"Did you ever hear the like of that?" said Mr. Daddles, in a kind of awed whisper; "don't move,—he's going to do it again!"
But Ed Mason, Jimmy Toppan, and I were not be to restrained.
"That's the 'Hoppergrass'!" we all burst out, at the same instant.
"What's the 'Hopper'—?" began Mr. Daddles, but his voice was drowned out by the crier. Beginning with his "Hear what I have to say!" he repeated the announcement word for word as he had given it the first time. Then he rang his bell with four, slow, deliberate motions, and started to hobble away.
We were after him in a second.
"Where is it?"
"When was it stolen?"
"Where's Captain Bannister?"
The crier looked down at us with some air of indignation, and shifted his quid of tobacco.
"Apply at the Eagle House," said he, pointing his thumb over his shoulder.
"Come on! come on!" we begged the other three, "let's go to theEagle House!"
"Why? What for?"
"That's the 'Hoppergrass' he said was stolen. Captain Bannister is here,—at the Eagle House!"
"But he didn't say the 'Hoppergrass';—he said the HannahBillingsgate."
"Pettingell. That's the other name of the 'Hoppergrass'."
"The other name? Does she travel under an Elias, as Gregory theGauger calls it?"
"No, no! The captain doesn't like 'Hoppergrass' and he said he had thought of changing the name. Come on,—let's go to the Eagle House."
We made them understand at last, and then we started up the street in the direction that the crier had pointed. On the way, Jimmy Toppan was struck by doubts.
"I don't see how the Captain COULD change the name like this. You have to register a new name for a boat, I think."
"You said that he was thinking of calling her the Hannah J. what —is—it? Didn't you?"
"Yes."
"Well, then, it must be the same boat. There wouldn't be two knocking about, with a name like that."
We found the hotel presently. There were two elderly men sitting on the little piazza, and they hitched their chairs around and watched us through the window as soon as we entered the office. This room was empty, but after we had stamped and coughed a good deal, a small man in shirt-sleeves came from some room in the back.
"Is Captain Bannister here?"
"Bannister? Oh, no, Bannister aint here!"
This in a tone which was as much as to say: "I wouldn't have a man like that on the premises."
"Well, he WAS here, wasn't he?"
"Was here? Oh, yes, he WAS here,—last night."
(As if to say: "He was here until we got on to him.")
"Has he gone away?"
"Gone away? Oh, yes, he's gone away."
This seemed to strike the two men on the piazza—whose ears were almost stretching through the window—as a joke. They both laughed uproariously. The hotel man was evidently unwilling to give up any information until it was wrenched out of him, bit by bit. Mr. Daddles continued the cross-examination.
"Do you know where he's gone?"
"Oh, he went away before six o'clock."
"Well, do you know WHERE he went?"
"Where? Oh, he told me—Joe, where'd he say he was goin'?"
One of the men on the piazza answered:
"Big Duck."
"Big Duck Island?"
"Yup. He—"
The other man broke in. "He says to me that he was goin' toRogerses'."
"Rogerses'? Where's that?"
"Rogerses' Island," said the hotel man, "'bout three miles t'other side of Bailey's Harbor."
One of the men now came in from the piazza, and after much questioning we found out all they knew. Captain Bannister had arrived in Lanesport sometime the latter part of the afternoon. He left the "Hoppergrass" at the wharf, and came up into the town. When he returned, an hour later, his boat had disappeared. One or two men had seen it sail down the river, but in the fog had not noticed who was on board. The Captain "flew round like a coot shot in the head," declared our informant. He went from one wharf to another, started to hire a yacht and go in pursuit, but gave up the plan. Then he went to the police-station.
"The police reckoned it was some of them burglars had took it. The fellers that have been breakin' into houses on Little Duck."
"They've ketched them fellers," said the hotel man.
"Ketched 'em?"
"Yes. Got 'em last night, breakin' into a house in Bailey's Harbor. Bert Janvrin was in here not more'n ten minutes ago, and he heard 'bout it from a feller that was off Bailey's this mornin', haulin' lobster-pots. They got the whole gang, and put 'em in jail, an' they all got out again, somehow, an' got away on a boat, an' there's a man missin',—Mose Silloway,—you know Mose, Joe—an' they think likely he's been murdered by 'em."
Mr. Daddles looked at me very gravely, and rubbed his upper lip, hard.
"Dear me!" he said, "why, that's terrible! I hope it will turn out all right. Well, we want to find Captain Bannister and his boat. How do you get to Rogers's Island?"
"Jes' go over to Bailey's Harbor, an' keep on to the far end of the island,—you can row across to Rogerses' from there."
"I don't think he has gone to Rogerses', young feller," said one of the men, "I heard him say he was goin' to try Big Duck, fust."
"I guess we'll have to try them both,—thank you, all."
We said good-bye, and left the hotel. As we walked down the street again Sprague said that we would do well to get away from Lanesport, soon.
"If any more of these Bill Janvrins, or whatever his name was, come here with news about the burglars, we may find the constable after us again."
"It seems to me," said Pete, "that you fellows are getting in deeper all the time. When you had lost your boat and your Captain it was bad enough. But now the Captain has lost the boat, and one is in one place, and the other in another."
"Some of us will have to go to Big Duck Island, and some of us toRogers's," said Ed Mason.
"By way of Bailey's Harbor?" asked Pete, with a sarcastic smile.
"We won't have to go there," said Jimmy; "at least, I don't think so. I noticed Rogers's Island on the chart. I don't believe we'd have to land on Little Duck at all."
We talked it over on our way back to the boat. In one or two shops, where Sprague bought some food, we found out that the horse-cars would take us to Squid Cove. Beyond that ran the car on which we had travelled yesterday. Then there was a walk of less than two miles to a point on the shore from which a row-boat could take us to Rogers's Island. It was a long way to go, but it was necessary in order to avoid Bailey's Harbor. Moreover, since Sprague and Pete decided to take their boat to Big Duck Island, the trip to Rogers's must be made by land.
"It will be safer for just one of us to go to Rogers's Island," said Mr. Daddles, "and he can look around after the Captain and the 'Hoppergrass.' If he finds them, they can all sail over to Big Duck Island tonight or to-morrow morning and join us there. If he doesn't see anything of them, he can come back here to Lanesport, and spend the night in the Eagle House. Then the rest of us will join him tomorrow afternoon, with or without Captain Bannister, as the case may be. But we'll wait at Big Duck till noon."
When we got back to the yacht, there was the Chief, peacefully reading a last year's magazine. We routed him up, and cooked the dinner. While we were eating, the question arose: who was to go to Rogers's Island?
"We'll draw lots," said someone. We did so,—with slips of paper, and I was more than pleased when I saw that I had,—well, I was going to say: won. I thought I had won at the time, and I was tickled at the idea of going on this expedition by myself.
As we were separated from our boat, clothes, and all our belongings, Sprague fitted me out with some money, and I left Lanesport on the horse-car. At Squid Cove I looked anxiously to see if the car-driver would remember me, and I was glad to see a boy, about my own age, driving the old horse.
"Gran'father's gone over to Bailey's Harbor," said he, "to see if the burglars have come back. Gee! I'd like to see a burglar, wouldn't you? Gee! they say these had black masks, an' six- shooters, an' bottles of chloro-chlory—of that stuff they put folks to sleep with. An' brass knuckles. Say, did you ever see any brass knuckles? I did. I know a feller that has got a pair. He keeps 'em in the hay in the barn, so's his father won't get onto him. Gee! They put the burglars into the new jail, but they all got out, an' no one knows how they did it. Nate Bradley come back on his milk-cart from Bailey's and he says he went into the jail, an' the cells was all locked up, so they must have clumb out through the bars somehow. Gee! No one can find old Mose Silloway, an' they think the burglars drownded him, outer revenge. Giddap!"
He leaned over the front of the car and hit the horse a loud slap, with the ends of his reins.
"Gee! You bet Eb Flanders is madder than a settin' hen!"
"Who is he?" said I. Which was guile on my part.
"He's constable. He caught the burglars, y'know, right in the face 'n eyes of two policemen from Lanesport. An' when they got away, Eb pretty near bust his biler. He got his possy together again, an' he says he'll have 'em back if it takes a leg, an' when he gets 'em he'll set over 'em night an' day, with a shot-gun. Gee!"
He hit the horse another slap with the reins, and then turned to grin at me through a gap where four front teeth were missing. He was a jolly looking boy, with a round, red face like the rising moon.
"I wouldn't like to be them burglars, when Eb ketches hold of 'em again," he continued. "No, sir. Why, Eb arrested two fellers last summer for haulin' Levi Sanborn's lobster-pots,—he took an' tied 'em back to back an' carried 'em over to Lanesport in his boat, an' turned 'em over to the police. One feller got six months in the House of C'rrection. Gee! You're goin' to Bailey's, aint yer?"
"No, I'm going to Rogers's Island."
"You be? Why, the excursion aint till tomorrow!"
I said "What excursion?" before I thought.
"Why, the Comp'ny. Aint you heard 'bout the Comp'ny? Gran'father's goin'. Everbody's goin'. Don't you live in Lanesport?"
"No, I don't know anything about it. What is it,—a picnic? How many people live there,—on Rogers's Island?"
"Didn't no one live there—till 'bout a month ago. Then those two gen'lemen came,—the P'fessor an' Mr. Snider. The house had been empty for a year an' a half,—ever since old man Rogers died. He was the last of the fam'ly, an' his folks have owned the island an' lived in the house ever since the first one of 'em come over in the 'Mayflower' or with Christopher C'lumbus, or somebody. When Gran'father was a boy there was twenty-seven of 'em livin' there, an' nineteen of 'em was children. Gee! there must have been a mob,—all in one house! But they've been dyin' off, or movin' away or somethin', an' when old man Rogers died there wasn't no one for him to leave the prop'ty to but a hospittle or somethin'. An' the hospittle aint never come to live there, or nothin', an' it's stayed empty. I went over there once last summer, an' peeked into the winders. … But Mr. Snider an' the P'fessor are there now,— they hired the whole island to 'stablish the Comp'ny on."
He stopped the car for some passengers,—two women and two little girls who had been picking flowers beside the road. One of the women commenced to ask questions and I did not get much chance to talk with him again until we came to the end of the line, at the causeway leading to Bailey's Harbor.
I decided not to linger at this point, but merely stopped to ask the boy if I would be able to get a boat to row to Rogers's Island.
"You won't want one," said he, "there's a bridge. You'll find it all dry walkin'."
I learned what this meant, when, after about half an hour's walk, I came to a turn in the road, and a post with a metal sign: "Rogers's I.—1/2m." Here was another causeway across a marsh, not as well kept, nor as much used, as that from Bailey's Harbor, but quite passable. The island was in plain sight at the end of the road,—a rocky hummock of land, with two patches of trees. At the edge of one of these groups of trees I could see a chimney and one corner of a house. A big, pink poster, stuck up on the sign-post, had caught my eye. It was like several others which I remembered having seen on trees and fences as I came along the road. Now, for the first time, I stopped to read one of them. This is what it said:
GOLDFROM THE VASTY DEEPOLD OCEANGIVES UP HIS WEALTHAT LASTSUCCUMBS TO THE MODERN WIZARDEASE AND COMFORT PLACED WITHINTHE REACH OF ALL BY THEMETROPOLITAN MARINE GOLDCOMPANYCOME TO THE GRAND DEMONSTRATIONSAT THE COMPANY'S PLANT,ROGERS'S ISLANDTWO EXCURSIONS—MORNING &AFTERNOON
I read that poster, and wondered what it was all about. July 30th,—that was to-morrow. Then I remembered what the boy on the horse-car had said about "the Company" and the excursion. This was the thing he had meant. Well, it was nothing to me,—I had only to find out if Captain Bannister and the "Hoppergrass" were there, and if not, to go back to Lanesport. "Gold from the vasty deep,"— I wondered what that was. The buried treasure on Fishback Island, —had it anything to do with that?
Half way across the causeway was a wooden bridge, painted white.It spanned a narrow stream, not much more than a creek, runningthrough the marsh. This was the only water which divided Rogers'sIsland from the mainland.
On the railing of the bridge was tacked another pink poster. This one said:
RICHESFROM NEPTUNE'S HOARDTREASUREFROM THE BOUNDLESS MAINWHY TOIL AND SLAVE ALL YOUR LIVESWITH THE MEANS FOR LUXURY AT YOURDOORS?GRAND EXCURSIONS TO ROGERS'SISLAND, JULY 30. STEAMER "MAYQUEEN" LEAVES LANESPORT AT8.30 A. M., AND 2 P. M.THE METROPOLITANMARINE GOLD COMPANYIS ENDORSED BY THE LEADING FINANCIERSAND SCIENTISTS OF THE WORLDAND BYHON. J. HARVEY BOWDITCH &DEACON ENOCH CHICKLANESPORT
There were some hand-bills blowing around on the bridge, and I picked up one or two of them. They were like the posters,—about the Metropolitan Marine Gold Company, and the excursions to Rogers's Island. At the end of the causeway, where the road went up a little grade, there was a big sign, painted on white cloth, and fixed to some boards:
THE METROPOLITAN MARINE GOLD COMPANY (Limited)
The road wound up the slope, and I followed it and turned the corner. There was a great house, three stories high and as square as a child's block. If it had ever been painted, the paint had worn off, and the wood was almost black. For a hundred years or more the wind and rain and snow had beaten against it,—storms from the ocean, storms from the land, winds from all quarters, for except at one corner it was unprotected by trees. It stood on high ground, and faced the open water of the bay. Grass had grown rank all around, and there was no sign of anybody either indoors or out. There was an enormous barn behind the house, as well as woodsheds, and hen-houses.
I stood still for a few moments, and then walked up the weed-grown path, and hammered on the front door with the brass knocker. The knocking echoed all over the house, and the door swung slowly open. It was my knocks which had opened it, however,—there was no one inside, so far as I could see. I looked into an empty hall, dusty and neglected. A broad staircase led upstairs, but the only thing in the hall was a pile of pink hand-bills lying on the floor. I thumped again with my knuckles on one of the panels of the door, and called out: "Anybody here?" There was no answer, and after hesitating a moment I decided to try the rear of the house.
The driveway at the side was in the same neglected condition as the front path. The only thing about the place which looked at all new was a sort of wooden stand, built out of boards and packing boxes. This was decorated with flags and colored bunting, as if for a band-concert. It stood at one side of the driveway in what had once been a little garden. The barn and other buildings at the rear were shabby and ill-kept.
I pounded at a side-door, and at a door in the back, but there was no answer at either. Then I began to wonder what to do. Evidently Captain Bannister was not here, but why had he said he was coming to such a place? What had made him think he would find the "Hoppergrass" here? Where were the men about whom the boy on the horse-car had told me?
I strolled to the front of the house again, crossed the road, and looked down the hill toward the bay. There was a little wharf at the foot of the hill, and at the end of it was another of the white cloth signs. It faced out over the water, so I could not read what it said. Some planks, boards, and shavings lay about, as if someone had been working there recently. I thought I would go down and investigate.
As I still had on rubber-soled shoes, I suppose I walked noiselessly. I had not stepped upon the woodwork before I noticed a trap-door near the end of the wharf. I walked over to it and looked down.
It was rather dark below, but I could make out a platform about a foot above the water. Kneeling on this were two men, with a lantern beside them. They were both in their shirt-sleeves, and they seemed to be working over a little, square box. Four or five other boxes like it were lying on the platform in front of them.
I did not know exactly how to begin, but at last I gave a kind of cough, and said: "Can you tell me—"
But I got no farther than that. Both men looked up as if their heads had been pulled back on wires. One of them sprang to the ladder and came up it like a flash.
"Hullo!" he said, as soon as he reached the top; "who are you, and what do you want?"
He was a small man, with a clean-shaven face,—a very pale face it was, too. His hat was off, and I noticed that his hair was rather short. As for his age, I could not have told about that,—it might have been twenty-five or fifty, or any age between. He was quick in his movements, but his manner of speaking was pleasant enough.
"I'm looking for a boat," I said; "someone told me that it was here,—this is Rogers's Island, isn't it?"
"This is Rogers's Island, all right," he answered,—"what kind of a boat is it you are looking for?"
"She's a white cat-boat,—the 'Hoppergrass',—or the 'Hannah J.Pettingell',—it's more likely that's her name."
He looked at me inquiringly with his quick little eyes. The other man came up through the trap-door. He had put on his coat,—a long, black, "swallow-tail" coat. He was tall and thin, and dressed all in black, with a white neck-tie. His hair was sandy, and he had reddish side-whiskers,—the kind called "side-boards." I never saw a man with such a solemn face,—nor one with so long a nose. But he smiled as he walked over to me, a kind of painful smile as if he had the face-ache. He leaned over, took one of my hands, and held it in his damp grasp, while he patted me on the shoulder with his other hand.
"Well, my little man," he said, "what is your name, and what can I do for you?"
I did not like being called "my little man," and I tried to drop his clammy hand. But he held mine still, and smiled his tooth-achy smile.
"What is it we can do for you?" he repeated. He had a smooth voice that somehow made me feel as if I was having warm butter poured over me.
"I'm looking for a boat," I said, trying again to snatch away my hand.
"A boat?" he queried, in mild surprise, "and what is your name,— my little man?"
I started to tell him, and then it struck me, that we had given our real names to the constable at Bailey's Harbor, and that I might get into trouble if I told mine again, here. I tried to think of another name to give, but as I hadn't made up one in advance, it seemed to stick. Of course, I had often read of various kinds of criminals and desperadoes who went under false names, and also of people who were no more criminals than we, who had to give names other than their own. There were spies in war- time, for instance. These people in books all seemed to do it easily enough, and so I could have done, if I had had one ready. As it was I stammered over it.
"Sam-er-er-Jim-er-James B-B-Brown," I said at last.
"Sam Jim James Brown!" he said, in his buttery tones, "well, SamJim James Brown, what is it you want here?"
I told him again about the boat, and how they told us at Lanesport that Captain Bannister was coming to Rogers's Island to look for her.
"What kind of a boat is it?" said the other man. I had succeeded at last in getting the tall man to let go of my hand, and I backed a little away from him. I described the "Hoppergrass" as well as I could, and told about the Captain's notion for changing the name.
"A white cat-boat, hey?" said the little man, "and CaptainBannister,—oh, yes! of Lanesport? Captain Bannister ofLanesport?"
"No, he comes—"
"No? Are you sure? He's been in Lanesport lately, hasn't he?"
"Oh, yes. That's where he lost the 'Hoppergrass.'"
"That's the man!" said he, "that's the man. Now, I tell you what. He isn't here now, but I expect he will be here tomorrow. You've heard about the excursion, of course?"
"Yes,—I read the hand-bills."
"Well, I understand he is coming here tomorrow. Now, have you got to go back to Lanesport tonight?"
"Just a second,—excuse me just a second, Professor," put in the tall man, "I'd like a word with you just for a second. You'll excuse me, young man, if I confer with the Professor for a second. An important matter of business, you know."
He drew the Professor, as he called him, some little distance up the wharf, where they whispered together for three or four minutes. The tall man kept his hand on the Professor's shoulder and seemed very earnest in what he was saying.
Then they came back to me.
"Were you going back to Lanesport tonight?" asked the Professor.
"Yes," I replied, "if I didn't find Captain Bannister."
"I don't believe you can now," said he, looking at his watch. "It's half past four, and the last car leaves the Cove at four. Besides, your surest way to find this Captain Bannister is to stay right here. He'll be here tomorrow, sure. Then you can go back on the steamboat at noon, if you want to. We'll fix you up for tonight, and make you comfortable. What do you say?"
There didn't seem to be any way out of it. If it had been the tall man alone I would have walked all the way back to Lanesport rather than stay. I never saw anyone whom I disliked so much, from the very first instant. But the Professor seemed perfectly straightforward. The cars had stopped, and I was left here on Rogers's Island, and might as well make the best of it. Besides if Captain Bannister were coming in the morning it was foolish to lose this chance of finding him.
I decided to stay, and told them that I would do so.
Two minutes later I had begun to regret my decision, and to wonder if it was a mistake to stay on the island. I reflected that I was alone, with two strangers. Yet they were posting advertisements, and asking everybody in Lanesport to come to the island tomorrow. They would hardly do that if there was anything shady about them. From the very first, I had no fault to find with the Professor. The trouble with the other man was that he seemed to be so very, very GOOD.
"Now, James," said he, "we'll leave the Professor to finish some work here, while you and I go up to the house. … Wonderful man, the Professor!" he continued, after the latter had vanished down the trap-door, and we had started up the hill,—"wonderful man! How future generations will bless his name! That is it,—that is all that induced me to become connected with this great enterprise,—the blessedness of it! I would never have anything to do with any work unless it was for the good of my fellowman. I asked the Professor if his work was going to be for the benefit of ALL mankind. He told me that it was. Then I consented to come in with him. He has a marvellous brain."
"What is he professor of?"
"Transcendental chemistry … He has studied in all the leading universities of Europe. ALL of them. The name of Von Bieberstein will be blessed by generations yet unborn. And how devoutly happy am I that the name of Snider will come in for some of those blessings! It will be associated with his in this great work,— this GOOD work!"
"Is that his name?"
"Professor Von Bieberstein. Yes. And mine is Snider. … James, I hope you are a good boy."
I said nothing, but if to be a good boy would turn me into anything like Mr. Snider when I grew up, I hoped I was the worst kind of boy.
"You don't use tobacco, I hope, James?"
"No."
"Don't ever do it. It leads to lying. And drinking. I have known the greatest criminals and blacklegs in the city of New York, murderers, and thieves, and men like that,—and they all became what they were through using tobacco. All of them."
We had arrived at the house, and Mr. Snider led the way around to the side-door.
"Here is the platform, you see, James," said he, pointing to the band-stand, "all ready for the gathering tomorrow. Yes. It will be a great occasion. Historic. Nothing that this ancient house has ever seen could match it. And yet I suppose that many of the world's great discoveries were made in places humble and obscure like this. … Suppose we split a little wood, James, and bring some water from the well. Then we can have supper ready, when the Professor comes back from his work. He is very absent-minded. Very. His mind is engaged on these problems all day. He would not remember to eat unless I reminded him of it. I have to take care of him,—his life is very precious to the world, James!"
We went to a shed where there was a little kindling wood in one corner. Mr. Snider handed me a hatchet, and I split some wood, while he stood near and talked to me about the importance of being good and virtuous.
"It's the way to be happy, James, and successful, and RICH. Did you ever hear of Abraham P. Fillmore, James?"
"Oh, yes. Lots of times." "Worth ninety million dollars, James! Think of it! Ninety million dollars!" Mr. Snider licked his lips. "The richest man in the world, today. Some say that John Sanderson is richer,—but it isn't true. No; it isn't true. The last time I saw A. P. Fillmore, I said to him: 'Brother Fillmore,' I said, 'how do you account for it? How did you do it? How did you GET it?' And he said: 'Caleb,' he said, 'I'll tell you. It was by following the Golden Rule.' That's all there is to it, James,— just by being GOOD. Isn't that simple, James? Oh! why can't we all do that!"
I looked at Mr. Snider in astonishment. Here was a man who knew the famous millionaire, A. P. Fillmore, well enough to call him "Brother Fillmore," and to be called "Caleb" in return by him. I had seen pictures of Fillmore in the newspapers ever since I could remember,—people were always talking about him. "You must think I am as rich as A. P. Fillmore!"—how many times I had heard people say that! And Mr. Snider, who was on such friendly terms with him, was standing here in a woodshed, talking with me! I wondered why I had never heard of Mr. Snider before.
Presently we went in the house, after we had the wood and a pail of water. The house was almost empty of furniture, and it was pretty dismal. The kitchen was the only room they used downstairs,—it contained a cook-stove, two tables, a couple of broken-down chairs, and some boxes set on end, for seats. An old- fashioned kitchen clock, its hands broken off, stood on a shelf, silent. But a handsome little glass and gold clock was ticking away in front of it.
The Professor joined us while we were kindling a fire in the stove. He did not seem at all neglectful of his food, he inquired how soon supper would be ready, and suggested that we have some sausages in addition to what Mr. Snider was preparing to cook. They sent me out to the shed for some more wood, and again to the well for another pail of water, so that we could wash our hands and faces at the sink.
We ate our supper in the kitchen, and as soon as the Professor finished eating he lighted a long cigar. Mr. Snider did not seem to notice this, though it made me wonder why he did not tell his friend how many scoundrels he had known who had come to their downfall through using tobacco. When the cigar was nearly gone, the Professor said he would wash the dishes, if I would help him wipe them. I agreed, and we began the work. Mr. Snider presently started to talk to me once more about being good. He did not get very far, however, before the Professor turned to him and said:
"Oh, shut up!"
Mr. Snider raised his eyebrows, smiled his hideous smile, and relapsed into silence. After a minute or two he went outside, and walked slowly up and down the driveway, with his hands behind his back. When the dishes were finished, the Professor lighted another cigar, sat down at a table, and began to write and figure on a piece of paper.
This wasn't very amusing to me, so I looked about to see if I could find something to do. In a passage leading from the kitchen to another room, I found a shelf which held some empty medicine bottles, and four or five dusty books. I took the books down, one after the other. There was "The Life of Rev. Thomas Miltimore,"—I put that back on the shelf. There was "Leading Men of Rockingham County,"—I put that back. Then there was a book of hymns, and Foxe's "Book of Martyrs." I was about to take the latter to the kitchen with me, and curdle my blood again with its ghastly pictures, when I found another book under an old, yellow newspaper. It was "The Rifle Rangers; or Adventures in Southern Mexico by Captain Mayne Reid." The frontispiece, which was protected by a torn and stained leaf of tissue paper, showed a soldier in a tropical forest, being startled by a skeleton which had apparently risen out of the ground. On the title-page someone had written in pencil "A mity Good Book." Underneath, in another handwriting, were the words, "you Bett!" This seemed well recommended,—even if the name of the author hadn't been a strong recommendation in itself. A faded legend on a fly-leaf showed that the book had been "Presented to Edward Rogers, on his Fourteenth Birthday, Jan'y 21st, 1852, By his Uncle Daniel."
I took that book back to the kitchen. The Professor had a lamp burning on the table beside him, and I sat down in its light. In a few seconds I was following the adventures of the hero,—a hero whose foot, it seemed "had pressed the summits of the Andes, and climbed the Cordilleras of the Sierra Madre." He had "steamed it down the Mississippi, and sculled it up the Orinoco."
The Orinoco! That magic river with the musical name! I knew it too, and could see it in my mind's eye as I read. The branches of the trees met across the stream,—parrots screamed, monkeys chattered, and scampered from one tree to another. The kitchen, the Professor, vanished from my sight. I was unconscious of the hard, uncomfortable chair in which I sat, and of the dim, sputtering light of the badly trimmed lamp.
What else had he done? He told you about his past adventures, before he began upon the new one. "I had hunted buffaloes with the Pawnees of the Platte, and ostriches upon the Pampas of the Plata; I had eaten raw meat with the trappers of the Rocky Mountains, and roast monkey among the Mosquito Indians." Now, it seemed, he was off for the war in Mexico,—and I could come along with him, if I liked.
I did like, and it was two hours later when I suddenly heard an oily voice saying: "Why, it's half past nine,—James, you're not going to read all night, are you?" Then I came back to Rogers's Island with a bump, and saw the obnoxious face of Mr. Snider looking down at me. The Professor had left the room, though I had not noticed when he went.
"What is that book, James? Something improving, I trust?"
"It's a fine book," said I.
He took it and looked it over, making a clicking sound of disapproval with his tongue.
"How much better it would be," he observed, "to read some book of useful information, or something with a MORAL! Such a book as this TEACHES you nothing. Couldn't you find anything better?"
I was sorry that the Professor wasn't there, to tell him to shut up. I had no patience to stay and hear a book of brave adventure decried by this sanctimonious looking hum-bug,—whose mouth watered when he talked about old Fillmore and his ninety million dollars. Fillmore, so everybody said, was so stingy that he cut his own hair, and went around looking like a fright, rather than pay a barber. Worse than that, he was hated like fury by all the people who worked for him because he screwed their wages down to the lowest possible figure. But Mr. Snider thought him a great man, and boasted to me of knowing him within ten minutes of the time we met.
I told Mr. Snider that I was ready to go to bed, if he would show me where I was to sleep. He led me upstairs, past two or three rooms, to one in the rear. The floors were all bare, but the rooms had some furniture,—four-post beds, wash-stands, and one or two hair-cloth chairs. The bed in my room had a mattress and blankets, but no other bed-clothes. Mr. Snider bade me good-night, tried to shake hands with me—an attempt in which I foiled him—and softly departed down stairs.
After I was in bed I could hear the murmur of his voice below, as he talked with the Professor. Just as I was dropping off to sleep the voices grew suddenly louder for a moment or two, as if a door had opened somewhere.
"Maybe," I heard the Professor say, "but they'd never send a kid like that."
Mr. Snider answered something,—I could not distinguish the words.
"Oh, rats!" said the Professor, "what could he have seen?"
Again Mr. Snider murmured.
"Oh, sure, sure," the Professor's voice came again, "I was for keeping him, from the first. But just to be perfectly safe. We want to keep him till the first crowd has gone, anyway,—and till the second one has gone, if you say so. I don't care."
Another mutter from Snider; the Professor laughed and spoke again:
"It won't make a bit of difference. Bowditch has got all those hayseeds hypnotised. That's where you come in,—with your pink whiskers. … Say, that door's open!"
There was a sound of footsteps, and the soft closing of a door. Presently another door closed, outside, and I heard the two men come upstairs. I jumped out of bed, and locked the door of my room. It was fairly plain to me that I was in the house with a couple of swindlers, of some kind or other, and though I didn't believe they would harm me, there was no need to take unnecessary chances.
They went into one of the front rooms. I heard four thumps, one after the other, as they took off their shoes, and threw them on the floor, so I judged they were going to bed. As I lay there, listening for them to begin to snore, I fell asleep myself.
I waked, a little at a time, in a room which was in broad daylight, with the sun shining through one window. For a moment I could not remember where I was,—at home, on the "Hoppergrass," in the jail at Bailey's Harbor, or on the other yacht. Then I recalled Rogers's Island, Mr. Snider and the Professor. I got up and listened for them, and looked out of the window, but I neither heard nor saw anybody. I dressed, unlocked the door, and tried to open it. But I could not do so,—a bolt had been shot, or a button turned, and the door was locked outside. While I was rattling and shaking at it I heard Mr. Snider in the passage.
"Dear me!" he said, "what's the matter? Is that you, James? Just wait a moment."
I heard a fumbling, and my door came open.
"Dear me!" said he again, "this bolt had slipped over, and locked the door. It does that sometimes. An old house, you know, all out of repair. You must have thought we were trying to keep you inside. It DID look that way."
What a clumsy liar he was! I said nothing at all to him, but hurried down stairs as fast as I could without running. I felt much safer with the Professor,—perhaps he was as big a rascal as the other,—but he wasn't as slimy in his manner.
It was half past seven, and they had eaten their breakfast. They had saved some for me, and I ate it, keeping an eye out for Snider. He did not reappear, however, and after I had finished eating, I got "The Rifle Rangers" and went outside with it to read, and wait for the people who were coming on the steamboat. I felt more comfortable outdoors than in. With Mr. Snider creeping from one room to another I never knew what might happen, nor how he might try to cage me up. Outside, he wouldn't be able to touch me, if I had any kind of a start.
I had thought it over while I was eating breakfast. There was some sort of hocus-pocus going on, connected with this excursion and the gold company. Anybody could see that. Whether they really expected Captain Bannister to come on the steamboat, or whether that was all a lie to make me stay, I could not tell. Captain Bannister had said, according to the men at the Eagle House, that he was coming to Rogers's Island, so it might be that the Professor's story was true. On the other hand, it might have been made up out of whole cloth in order to keep me there over night. But why should they want to do that? They thought I had seen something,—the Professor had asked: "What could he have seen?" I hadn't seen anything,—except that they were working over some boxes on the platform beneath the wharf. They had both acted like boys caught in the jam closet.
I sat on the front porch, and thought it over, and read, and then thought it over again, until the smoke of the steamboat was in sight. This must have been about half past nine. The Professor and Mr. Snider had been out in the barn most of the time, or bringing chairs and putting them up on the platform in the side yard. When the smoke of the steamboat appeared they both came around to the front of the house. The Professor shook hands with me, and said goodbye. He had to go to Lanesport, he said, on important business, and he must start now. He was going by the road.
"Of course," said he, "I wish I could stay for the excursion, butMr. Snider will have to receive them, and explain the works."
"And James," added Snider, "will come around to the side and help me with the chairs,—won't you, James? It will only take a moment."
The Professor vanished around the corner of the house, as we turned into the drive.
"I hope you understand, James," said Mr. Snider, "that any—er— precautions we have taken since you came amongst us, were only such as were perfectly necessary under the circumstances. We are guarding here, of course, a valuable scientific discovery,—a VERY valuable discovery. There are people who would give thousands of dollars, and go to ANY lengths to get our secret away from us. Any lengths. We are determined that these men—these wicked men, I regret to say—shall not steal from the Professor the fruit of his brain. The workings of this—er—this precious secret will be displayed today, when the good folk arrive from Lanesport. We have the recommendation, as you must have seen, of two of the most respectable men in the town,—their names alone are proof of the high moral plane on which our Company is conducted. I say this to you because you do not know me, nor the Professor, and you are young, and thoughtless, and might jump to wrong conclusions. That would pain me very much, James. Very much. You will see, after the good folk arrive, and after you have heard Mr. Bowditch and Deacon Chick, that everything is as open as the day."
In spite of Mr. Snider's manner, in spite of his oily voice, I was nearer believing in him then, than at any time while I was on the island. After all, I had heard of inventions which must be kept secret. Moreover, there may have seemed something suspicious about the way in which I had come. I had bungled in giving that false name, and made them think that I was simply prying into their affairs. All that I wished now was to see if Captain Bannister were on the steamboat, or if I could get news of him or the "Hoppergrass," and I told this to Mr. Snider.
"Very well, then," said he, "it will be all right, now we have a clear understanding. And I would like you to keep near me while the people are here. You may be able to help, and thereby you can work off some of your debt to us for the two meals you have had at our expense. Though we would not charge you much for them,—about fifty cents for the supper, and thirty-five—or forty—for the breakfast, I think. Now, we will go down to the wharf."
The steamboat was less than quarter of a mile distant. It gave three long, shrill toots of its whistle, and came straight for us. It was a small boat, covered with flags and streamers. A brass band, in red coats, sat in the bow playing "Sweet Marie." As the boat came nearer I was surprised to see how few people, aside from the band, were on it. I had expected to see a big crowd,—a picnic gathering. Instead, there were only about two dozen people. Most of them were men, but a few had brought their wives—nice looking old ladies—with them.
Mr. Snider stood up on a high place, took off his black felt hat, with a great flourish, and put on his ghastly smile. "Welcome!" he shouted, "welcome to Rogers's Island!"
There was a big man with a frock coat and top hat standing near the band. He must have weighed two hundred and fifty pounds, and all his movements were slow and majestic. He took off his hat, faced toward the people who were sitting about the deck on camp- stools, and shouted in a deep but tremendous voice:
"Three cheers for Brother Snider!"
Then, counting "One, two, three!" and waving his tall hat in slow circles, he gave the three cheers all by himself. No one else opened his mouth.
The steamboat came alongside the wharf, was made fast, and a gang- plank run out. The big man came ashore, together with another who had a gray beard,—Deacon Chick, as I found out later. They shook hands with Mr. Snider very warmly, and introduced him to some of the other people as they stepped off the gang-plank.
"The Professor not here!" I heard the big man say; "that's a great disappointment!"
Then they all started up the wharf toward the house. The men of the band had scrambled ashore, and they headed the procession,— still playing "Sweet Marie" with loud blasts. Then came Mr. Snider, accompanied by the big man (he was the Hon. J. Harvey Bowditch) and by Deacon Chick. Behind him were the people from Lanesport, two by two, some of them carrying baskets, and most of them in their Sunday clothes. At the end were some men from the steamboat with armfuls of camp-stools.
Captain Bannister was not there. I had watched all the men as they came ashore, and I asked one of the crew of the "May Queen" about him. He had never heard of such a man, he said. So I decided to go up to the house, hear what was going to happen, and then go back to Lanesport on the steamboat. It would leave, so the man told me, at twelve o'clock sharp, and get to Lanesport about one. I would be in time to meet Ed and Jimmy, Mr. Daddles and the rest, and find out if they had had better luck at Big Duck Island.
Mr. Snider had a great amount of trouble in getting the people placed as he wished them. The band was in one corner of the garden playing "Razzle Dazzle" in very lively fashion. This helped make the occasion gay, but it also made it hard for anyone to hear what was being said. Mr. Snider's smooth remarks, as he teetered about, the Hon. J. Harvey Bowditch's stentorian bellowings, and Deacon Chick's confidential whispers were all drowned out by the music. Some of the men wanted to inspect the barn, and the premises generally, and one or two of the women had shown a desire to look into the kitchen. They had to be headed off by Mr. Snider, who gave them all a smile, a clammy hand-shake, and a patting on the shoulder, as he rounded them up on the camp-stools near the platform. Then he and Mr. Bowditch and the Deacon mounted the stand. There was a table with a pitcher of water and a glass, and Mr. Snider took his place behind it.
But when he smiled, and opened his mouth to speak, the band seized upon that moment to burst into music again. Their choice this tune was "Daisy Bell,"—
"Daisy! Daisy!Give me my answer true!"
they blared forth, with their full strength. Mr. Snider turned toward them and tried to maintain his smile, while the Hon. Mr. Bowditch, and Deacon Chick waved their hands furiously at the leader.
The leader, however, was quite unconscious of their efforts, as his back was turned toward them. He was a short, very stout man, stuffed into a scarlet coat. He stood up to lead, and instead of waving a wand, played a cornet. This he moved about in the air, swaying his head and the upper part of his body in time with the music. His face was deep red, and it seemed as if he might burst if it were not for blowing into the cornet. The tune went on, defiantly, in spite of all the hand-wavings from Bowditch and Chick.
Finally, a trombone player caught sight of their gestures, and he attracted the leader's attention to the fact that something was wrong by giving him a prod in the stomach with the slide of his trombone. The leader hesitated, stopped, and then faced about to the speakers' stand. Some of the band paused, while others kept right on with "Daisy Bell."
Mr. Snider smiled, bowed, and I suppose, with a desire to make himself agreeable, thrust out his hands and applauded. At any rate, the band-master mistook the meaning of it, for he silenced those who were still playing, leaned forward to say something to them all, waved his cornet, and started them once more on "Razzle Dazzle." He had thought that Mr. Snider preferred that to "Daisy Bell," and wanted it repeated. Then they had to begin the hand- wavings and gesticulations all over again. Nothing could stop them this time until Deacon Chick descended from the stand, went over to the band-master, tapped him on the shoulder, and whispered excitedly in his ear. At last they got them all quieted down, except one tremendous man who sat on two stools, playing an enormous bass-horn. For quite two minutes after the others had ceased he went on with his: "Um-pah! Um-pah! Um-pah!"
"The boys don't get a chance like this more'n once a year," said a man who was standing beside me, "and you bet they are going to give J. Harvey his money's worth!"
He was a sharp-faced man, a farmer evidently, not more than thirty-five years old. He had bright black eyes, which he kept fixed constantly on Mr. Bowditch and Mr. Snider.
Finally, Mr. Snider got his chance to speak. He said he would call them all "Friends" as that suited them better than "Ladies and Gentlemen." He told how sorry he was because the Professor had been called away by the illness of a relative. Then he told what a great inventor the Professor was, and how he was even more remarkable for doing good. For this invention was one which would do good to so many people.
This led Mr. Snider up to his favorite subject, and he began to speak on doing good and being good. The black-eyed man beside me began to utter little groans.
"I knew I was in for J. Harvey Bowditch," he said under his breath, "and I thought that was enough punishment for one day."
At last Mr. Snider got back to the gold company. "From the earliest times, my friends, scientists have known of the existence of gold in sea-water. Together with other metals,—silver, platinum, and so on, there is a great amount of gold in sea-water. It is in tiny particles, not so big as the point of a needle. There it is,—but how shall it be got together? How shall it be extracted from the water? Aristotle tried to discover a method. He failed. Diogenes Laertius tried. He failed. Sir Isaac Newton, Benjamin Franklin,—they tried. And THEY failed. Professor Von Bieberstein has succeeded. And YOU are to see this method demonstrated today, and YOU, my friends, are to benefit by this discovery."
Then he talked at some length about the big "plant" which they expected to build, and how they would "treat" seventy millions (or billions, I forget which) of gallons of water daily. In one year from that date, he predicted, IF the plan received support, the gold taken every month from Broad Bay would be worth three hundred thousand dollars. Mr. Snider licked his lips. "Think of that, friends,—three hundred thousand dollars a month!" Shares in this Company were on sale for five dollars each. They would be placed on sale after the demonstration. He now had the pleasure and the honor to introduce to them one who needed no introduction to an audience from Lanesport,—the Hon. J. Harvey Bowditch.
Mr. Bowditch came forward with majestic tread. He thrust his right hand into the lapel of his coat, and commenced, in the deep booming tones of a bass-drum.
"My friends," he said, "I shall detain you here for just one moment."
"The poet Byron," he continued, "has written in words which must be forever immortal, of the deep and dark blue ocean. He said,—"
Mr. Bowditch talked for three quarters of an hour. That was his idea of "just one moment." Several people went sound asleep, one man pitched forward out of his chair while asleep, and some of those in the back began to get up and tip-toe away. At last Mr. Snider got him to stop—by pulling at his coat-tails—and they began to hand around the gold specimens.
That woke them up! Deacon Chick came down from the stand with a neat little box, and walked around among the people, showing off the gold. There were six nice, fat little nuggets—smooth, and yellow,—and delightful to handle. Each was about as big as a postage-stamp, and about half an inch thick. This was the gold which the Professor and Mr. Snider had extracted from the water, right there at Rogers's Island, by their secret, chemical process. It had been in tiny particles then, like dust, but they had sent it somewhere, and had it made into these nuggets,—plump and pleasing! They had a letter from someone in the Treasury to prove that it was solid and pure, and of the very best quality. No one needed the letter. The nuggets spoke for themselves,—they were so heavy! I held two of them, one in each hand, and weighed them. We all held one or two of them, and felt of them, and got a great deal of pleasure out of them.
The people from Lanesport gathered around Deacon Chick, the men looked at the gold nuggets, weighed them, and smiled at each other.
"Looks like the real stuff,—hey?"
"Looks like it to ME, all right!"
Everybody was interested, brightened up, happy and good-natured. They smiled and joked over the gold. Only one man seemed at all troubled in his mind.
"There's jus' one thing," I heard him say to two other men, "there's jus' one thing that kinder worries me. If we go ahead and perdoose gold at this rate, we're goin' to flood the market! Yessir! Gold will get so common that the price of everything will go sky-high, an' that'll raise old Ned!"
The other two looked pretty serious at this, and they started to discuss it. One of them thought they had better hold back most of the gold, "and only spring it on people a little at a tune."
Suddenly Mr. Snider shouted: "Now, friends, if you please, we will go down to the wharf for the demonstration!"