to be no help at hand and, in vexation and disgust, they withdrew to talk the matter over.

“We’ll have to get those fellows off in a hurry,” said Bob, determinedly.

“What in thunder can we do?” asked Jack.

“Go right on board, and pitch into them,” suggested Joe, doubling his fists and making about four savage passes in the air. “Fire ’em off, bag and baggage.”

But Fred hastily shook his head.

“No, no!” he demurred. “Besides, they’re much too hefty. Maybe Redfern could help us.”

“I’m afraid not,” mused Jack. “He’s a jolly nice chap—but doesn’t look quite old enough to scare ’em.”

“We mustn’t allow ourselves to get excited,” drawled Dave.

“But those fellows can’t be allowed to stay on the ‘Gray Gull’ all afternoon,” protested Joe. “I’m beginning to boil over. I’ll betthey get away with most of our grub, too. And who knows but what they may have assassinated poor Confuse-us.”

“What? You don’t think that—that—they——” began Fred, aghast.

“Not on purpose, perhaps. But if they stepped on him, in some dark corner—well, Confuse-us hasn’t a constitution which could stand that.”

“Well, it certainly makes us look like a lot of softies,” declared Joe, walking slowly toward the water’s edge. “Look at the grinning chump waving his hand. Hello—this is good stuff.”

Joe stooped over, and gathered up a handful of mud, and, almost before his companions could divine his intentions, the boy’s arm swung around and a nice, compact mud-ball was spinning swiftly through the air.

The distance was not very great, and the throw unfortunately successful.

The “Count,” with his back turned, was just on the point of arising, when the missile thudded against him. Being partly off his balance and taken entirely by surprise, he gave a yell, and finding himself going forward,miscalculated the amount of energy necessary to regain his former position.

The result was startling. He could not save himself, and, with surprising suddenness, lurched over the side of the boat.

A great splash went up, and the astounded “Duke” received a generous shower bath.

“Great Cæsar!” gasped Jack.

“Thunderation!” cried the author of the mischief, almost as much astonished as the unfortunate “Count.”

The latter completely disappeared for an instant, and when his bushy head came in sight above the surface, gone was the humorous twinkle in his eye, gone was the smile which had curved his lips.

“Gee whiz, this is no place for us,” murmured Joe. “He looks peevish—perhaps he dislikes water.”

“It’s had a frightful effect on him, anyhow,” laughed Dave.

“Whew!” sputtered the “Count.” “I’ve swallowed a gallon of the saltest water that man ever tasted. Who throw’d it, Bobby?”

“That little fat one.”

“Ketch ’im, then!” roared the “Count,”wading toward the bank with an energy that indicated trouble ahead. “Quick now, Bobby. Jist let me git a hold of ’im. Quick! He’s goin’ ter rue the day he left his own little fireside.”

And the “Duke,” heeding the lusty voice of his companion, leaped ashore and made directly toward the group.

But they resolutely held their ground.

Jack Lyons’ eyes began to flash. The fellows who had played against him at football knew the look that was in his eyes now.

“Keep back, ‘Duke,’” he said, quietly, “or you’ll get mixed up in a good deal of a row.”

“Yes, you’d better!” said Bob Somers, quietly, and, as the tramp showed no intention of heeding this well-meant advice, seven pairs of hands reached down, for even Fred was aroused, and seven mud-balls were hastily formed.

Then Jack spoke up again:

“Did you hear?”

“I hear’d,” snarled the “Duke.” “We ain’t a-goin’ to do a thing to you. Wait till——”

“One—two—three!” Jack’s voice interrupted.

The “Duke,” urged by his companion, who had just scrambled ashore, broke into a run.

Then Jack nodded to his chums.

“Let him have it,” he said, still quietly.

Seven arms drew back, and seven missiles shot through the air.

The tramp let out a yell and stopped short, for most of the mud-balls had landed squarely. Then, furious with rage, he made a headlong dash toward them.

But again the arms swung around with perfect precision.

Swish, splash—the mud was just the proper consistency for mud-balls. It splattered all over the unfortunate tramp number one, and stung him until he could no longer face the bombardment.

Unmindful of the yells and fierce commands of number two, he ignominiously turned his back and fled before the storm.

The “Count,” a sadly bedraggled and dripping object, witnessed the rout with unconcealed feelings of disgust. Slowly he walked to where his companion had halted. The boys were then treated to a volley of violent threats.

All the ugliness in the natures of the men was aroused, and, determining upon revenge, they picked up whatever missiles lay within reach and began a fierce onslaught.

Sticks, stones and lumps of hard earth whizzed and rattled around the boys.

Before such a dangerous hail, the lads were compelled to retreat. Joe uttered a yell, and began limping around on one foot; Fred Winter dropped his glasses.

The tramps, with shouts of triumph, continued to lumber forward, promising the boys that when they had finished with them their house-boat would be wrecked.

And just then, when things looked a bit discouraging, the sound of hurrying feet came to their ears. Three men dashed forward, and the boys instantly recognized two of them as the artists whom they had met on the top of the Palisades.

The man with the sandy beard was well in advance, and had his camera pointed.

Click!—the scene of battle was snapped.

The “Count” and “Duke” turned abruptly at the sight and began to flee.

Perhaps neither had ever before sprinted ina livelier fashion, and in a moment their forms were lost to view behind the intervening trees.

“Gee whiz! They ought to enter for the next marathon,” gasped Jack. “Mighty lucky you happened along.”

“Well, boys, you’re having what might be styled a fierce day. We seem to have frightened those tramps pretty badly; perhaps they thought this camera was a new sort of a blunderbuss.”

“Big scrap?” inquired the dark-haired artist.

“Yes, sir; you see it was this way,” and Jack soon acquainted their rescuers with all the facts.

“I declare,” remarked the sandy-bearded artist, with a smile, “if I stick by you boys a little longer, I’ll get some remarkable snapshots. By the way, this is the artist friend I was telling you about.”

The boys nodded, and surveyed Norman Redfern’s friend with interest. He was a clear-cut, smooth-faced and solidly built young fellow of about twenty-five.

Anxious to see if any damage had beendone, the boys lost no time in boarding the “Gray Gull.” Confuse-us greeted them with wagging tail and plaintive cries, but his constitution did not seem to have suffered.

“They’ve eaten about four days’ grub; that’s what they’ve done,” remarked Jack, indignantly.

“Lucky they didn’t take your painting along, Jack,” said Joe.

But Jack’s suspicious glances rested on a guileless, innocent face.

Fred presently slipped off, and they saw him hovering like a shadow around the spot where he had lost his glasses. He returned shortly, bearing them in triumph.

The visitors were much interested in the house-boat. Redfern soon after joined them and, of course, heard all about the latest adventure.

They passed a jolly afternoon. The artists talked entertainingly of their experiences abroad; about roughing-it trips through France, Switzerland and Italy; of climbing Vesuvius and sleeping on the cliffs at Capri; of ancient Pompeii, and the historic ruins in Rome.

“Dandy chaps,” remarked Jack, when they had gone.

“Aren’t they, just?” said Tom. “Did us a good turn, too.”

“Awful easy life, being an artist,” quoth Aleck. “All they have to do is to sit down and paint pictures; then people come along and say, ‘That’s bully—swell—out of sight,’ eh, Jack?”

“Some of ’em starve in garrets, though; I’ve read about it.”

“It’s because they’re not good artists, then,” said Aleck, with an air of superior wisdom.

“Now, you chaps,” remarked Jack, “I move that we get out in the stream a bit. Those tramps may take it into their heads to come back and throw a few rocks.”

“That’s right,” agreed Joe. “Up anchor, jolly tars.”

The “Gray Gull” soon drew away from the shore and was brought to a stop at a safe distance. The weather was dull and gloomy, and the opposite hills were almost swallowed up in the heavy atmosphere.

By and by Jack lighted the red and green lanterns, and, feeling secure and content, theyretired within the cozy interior and had their supper in peace and comfort.

Finally Aleck opened the door and stepped out upon the deck.

“Say, fellows!” he called, “we’re up in the air.”

“You are, maybe,” grinned Joe.

“No—honest, the anchor must have pulled loose, and we’ve floated off. Makes me dizzy. Who knows but what we’re a mile high by this time?”

“Oh, come down,” laughed Dave.

“Well, look and see.”

As the boys joined Aleck outside, each uttered an exclamation.

“If this fog were any thicker, it would be solid,” said Jack, solemnly.

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