Top
By the middle of May Lovell's Harbor had fully awakened from its winter's sleep. Freshly painted dories were slipped into the water; newly rigged yawls and knockabouts were anchored in the bay; the float was equipped with renovated bumpers, and a general air of anticipation pervaded the community.
Yes, hot weather was really on the way. Already the summer cottages were being opened, aired, and put in order, and even some of the houses had gayly figured hangings at the windows and a film of smoke could be seen issuing from the chimneys.
At Surfside workmen bustled about, hurrying across the lawn with boards, paint pots, and hammers. Tim Cavenough and his little host of helpers scurried to uncover the flower beds, and from morning to night trudged back and forth from the greenhouses bearing shallow boxes of seedlings which they transplanted to the gardens. Shutters were removed and stored away, piazza chairs brought out, awnings put up, and lawns and tennis courts rolled and cut.
As far as one could see a spangled expanse of ocean dazzled the eye and the tiny salt creeks that meandered across the meadows were like winding ribbons of blue. Certainly it was no weather to be shut up in school and boys and girls went hither with reluctant feet, checking off the days on their fingers and even counting the hours that must drag by before they would be free to roam at will amid this panorama of beauty.
To Walter King it seemed as if the closing period of his captivity would never be at an end. He studied rebelliously, and with only a half—nay, rather a quarter—of his mind on his lessons. All his thought was centered around Surfside and the novel experiences that beckoned him there. So impatient was he to begin his new duties that he found it impossible to settle down to anything.
"You'll be failing in your last examinations, Walter, if you don't watch what you're doing," cautioned his mother. "And should you do that, little profit would it be that you are hired out to Mr. Crowninshield for the summer. In the fall you'd have to stay behind your class, and think of the disgrace of that! Why, I'd be ready to hide my head with shame! Money or no money, you must buck up and put the Crowninshields and their doings out of your head. To lose a year now would mean just that much longer before you could graduate and take a regular job. I almost wish Jerry Thomas had never asked you to come up there, I do indeed."
"Oh, don't go getting all fussed up, Ma," returned His Highness, irritated because he recognized the truth of his mother's words. "I'm going to buckle down until the term is over, honest I am. It is hard, though, with the weather so fine. It seems as if I must be out. It's like being on a leash."
"You're thinking of those dogs again!"
The lad flushed sheepishly.
"No, I wasn't."
"But you were—whether you realized it or not. It is all you talk of nowadays—dogs! What it will be after they get here and you're up at Surfside living with them I don't know. Whatever else you do, though, you must not fail in your lessons and at the last moment spoil your whole year's record. School is your first duty now and you have no moral right to put anything else in its place."
"I know it, Ma," Walter agreed.
"Of course you know it," was the tart response. "Just see that you do not forget it, that's all."
With this final admonition Mrs. King whisked about and taking up her cake of Sapolio and pail of steaming water ascended the stairs. Like the rest of Lovell's Harbor she was busy as a bee in clovertime. She had rented all her rooms and had so many things to do in preparation for her expected guests that she had not a second to waste.
After she had gone Walter loitered in the kitchen, whistling absently and at the same time winding a piece of string aimlessly over his fingers. His mother's words had stirred a vague, uncomfortable possibility in his mind. What if he were to fail in those final exams? It would be terrible. Such a disaster did not seem real. It couldn't happen—actually happen—to him. It would be too awful. Nevertheless, try as he would to banish them, visions of Surfside with its myriad fascinations would dance in his head.
He had never been away from home for more than a night before and to take up residence elsewhere for an entire season was in itself a novelty. Then there were the tennis courts, the golf links, the automobiles, motor boats, and the yacht! Why, it would be like fairyland! The next instant, however, his spirits drooped. It was absurd to imagine for a moment that he was to have any part in those magic amusements. He was not going to Surfside for recreation but for work. Notwithstanding that fact, though, it was beyond his power to forget that all these many activities would be going on about him and there was the chance, the bare chance, that an occasion might arise when he would be invited to participate in some of them.
Fancy spinning over the sandy roads of the Cape in that wonderful racing car! Or sailing the blue waters of the harbor in one of those snowy motor boats! As for the yacht, with its trimmings of glistening brass and spotless decks, had he not dreamed of going aboard it ever since the day it had first steamed into the bay two summers ago? People said there was every imaginable contrivance aboard: ice-making machines, electric lights, and electric piano, goodness only knew what! Simply to see such things would be wonderful. And if it ever should come about (of course it never would and it was absurd to picture it—ridiculous) but if it everdidthat he should go sailing out of the bay on that mystic craft what a miracle that would be!
With such visions floating through his mind what marvel that it was well-nigh out of the question for Walter King to focus his attention on algebra, Latin, history, and physics. X + Y seemed of very little consequence, and as for the Punic Wars they were so far away as to be hazy beyond any reality at all.
Possibly, although she was quite unconscious of it, some of the fault was his mother's for she kept the topic of his departure to the Crowninshields' ever before him.
"I have your new shirts almost finished, son," she would assert with satisfaction, "and they're as neat and well made as any New York tailor could make them, if I do say it; and you've three pairs of khaki trousers besides your old woolen ones and corduroys. With your Sunday suit of blue serge and those fresh ties and cap you'll have nothing to be ashamed of. Then you've those denim overalls, and your slicker, and Bob's outgrown pea-coat. I can't see but what you have everything you can possibly need. Do be watchful of your shoes and use them carefully, won't you, for they cost a mint of money? And remember whenever you can to work in your old duds and save your others. You can just as well as not if you only think of it. Your washing you'll bring home and don't forget that I want you to keep neat and clean. Rich folks notice those things a lot. So scrub your hands and neck and clean your nails, even if I'm not there to tell you to. Just because you are going to traipse round with the dogs is no excuse for looking like 'em," concluded she.
"I'll remember, Ma," returned His Highness patiently.
"And if you eat with the chauffeurs and a pack of men, don't go stuffing yourself with food until you're sick. There's a time to stop, you know. Don't wait until you've got past it and are so crammed that you can't swallow another mouthful."
"I won't, Ma," was the meek response.
"Brush your teeth faithfully, too. I've spent too much money on them to have them go to waste now."
"Yes," came wearily from Walter.
"Of course there's no call for me to talk to a person your age about smoking," continued his mother. "When you've got your full growth and can earn money enough to pay for such foolishness you've a right to indulge in it if you see fit; but until then don't start a habit that will do you no good and may make a pigmy of you for life."
"I promise you right now, Ma, that I——"
"No, don't promise. A promise is a sacred thing and one that it is a sacrilege to break. Never make a promise lightly. But just remember, laddie, that I'd far rather you didn't smoke for a few years yet. But should you feel you must why come and tell me, that's all."
"I will, Ma," answered the boy soberly. Somehow going away from home suddenly seemed a very solemn business.
"I guess that's the end of my cautions," smiled Mrs. King, "the end, except to say that I hope you won't like Surfside so well that you'll forget to come home now and then and tell me how you are making out. Of course I'll have my boarders and work same's you; still, there'll be times when we won't be busy and can see each other," her voice trembled a little. "Nobody will be more anxious to hear of your doings than I—remember that. I shall miss you, sonny. It's the first time you've been away from me and I can't but feel it's a sort of milestone. You'll be getting grown up and leaving home for good now before I know it, same as Bob has."
Her eyes glistened and for an instant she turned her head aside.
"Oh, I shan't be branching out to make my fortune yet, Mother," protested Walter gayly. "I don't know enough. I'm not clever like Bob—you said so yourself only the other day."
"You're clever as is good for you," was the ambiguous retort. "I'm glad you're no different."
"Think of the money I'd be handing in if I could only earn as much as Bob."
"The money? Aye, there's no denying it would be a help. However, with what you and Bob and I are going to earn this summer we should make out very well, even if your Uncle Mark Miller has left us in the lurch and your Uncle Henry King's investments have gone bad on us. I'll be turning a tidy penny with my boarders, thanks to you. And for a lad your age ten dollars a week is not to be sneezed at. Why, we'll have quite a little fortune between us!"
He saw her face brighten.
"Now if Bob could only be near at hand like you I believe I should be entirely happy," she sighed. "I hate to think of him way out there on that spit of sand with the sea booming all around him and nothing for company but the other fellow, who's asleep whenever he's awake, and that clicking wireless instrument. Imagine the loneliness of it! The solitude would drive me crazy inside a week—I know it would."
"Bob doesn't mind."
"He's not the lad to say so if he did," replied the mother grimly. "Nobody'd be any the wiser for what Bob thinks. Often at night I fall to wondering what he'd do was he to be taken sick."
"Oh, he'd be all right, Mother," answered His Highness cheerfully. "O'Connel is there, you know."
"And what kind of a nurse would he be, do you think, with his ear to that switchboard from daylight until dark?"
"Not quite that. Mother."
"Well, almost that, anyhow. It is all well enough for you to say so jauntily that Bob doesn't mind being off there with the wind howling round him and nothing to do but listen to it."
"Nothing to do!" repeated Walter. "Why, Ma, he's busy all the time."
"Tinkering with those wires, you mean?" was the indignant question. "Yes, I grant he has plenty of that, especially in bad weather. But I mean pleasures——"
"Moving pictures, church sociables, strawberry festivals," interrupted the lad mischievously.
"Yes, I do," maintained Mrs. King stoutly. "Folks must have something to brighten up their lives. Bob doesn't have a thing."
"He often has days that are lively enough, according to his stories."
"When there's wrecks, you mean?" She shook her head gravely. "It isn't those that I'm talking about. It's sitting day after day and listening to the meaningless taps and buzzings that come whining through that instrument."
"They're not meaningless to him."
"No-o, I suppose not," sighed the woman. For a moment she paused only to resume her complaints. "Then there's the responsibility of it. I never did like to think of that. Should he tap once too much or too little when sending one of those dot and dash messages, think what it might mean! And suppose he heard a dot too much and didn't get the thing the other fellow was trying to tell him straight?"
"But he has been trained so he does not make mistakes."
"All human clay makes mistakes," was the tragic answer, "although I will say Bob makes fewer than most. And then the thunder storms—I'm always worried about those."
"Yes, I'll confess there is some danger from lightning," owned Walter unwillingly. "And of course there is danger from the current at all times if one is not careful. Even then accidents sometimes happen. However, Bob explained once that accidental shocks seldom result fatally unless the person is left too long without help. The man in charge of the radio outfit would almost never get the full force of the current, because part of it would be carried off through the wires and ground. Such accidents are mainly due to the temporary and faulty contact of the conductors."
"I can't help what they're due to," sniffed Mrs. King. "The point is that Bob might get knocked out and die."
"Nonsense, Mother. You would not worry if you understood more about it. Besides, should a man get a shock, if you go promptly to work over him and keep at it long enough, you can almost always bring him back to consciousness. They do just about the same things to restore him that they do for a person that's been drowned. The aim is to make him breathe. If you can get him to, he will probably live. Of course, though, you have to break the circuit first."
"The circuit?"
"Stop the current that is going through his body," explained Walter.
"But how can you?"
"Bob told me how. He saw a chap knocked out once and helped fix him up. You had to be awfully careful about moving him away from the apparatus, Bob said, or you might get a shock yourself. They took a dry stick because it was a nonconductor of electricity, you know, and rolled the man over to one side, so he was out of reach of the wires. Had you covered your hands with dry cloth you could have moved him, too; rubber gloves are best but Bob did not happen to have any handy at the minute. So they poked the fellow out of the way with the stick, turned him over on his back, loosened his collar and clothing, and went to work on him. You know how they always roll up a coat or something and stuff it under drowned persons' shoulders to throw their head backward? Well, they did that; and afterward they began to move his arms up and down to make him breathe. The idea is to depress and expand the chest. We learned it in our 'first aid' class. Of course there are lots of things you have to do besides, and if you can get a doctor he will know of others that are better still. But Bob said the chief point was not to get discouraged and give up. Sometimes people die just because the folks fussing over them do not keep at it long enough. They get tired and when they see no results they decide it is no use and stop trying. You ought to work an hour anyhow, repeating the exercises at the rate of sixteen times a minute, Bob said. Then, if the poor chap does not come to, you can at least feel you have done all you can."
"Ugh! It makes me shiver to think of it!"
"You didn't shiver when Minnie Carlton fell off the float and almost got drowned," remarked Walter significantly.
"I had too much to think of," was Mrs. King's laconic reply.
"It was the fussing you did over her that saved her life."
"They said so."
"You know it was."
"Mebbe it was," admitted his mother modestly. "But it wasn't any credit to me. I've always lived near the water and I feel at home with drowned people."
"These electric accidents are much the same—easier, if anything, because the lungs are not filled with water."
"I hadn't thought of that."
"This is just a straight case of making a man breathe. You did that for Minnie."
"I contrived to, yes."
"Well, this stunt is the same. Bob said if you once got that through your head and kept in mind what you were driving at instead of flying off the handle you would get on all right."
"Perhaps he's right. He generally is," sighed Mrs. King. "Still it is a worrisome business having him tinkering with those wires all the time. I am thankful you are not doing it. I'd rather you tended dogs."
"But you've forgotten what they're worth," put in His Highness.
"So I had. Oh, dear! I don't see but what I've got to worry about both of you."
"Pooh, Ma! Don't be foolish. Think of the money we'll have by fall, the three of us. Why, we'll be rich!"
"Not rich, with that last payment on the mortgage looming ahead."
"But itisthe last—think of that! We won't ever have another to make."
A radiant smile flitted over Mrs. King's face but a moment later it was eclipsed by a cloud.
"There'll be other things to pay; there always are," fretted she.
"Oh, shucks, Ma! Why borrow trouble? It's always hanging round wanting to be borrowed. Why gratify it?"
"I know. It is a foolish habit, isn't it? Still, it was always my way to be prepared for the worst. I've done it all my life."
"Then why not whiffle round now and just for a change be prepared for the best?"
In spite of herself his mother laughed.
"I expect that if I was as young as you and as happy-go-lucky I'd never worry," she answered not unkindly. "But since I'm made with a worrying disposition and bound to worry anyhow, at least I've got something perfectly legitimate to worry about this summer, and you can't deny it. With one son liable to be electrocuted by wireless and the other likely to be run into jail for losing a million-dollar dog I shall have plenty to occupy my mind, not to mention all those boarders that are coming."
"Now, Ma, you know you are actually looking forward to the boarders," Walter declared. "Already you are simply itching to see them and find out what they are like."
"And if I am, what then?" admitted his mother flushing that she should have been read so accurately. "Seeing them isn't all there is to it by a good sight. There is feeding them, and to keep them filled up in this bracing climate is no small matter."
"Did you ever know any one to go hungry in this house?"
"Well, no; I can't say I ever did."
"Do you imagine boarders will eat more than Bob or I?"
"Mercy on us! I hope not."
"Well, you always gave us enough to eat. I guess if you contrived to do that you needn't worry about your boarders," chuckled His Highness.
Top
The last day of June dawned dismal and foggy. A grim gray veil enshrouded Lovell's Harbor, rendering it cold and dreary. Had one been visiting it for the first time he would probably have turned his back on its forlornity and never have come again. The sea was wrapped in a mist so dense that its vast reach of waves was as complete a secret as if they had been actually curtained off from the land. On every leaf trembled beads of moisture and from the eaves of the sodden houses the water dripped with a melancholy trickle.
It was wretched weather for the Crowninshields to be coming to Surfside and yet that they were already on the way the jangling telephone attested.
"I wouldn't have had 'em put in an appearance a day like this for the world!" fretted Jerry Taylor, who for some unaccountable reason seemed to hold himself responsible for the general dampness and discomfort. "Fog ain't nothin' to us folks who are used to it. We've lived by the ocean long enough to love it no matter how it behaves. But for it to go actin' up this way for strangers is a pity. It gives 'em a bad impression same's a ill-behaved child does."
"But you can't help it," ventured Walter, who had just come into sight.
"N-o. Still, somehow, I'm always that anxious for the place to look it's prettiest that I feel to blame when it doesn't."
The boy nodded sympathetically. Deep down within him lay an inarticulate affection for the hamlet in which he had been born and the great throbbing sea that lapped its shores. He therefore understood Jerry's attitude and shared in it far more than he would, perhaps, have been willing to admit. Nevertheless he merely knocked the drops from his rubber hat, muttered that it was a rotten day, and loitered awkwardly about, wondering just what to do.
At last school was at an end. He had squeaked through the examinations with safety if not with glory, and having wheeled his small trunk up to Surfside on a wheelbarrow and deposited it in his room he speculated as to what to do next. There was plenty he might have done. There was no question about that. He might at the very moment have been unpacking his possessions, hanging his clothes in the closet, and stowing away his undergarments in the chest of drawers provided for the purpose. Moreover, there were books to tuck into place on his bookshelves and other minor duties relative to the settling of his new quarters.
Oh, there were a score of things he might have done. His Highness, however, was in much too agitated a frame of mind to turn his attention to such humdrum tasks. Furthermore, since he had pledged himself to bear a hand wherever it was needed, he felt he should be on the spot and within call. And if beneath this worthy motive lurked a certain desire to see whatever there was to be seen, who can say his curiosity was not pardonable? One does not set forth every day to make his fortune. The adventure was very alluring to him who had never tried it.
Possibly Jerry Taylor had enough of the boy in him to understand this. However that might be, he did not hurry the lad indoors to unpack even though he sensed full well that precious time was being wasted; instead, as he started across the lawn he called back over his shoulder:
"If you've nothing better to do, sonny, than to stand shivering in the barn, come along up to the house with me and help bring up some wood; I'm going to start fires burning in the rooms to cheer the folks up and dry 'em off when they get here. To my mind there ain't nothin' like an open fire to right you if you're out of sorts. And likely they will be out of sorts. Mr. Crowninshield will, that's sure. Now I myself don't mind a gray day off and on. It's sorter restful and calming. But these city people can't see it that way. My eye, no! They begin to groan so you can hear 'em a mile away the minute the sun is clouded over; and by the second day of a good northeaster they are done for. You'd think to listen to 'em that the end of the world had come. No motoring! No golf! No tennis! Why, they might as well be dead. They begin to wonder why they ever came here anyway and talk of nothing but how nice it is in New York. Why, you would split your sides laughing to hear Mr. Crowninshield moan for Wall Street and Fifth Avenue. Three days of fog is his limit. After that ropes couldn't tie him here. He tumbles his traps into a suitcase and off he goes to the city."
"Great Scott!" Walter ejaculated.
"Oh, 'tain't a bad thing to have him go, take it by and large. He ain't much addition here when he's fidgeting round, poking into everything and suggesting it better be done some other way. He's much better off somewhere else—he's happier and so are we. By and by he comes back again cheerful as if nothing had happened. Mebbe it's as well you should be told what's in store for you in foggy weather," concluded Jerry, with a touch of humor, "for you'll come in for your share together with the rest of us. Everybody gets it. Most likely you'll hear that an egg-beater is a much better thing to smooth down a dog's hair with than a brush; that all the world knows that and only an idiot uses anything else. Don't smile or venture a yip in reply. Just say you'll be glad to use the egg-beater if he prefers it. Remark that, in fact, you quite hanker to try the egg-beater. To agree with him always takes the wind out of his sails quicker'n anything else. He'll calm down soon as he sees you aren't ruffled and go off and hunt up somebody else to reform. And when the fog blows out to sea his temper will go with it and he will forget he ever suggested an egg-beater. Oh, we understand the boss. He's all right! If you only know how to take him you'll never have a mite of trouble with him."
By this time they had reached the house and having removed rubbers and dripping coats they entered the basement door and proceeded to the cellar. It was not the sort of cellar with which His Highness was familiar although his mother's cellar was clean, as cellars go. This one was immaculate. Indeed it seemed, on glancing about, that one might have done far worse than live in the Crowninshields' cellar. Every inch of the interior was light, dry, and spotless with whitewash, paint, and tiling. Even the coal that filled the bins had taken on a borrowed glory and shone as if polished.
"This is my kingdom!" announced Jerry proudly. "You could eat off the floor were you so minded."
"I should say you could!"
"When once you've set out it's no more work to keep things shipshape than to let 'em go helter-skelter. Now here's a basket. Load into it as many of those birch logs as you can carry and bring 'em upstairs. I've kindlings there already."
While Walter was obeying these instructions Jerry himself was piling up on his lank arm a pyramid of wood, and together the two ascended the stairway and tiptoed through the kitchen. As they went the boy caught a glimpse of gleaming porcelain walls; ebon-hued stoves resplendent with nickel trimmings; a blue and white tiled floor; and smart little window hangings that matched it.
"They don't cook here!" he gasped.
"Everything in the house is electric," explained Jerry, as if he were conducting a sight-seeing party through the Louvre. "All the baking, washing, ironing, bread-making, and cleaning is done by electricity. There's even an electric sewing-machine to sew with, and an electric breeze to keep you cool while you're doing it. If I hadn't seen the thing with my own eyes I'd never have believed it."
He paused to watch the effect of his words.
"'Tain't much like the way you and me are used to," he grinned.
"No."
"I suppose in time you get so nothing knocks the breath out of you. I'm just coming to looking round here without feeling all of a flutter. The place did used to turn me endwise at first, it was so white and awesome. I actually hated to set foot within its walls. Seems 's if my fingers was always all thumbs every time I come inside the room. Still, I had to come in though; there were things I had to do here. So I schooled myself to forget the whiteness, and the blueness, and all the silvery glisten and call it just a kitchen. Besides, I found that grand as it is, it ain't a patch on some of the other things in the house. My eye! It's like the Arabian Nights!"
The Cape Codder stopped quite speechless from retailing these marvels.
"Yes," he went on presently, "they've got almost everything the electric market has to offer. Last year, though, Mr. Dick got a hankerin' for a wireless set. It appears that you can buy an outfit that will make you hear concerts, sermons, speeches, and about everything that's going on; at least that's what Mr. Crowninshield undertook to tell me, though whether he was fooling or not I couldn't quite make out. Still, it may be true. After what I've seen in this house I'm ready to believe about anything. Was he to say you could put your eye to a hole in the wall and see the Chinese eating rice in Hongkong it wouldn't astonish me."
Walter laughed.
"Youcanhear music and such things. My brother, who is a wireless operator, told me so. They broadcast all sorts of entertainments—songs, band-playing, sermons, and stories so that those who have amateur apparatus can listen in."
"Broadcast? Listen in?" repeated Jerry vaguely.
"Broadcasting means sending out stuff of a specified wave length from a central station so that amateurs with a range of from two hundred to three hundred meters can pick it up."
Jerry halted midway in the passage.
"Do you mean to say," inquired he, "that a person can sling a song off the top of a wire into the air and tell it to stop when it's gone two hundred meters?"
"Something like that," chuckled Walter, amused.
"I don't believe it!" declared Jerry bluntly.
"But it can be done; really it can."
"No doubt you think you are speaking the truth, youngster," returned the skeptic mildly. "Somebody's stuffed you, though. Such a thing couldn't be, any way in the world."
As if that were the end of the matter Jerry opened a door confronting him and stepped into the great hall, the splendor of which instantly blotted every other thought from Walter King's mind.
Not only was the interior spacious and imposing but it was bewilderingly beautiful and contained marvel after marvel that the lad longed to examine. The large tiger-skin rugs that covered the floor piqued his interest, so did the chiming clock, and a fountain that welled up and splashed into a marble pool filled with goldfish. Why, he could have entertained himself for an hour with this latter wonder alone!
There was, however, no leisure for loitering for on hearing the cadence of the chimes Jerry ejaculated in consternation:
"Eleven o'clock already! Land alive! We'll have to get the fires blazing lively. Why, the folks may be here any minute now. Here, hand me one of those long sticks you've got, sonny; or rather—wait! You know how to lay a fire, don't you?"
"I reckon I've done such a thing once or twice in my lifetime," was the dry response.
"Then go ahead. You build this fire while I go upstairs and start the others," said Jerry. "After you've got this one going you can make one in the library, that red room through those curtains."
"All right."
"Step lively! Don't take all day about it."
With awkward gesture Jerry swooped up some of the logs with his long arm and disappeared into the hall above.
As for Walter, he had built too many fires in his mother's kitchen stove and started too many blazes of driftwood on the beach to be at a loss as to how to proceed. Almost in a twinkling scarlet flames were roaring up the wide-throated chimneys and he had placed fenders before them to keep in captivity any straying sparks. While he looked about for a spot in which to deposit the remaining birch sticks there was a sound of horns, a crunching of gravel, and Jerry's scurrying feet came pattering down the stairs.
"It's the folks!" he announced excitedly. "We warn't a minute too soon. Tuck those logs into the brass box; pick up your cap, laddie, and light out of here quick."
The order, alas, came too late. His Highness had only time enough to hurry the birch wood into the box and bang down the cover before flying footsteps filled the house, maids appeared from every door, and there was a blast of wind, a babel of voices, and the discomfited boy found himself face to face with his employers.
His first impression of Mr. Crowninshield, muffled to the chin in a heavy motor coat, was of a large, red-cheeked man who, although he moved with little apparent stir, nevertheless in an incredibly short interval had shaken hands with most of the servants, directed where each piece of luggage was to be put, commented on a new lock on the front door, and noticed that the clock was two minutes slow. His moving eye had also been caught by the roses on the table and he turned to ask from which garden they came.
"All this he did, Ma," explained Walter to his mother afterward, "before you could say Jack Robinson. And in between he was scolding all the time about the weather and saying how idiotic it was to leave a warm, comfortable city like New York and come to a damp hole like the Cape."
"Is this the best day you could manage to get together, Jerry?" growled he. "Pretty beastly, I call it."
"It certainly is wet, sir."
"Wet! I should say it was! It's infernally wet! How long is it going to keep up like this?"
"I can't say, sir."
"Well, you have the sun out to-morrow or I shall go straight back where I came from. Little old New York is good enough for me when the place looks like this."
At that instant he espied His Highness lurking near a distant window.
"Who are you, young man?" he called.
"Walter King, sir."
"Oh, the young chap who is going to look after the dogs?"
"Yes, sir."
"Humph! Like dogs?"
"I—yes, sir," answered the lad at a warning glance from Jerry.
Ruthlessly the hawklike eyes devoured him.
"So you think you can take care of a lot of prize pups, do you?"
"I am going to try," was the modest reply.
"You can't stop with trying, my son. You've got to do it," announced the man sharply.
"I shall do my best."
"That is all I shall ask."
A sudden smile melted the stern countenance into geniality and the master held out a hand.
"So King is your name."
"Yes, sir."
"It is a royal one and gives you something to live up to."
As the boy did not know what to answer he was silent.
"And you like dogs?" said the inquisitor more kindly.
"I like all animals," returned Walter evasively, "and I am sure I shall like your dogs because you always like anything you take care of."
"So you do! I remember when I was about your age I tamed an old brown weasel. He was a wretch of a creature with scarcely a virtue—cruel, deceitful, cold-blooded; and yet I grew to love that brute as much as if he had had the gentleness of a dove. You know how it is."
Walter nodded. For the moment the two came together on a plane of real contact and sympathy, and the smile the elder gave him bound the lad to his new employer as no spoken words could possibly have done.
But a second later Mr. Crowninshield's mood had changed and he was storming at Mary, the waitress, and demanding whether she meant to freeze them all by leaving the outside door open. Walter could see the girl flush red and as he leaped forward to close the door she flashed him a grateful, tremulous smile. Then Mr. Crowninshield turned toward his wife.
"Mollie," he replied, "this is Walter King who is going to look after your dogs. Come and speak to him."
The mistress of the house came. She was wearing a long blue traveling coat and a jaunty little hat against which the gold of her hair was resplendent as sunshine. Tucked under her arm was a wee dog with soft brown fur and sharp little eyes. Mrs. Crowninshield was very pretty, especially when she spoke. As Walter looked into her face he found it so amazingly youthful that it was difficult for him to believe she was actually the mother of a grown son and daughter.
"So it is you who are to be master of the kennels?" smiled she, showing her even white teeth.
"Yes, Mrs. Crowninshield," faltered His Highness, a trifle overcome by this new title.
From head to foot her glance swept over him.
"Well," said she at length, "if you keep the puppies as tidy as you keep yourself I fancy we shall get on nicely together."
A flood of color mounted to the lad's forehead. He had not anticipated such close inspection and instinctively he began to fumble with the corner of his sweater and look nervously down at his hands. They must be very dirty from making the fires. And he had been actually greeting Mr. and Mrs. Crowninshield with paws like those! The horror of it chilled his blood.
Apparently the woman, with swift intuition, read his thought for she dimpled at him in friendly fashion.
"Do not worry about your hands, my boy," said she. "You have been doing useful things to soil them, things to bid us welcome and make us more comfortable. I can see you started out clean. I have a boy of my own, you know. Richard," she went on, turning to a tall youth who was bending over the luggage, "this is Walter King who is coming to look after the kennels. He must be about your age."
The boys stared at each other awkwardly.
"I am fifteen," announced Walter for the lack of something more brilliant to say.
"I beat you by a year," was the shy retort of the other boy. "I am sixteen."
Then Nancy interrupted them with her breezy comment.
"Fifteen, are you?" she put in. "My, I should not have thought it! You must be pretty crazy about dogs to give up all your summer vacation to them."
"My mother needs the money," was the simple answer.
"Oh!"
He saw her blush as if regretting her thoughtless remark.
"It is nice of you to help your mother," she observed quickly. "I am sure you will not find the place so bad. We shall try to make you happy."
With that she was gone but she left behind her a memory of sweetness and appealing kindliness.
"You might run out to the garage now, sonny," declared Jerry with a desire to help the lad make his escape. "They will be landing the pups there soon, and you may as well be on hand."
Only too glad to beat a retreat His Highness picked up his cap and slipping from the room raced across the lawn in the direction of his own quarters.
Top
Jerry's prediction proved to be quite true for as His Highness neared the garage a hum of activity pervaded it. Four mud-caked cars stood in the driveway and chauffeurs in their shirt sleeves hurried in and out the building, shouting to one another and carrying in their hands grimy rags and cans of oil. A short half hour had transformed the quiet spot to a beehive of noise and bustle. The rush seemed contagious for wherever one looked moving figures could be seen. Some crossed the lawn bearing belated satchels or traveling wraps which in the confusion had found their way into the wrong place; some strode toward the boathouse, some toward the garden, some to the stables. Men appeared to have risen through the earth so quickly had their numbers multiplied.
No longer was there the leisurely loitering and smoking that had marked the week before. A spirit of activity was infused into the air until even those who had no cause to hurry scrambled with the rest.
As Walter approached the garage he was waylaid by a young chauffeur with rosy cheeks and a crisp, pleasant voice:
"Say, youngster, don't you want to lend a hand with these cushions?" interrogated he, beaming ingratiatingly. "They have got to be beaten and brushed before they can go back in the car. Chuck them over on the floor for me, won't you?"
"Sure!" was the ready answer. "I'll beat them for you if you like."
"You're a good-natured little cuss," grinned the man. "I'm not asking you to do that, though."
"But I'd be glad to."
"Suit yourself. But in my opinion you are a fool to take on jobs you are not hired to do and get no money for."
"Oh, I don't care about the money."
"You don't, eh?" chimed in the derisive note of another chauffeur who had at the instant come out of the doorway. "Say, who are you, anyway? One of the Vanderbilts?"
"Quit heckling the young one, Peters," put in the chauffeur of the red cheeks. "He's a good sort, all right."
"Ha, ha, Wheeler! You think that because you've jollied him into doing your work for you, you old shirk."
"I didn't jolly him into anything. He offered."
"A likely story."
"But he did."
"Then you should have told him better," sniffed the other. "You know well enough it isn't etiquette round here to do a stroke of work for anybody else or accept a stroke.Every man for himselfis the motto."
"But that's a rotten way!" Walter ejaculated impulsively. "I'd hate to live like that—never being willing to help anybody or ask them to help me."
The man called Peters gave him a contemptuous stare.
"You'll find there's no whining or asking help of other people here," announced he, with a sneer. "Those that are darn fools enough to get into holes get out of them as best they can. It's their hunt."
Spitting emphatically on the ground he proceeded to go into the garage with the tire he was carrying.
Walter took up a stick he saw lying near by.
"What are you going to do?" demanded the red-cheeked man, regarding him with unconcealed surprise.
"Beat the cushions."
"But—but—heavens, sonny! Didn't you hear what Peters said?"
"Of course I heard. I don't have to sign up to a creed like that, though, if I don't want to, do I?"
"We all do. We agree neither to borrow, lend, nor ask favors."
"I'm afraid I shan't make one of the gang then," observed Walter, with a smile so good-humored that the words could not offend.
"Then the more fool you, that is all I can say," laughed Wheeler. "By the end of a month you won't have so much as a collar button to your name. Everything you own will be gone, especially your tools. We're a lot of pirates. I give you fair warning."
"I'm not afraid you'll want much that I've got," grinned Walter.
The upraised stick descended in a series of rhythmic blows, sending into the air a cloud of dust.
"Where's the brush?" panted the boy, when he had beaten until his arm ached.
"Say, kid, I'm not going to have you breaking your back over my job," asserted Wheeler in a friendly tone.
"I'm not breaking my back."
"But what on earth are you doing itfor?" questioned the man, his eyes narrowing with curiosity.
"I don't know myself," returned the lad shyly. "It was just the way I was brought up, I guess."
For an interval only the sweeping of the brush broke the stillness.
"I was brought up to be decent, too," observed Wheeler slowly, "but somehow since I've been knocking round I've got to be an awful brute. There isn't any very high standard among the crowd I mix in. Still, I'm afraid that isn't much of an excuse for shifting back into a savage." He paused thoughtfully, then added, "I'm much obliged to you, sonny, for your help, and just to show you I don't forget it, sometime when you are hard put hunt me up and ask me to give you a lift. I'm a human being though you may not think so."
With a little glow at his heart Walter moved away toward the kennels.
He had made a friend, and in this new environment where he was conscious of being very much of an outsider the consciousness brought him a sense of comradeship and happiness.
It was fortunate, however, that his altruism had detained him no longer for before he reached the spot where the dogs were to be quartered he heard a chorus of sharp yelps and saw what appeared to be a dozen dogs coming across the lawn accompanied by Mrs. Crowninshield and two of the stablemen. Some of the pack were being led, while others, wild with joy at finding themselves unconfined, leaped and capered wildly about their mistress. A great police dog, straining at the leash, gave Walter a thrill of mingled admiration and timidity. He was a huge creature with mottled coat and mighty jaws, and within his open mouth, from which lolled his red tongue, were cruel white teeth that could do unthinkable things. His wide brown eyes, his pointing tail, his upright ears moving with every sound, his alert poise all bespoke keenness and intelligence. A dog one would far rather have for an ally than an enemy, thought the boy.
Beside pranced two Airedales and a white Sealyham and to their babel of barking was added the shrill, sympathetic note of five or six Pekingese, one of which Mrs. Crowninshield carried under her arm.
"Hush, Achilles!" she cried. "Hush, all of you! Stop your racket this instant! They are excited at being together again," explained she to Walter who had approached. "The Belgian and Airedales have been boarded out during the winter and have not seen the others for months. So, you see, this is a sort of reunion for them and they have to bark to show their delight. Moreover, they have had a long trip and are tired and hungry. I am going to feed them now and this meal will last most of them until to-morrow at the same hour."
"Are they fed only once a day?" gasped Walter.
"That is all. You see you will not have many meals to prepare," laughed Mrs. Crowninshield. "Only the Peeks have breakfast, but only part of a square of puppy biscuit or some bread; so it is very simple. Dinner, however, is much more complicated and later I shall give you your directions as to just what every dog must have; to-night we are to treat the lot to some raw meat, toast, and spinach."
"You'll let me help you," pleaded Walter.
"Certainly. That is why I came out. I want you to feed the dogs and learn their names. In order to get on with them you must get acquainted with them and understand the peculiarities of each one. They are just persons, you know, and have their little whims and queernesses. But kindness will win them to you very quickly. It is far better than a whip. So is feeding. A dog usually obeys the person who feeds him. He is afraid not to."
As she spoke she entered the wired enclosure and putting the smaller dogs in half of it and shutting the wicket gate upon them she told the men to slip the leashes from the collars of the others. In a second the Belgian, Airedales, and the fluffy Sealyham were bounding about her. Then she beckoned to Walter.
"This is Achilles," went on she, with her hand on the head of the great monster. "He is as gentle and kind as a kitten, although he does look as if he could swallow us alive. Don't touch him but stand still and let him sniff you all over. It is his way of getting acquainted."
Obediently the boy remained motionless while the panting jaws and moist black nose of the dog came nearer. He could feel the creature's hot breath on his hands, face, and hair. Then over his clothing moved the quivering nostrils. At length the brown eyes met his and he whispered softly:
"Achilles!"
The dog wagged his tail.
"You have nothing to fear from him now," announced Mrs. Crowninshield. "The Airedales are Jack Horner and Boy Blue. And the Sealyham, Miss Nancy's dog, is called Rags."
Sensing that he was being talked about, the dog blinked with friendly eyes at Walter through its mop of coarse white hair.
"In the other pen," continued Mrs. Crowninshield, "are the Pekingese pups and I shall expect you to take the best of care of them. They are sensitive little creatures and very valuable. I myself, however, care very little for the money value of a dog. It is the lovable traits it has that interest me. I should adore wee Lola, here, if she were not worth a cent. But Mr. Crowninshield likes to own blue ribbon dogs and enter them at the shows and therefore I will caution you that Lola, Mimi, and Fifi," as she spoke she pointed out the dogs in question, "cost quite a fortune and their loss or illness would be a great calamity. So you must follow the directions concerning them most carefully. And should any question arise about them come at once to me."
As she spoke she occasionally glanced at the boy beside her with a quick, bright smile.
"I shall have the menu for each dog sent you every day—at least for the present—together with directions as to how to prepare the meal as it should be prepared. The meat for the small dogs must be put through a meat chopper and no gristle allowed to get into it; the larger dogs can have bigger pieces, and Achilles a bone. You will find in the room inside an ice chest in which to keep such foods as spoil. There are also glassed-in shelves where tins of various kinds of dog bread and puppy biscuit will be stored that they may be out of the dampness. You are not to trouble the servants at the big house for anything. They do not like to be interfered with. All your supplies will be here, and you can warm whatever it is necessary to heat on your small electric stove. Be sure to scald out the dishes after they have been used; and also never forget to keep the bowls filled with plenty of fresh water."
"I will, ma'am."
"I am sure you will," returned Mrs. Crowninshield kindly. "And do not worry if it takes a little time to win all the dogs over to your authority. Dogs are like children when they change masters. They will try to play it on you at first. Just be firm with them and soon you will have them tagging at your heels, docile as lambs."
The task of preparing the food was soon completed and the mistress looked on and encouraged while Walter doled it out to the famished animals.
How daintily the wee dogs coquetted with what was given them! And how greedily the larger ones gobbled down their allowance and lapped the plate for more! Achilles, crouched on the lawn with his bone, crunched it with terrifying zeal, cracking the big joint between his jaws as if it were made of paper. His dinner devoured he ambled over toward Walter, once more sniffed his shoes and clothing, at last nestled his moist nose against the boy's hand.
"I think you have won Achilles to your colors already," said Mrs. Crowninshield.
"He does seem friendly," returned His Highness, more pleased by the dog's good will than he would have been willing to own.
"Achilles can be very friendly when he chooses," retorted his owner. "He can also be quite the reverse. You should see him sometime when he is on the scent of a foe. Last summer when a man broke into the boathouse it transformed Achilles into a lion. I was certain he would kill the fellow; as it was he mauled him badly before we could coax him off. The thief almost died of fright and I do not wonder. He did not need any further punishment."
She unfastened the gate to go back to the house.
Immediately there was a rush.
"No, you can't come, not one of you," declared she, addressing the yelping pack through the netting. "I have far too much to do to be bothered with any of you. Be good and take a nap. You're tired enough to rest."
Still the animals barked, rebellious at their captivity.
"When I am out of sight you can let Achilles out," called she, as she moved away. "He can be trusted to roam the place and always does when we're here. The Airedales and the Sealyham can also run about alone as soon as they get used to obeying you. But the little dogs must never be let off the leash unless they are watched every instant, for something might happen to them."
"I'll be careful."
"That's right; do."
The woman gave him a pleasant nod of farewell and walked with springing step back in the direction of the house. As she went Walter saw her halt and speak to old Tim, who was at work in the rose garden, and beheld the gardener leap proudly forward to cut for her a blossom she had evidently admired.
It was even as Jerry had said. She was the idol of Surfside.
After she had disappeared he opened the wicket and stepped out, letting Achilles follow him.
Instantly the great creature put his nose to the ground and with a joyous bark he was gone in search of his mistress.
It was now or never with the new master of the hounds.
The lad whistled but the dog did not turn. Again he gave a quick call. This time the rushing beast paused, looked round, and then slackening his pace, continued to jog along on his way.
Helplessly the boy saw him go farther and farther out of reach.
He must compel obedience somehow.
"Achilles!" shouted he sternly. "Achilles! Back, sir!"
Although he uttered the words he had not the slightest faith they would have any effect and was amazed to see the dog waver in his tracks.
"Achilles, come here!" repeated he sharply.
With reluctance the dog turned and looked at him.
"Here, sir!" called Walter, with coaxing cadence.
The dog continued to regard him intently but he did not move. Then suddenly there was a rush and with panting jaws widespread the Belgian came bounding toward him. It was not until he was close at hand that he abated his speed. Then he came to the side of his new master and gently laid his cold nose on his sleeve.
Walter patted the great head affectionately.
The battle was won. He had conquered Achilles.