"'I'll turn on my stomach,' I thought, 'and try to get to my knees on the ledge.'

"I accomplished the turn, but in the act I so nearly lost my hold that I lost my head, and there was a gasping lapse of time before I recovered my calm.

"In this change I gained nothing. When I tried to get to my knees I butted my head against the overhanging rock, nor could I lift my foot to the ice and roll over on my side, for the ledge was far too narrow for that. I had altered my position, but I had accomplished no change in my situation. It was impossible for me to rest more of my weight upon my breast than my hips had borne. My weakening arms still had to sustain it, and the river was going its swirling way below me, just as it had gone in the beginning. I had not helped myself at all.

"There was nothing for it, I thought, but to commit myself to the river and make as gallant a fight for life as I could. So at last I called John, that he might carry our tidings to their destination and return to Fort Red Wing with news of a sadly different kind.

"'Ho!' said John.

"He was staring round the point of rock; and there he stood, unable to get nearer.

"'Ice under,' said he, indicating a point below me. 'More ice. Let down.'

"'What?' I cried. 'Where?'

"'More ice. Down there,' said he. 'Like this. Let down.'

"Then I understood him. Another ledge, such as that upon which I hung, had been formed in the same way, and was adhering to the rock beneath. No doubt there was a pool on the lower side of the point, and just below me, and the current would be no obstacle to the formation of ice. I had looked down from above, and the upper ledge had hidden the lower from me; but John, standing by the gap in the upper, could see it plainly.

"So I had but to let myself down until my feet rested on the new ledge, and this I did, with extreme caution and the expenditure of the last ounce of strength in my arms. Then a glance assured me that the way was clear to the shelving cliff beyond.

"'You go,' said John. 'I go round.'

"'All right,' said I. 'And, say! I wish I'd called you before.'

"'Ho!' said he, as he vanished.

"When John reached the Little Lake post late that night, the tidings of the safe return of the Hudson Bay Geological Expedition were on the way south by another messenger, and the company's physician was moving over the trail towards Fort Red Wing, making haste to the aid of the young professor, whom, indeed, he soon brought back to health. The passage by the ledge of ice had resulted in a gain of three hours, but whether or not it saved the professor's life I do not know. I do not think it did. It nearly cost me mine, but I had no thought of that when I essayed it, so my experience reflects no credit upon me whatever. I take fewer rash and reckless chances now on land and water, and I am not so overreliant upon my own resources.

"I have learned that a friend's help is of value."

At that moment the Ruddy Cove mail-boat entered the Tickle.



CHAPTER XXII

In Which Billy Topsail Gets an Idea and, to the Amazement of Jimmie Grimm, Archie Armstrong Promptly Goes Him One Better

While Archie Armstrong was pursuing his piratical adventure in the French harbour of St. Pierre, Billy Topsail had gone fishing with Jimmie Grimm and Donald North. This was in the trim little sloop that Sir Archibald had sent north to Billy Topsail in recognition of his service to Archie during a great blizzard from which Bill o' Burnt Bay had rescued them both.[5] There were now no fish in the summer waters of Ruddy Cove; but word had come down the coast that fish were running in the north. So up went the sails of the little Rescue; and with Billy Topsail, Jimmie Grimm and Bobby North aboard she swept daintily between the tickle rocks and turned her shapely prow towards White Bay.

There was good fishing with hook and line; and as the hold of the little sloop was small she was soon loaded with green cod.

"I 'low I got an idea," said Billy Topsail.

Jimmie Grimm looked up.

"We'll sail for Ruddy Cove the morrow," Billy went on; "an' when we lands our fish we'll go tradin'. There's a deal o' money in that, I'm told; an' with what we gets for our fish we'll stock the cabin o' the Rescue and come north again t' trade in White Bay."

Donald and Jimmie were silent; the undertaking was too vast to be comprehended in a moment.

"Let's have Archie," said Jimmie, at last.

"An' poor ol' Bagg," said Donald.

"We'll have Archie if he'll come," Billy agreed, "an' Bagg if we can stow un away."

There was a long, long silence, during which the three boys began to dream in an amazing way.

"Billy," Donald North asked, at last, "what you goin' t' do with your part o' the money we'll make at tradin'?"

It was a quiet evening on the coast; and from the deck of the sloop, where she lay in harbour, the boys looked away to a glowing sunset, above the inland hills and wilderness.

"I don't know," Billy replied. "What you goin' t' do with your share, Jimmie?"

"Don't know," said Jimmie, seriously. "What you goin' t' do with yours, Donald?"

"I isn't quite made up my mind," said Donald, with an anxious frown. "I 'low I'll wait an' see what Archie does with his."

The three boys stowed away in the little cabin of the Rescue very early that night. They were to set sail for Ruddy Cove at dawn of the next morning.

* * * * *

Archie Armstrong, now returned from the Miquelon Islands and relieved of his anxiety concerning that adventure by his father's letter, was heart and soul for trading. But he scorned the little Rescue. It was merely that she was too small, he was quick to add; she was trim and fast and stout, she possessed every virtue a little craft could have, but as for trading, on any scale that half-grown boys could tolerate, she was far too small. If a small venture could succeed, why shouldn't a larger one? What Archie wanted—what he determined they should have—was a thirty-ton schooner. Nothing less would do. They must have a thirty-ton fore-an'-after with Bill o' Burnt Bay to skipper her. The Heavenly Home? Not at all! At any rate, Josiah Cove was to take that old basket to the Labrador for the last cruise of the season.

Jimmie Grimm laughed at Archie.

"What you laughing at?" Archie demanded, with a grin.

Jimmie couldn't quite tell; but the truth was that the fisherman's lad could never get used to the airy, confident, masterful way of a rich man's son and a city-bred boy.

"Look you, Archie!" said Billy Topsail, "where in time is you goin' t' get that schooner?"

"The On Time," was the prompt reply. "We'll call her the Spot Cash."

Billy realized that the On Time might be had. Also that she might be called the Spot Cash. She had lain idle in the harbour since her skipper had gone off to the mines at Sidney to make more money in wages than he could take from the sea. But how charter her?

"Where you goin' t' get the stock?" Jimmie Grimm inquired.

"Don't know whether I can or not," said Archie; "but I'm going to try my level best."

Archie Armstrong left for St. John's by the next mail-boat. He was not the lad to hesitate. What his errand was the Ruddy Cove boys knew well enough; but concerning the prospect of success, they could only surmise. However, Archie wouldn't be long. Archie wasn't the lad to be long about anything. What he undertook to do he went right at!

"If he can only do it," Billy Topsail said.

Jimmie Grimm and Donald North and Bagg stared at Billy Topsail like a litter of eager and expectant little puppies. And Bill o' Burnt Bay stood like a wise old dog behind. If only Archie could!

——-

[5] As related in "The Adventures of Billy Topsail."



CHAPTER XXIII

In Which Sir Archibald Armstrong Is Almost Floored By a Business Proposition, But Presently Revives, and Seems to be About to Rise to the Occasion

Sir Archibald Armstrong was a colonial knight. His decoration—one of Her late Majesty's birthday honours—had come to him for beneficent political services to the colony in time of trouble and ruin. He was a Newfoundlander born and bred (though educated in the English schools); and he was fond of saying in a pleasantly boastful way and with a little twinkle of amusement in his sympathetic blue eyes: "I'm a fish-merchant, sir—a Newfoundland fish-merchant!" This was quite true, of course; but it was only half the truth. Directly or indirectly, Sir Archibald's business interests touched every port in Newfoundland, every harbour of the Labrador, the markets of Spain and Portugal, of the West Indies and the South American Republics.

Sir Archibald was alone in his cozy office. The day was raw and wet. There was a blazing fire in the grate—an agreeable bit of warmth and brightness to contrast with the rain beating on the window-panes.

A pale little clerk put his head in at the door. "Beg pardon, sir," he jerked. "Master Archie, sir."

"Master Archie!" Sir Archibald exclaimed.

Archie entered.

"What's this?" said Sir Archibald, in amazement. "Back from Ruddy Cove?"

"On business," Archie replied.

Sir Archibald laughed pleasantly.

"Don't make fun of me, father," said Archie. "I'm in dead earnest."

"How much is it, son?" This was an ancient joke between the two. Both laughed.

"You'd be surprised if you knew," the boy returned. "But look here, father! please don't take it in that way. I'm really in earnest."

"It's money, son," Sir Archibald insisted. "I know it is."

"Yes," said Archie, with a grave frown; "it is money. It's a good deal of money. It's so much money, dad, that you'll sit up when you hear about it."

Sir Archibald looked sharply into his son's grave eyes. "Ahem!" he coughed. "Money," he mused, "and a good deal of it. What's the trouble, son?"

"No trouble, father," said Archie; "just a ripping good chance for fun and profit."

Sir Archibald moved to the chair behind a broad flat-top desk by the window. This was the queer little throne from which all business problems were viewed. It was from the shabby old chair—with a broad window behind—that all business judgments were delivered. Did an outport merchant want credit in any large way, it was from the opposite chair—with the light falling full in his face through the broad window—that he put the case to Sir Archibald. Archie sat down in that chair and leaned over the desk. Sir Archibald stretched his legs, put his hands deep in his pockets, let his chin fall on his breast and stared searchingly into his son's face. The rain was driven noisily against the windows; the fire crackled and glowed. As between the two at the desk there was a momentary silence.

"Well?" said Sir Archibald, shortly.

"I want to go trading," Archie replied.

Sir Archibald lifted his eyebrows—then pursed his lips. The matter of credit was evidently to be proposed to him. It was to be put, too, it seemed, in a business way. Very well: Sir Archibald would deal with the question in a business way. He felt a little thrill of pleasure—he was quite conscious of it. It was delightful to have his only son in a business discussion, at the familiar old desk, with the fire glowing, the wind rattling the windows and the rain lashing the panes. Sir Archibald was a business man; and now he realized for the first time that Archie was grown to a companionable age. This, after all, he reflected, was what he had been working for: To engage in business with his own son.

"Then you want credit?" said he.

"Look here, dad!" Archie burst out; "of course, I want credit. I'll tell you all about it," he rattled anxiously. "We want—we means Billy Topsail, Jimmie Grimm, Donald North and me—they're all Ruddy Cove fellows, you know—we want to charter the On Time at Ruddy Cove, call her the Spot Cash, stock her cabin and hold—she's only a twenty-tonner—and ship Bill o' Burnt Bay for skipper and trade the ports of White Bay and the French Shore. All the boys——"



"My traders," Sir Archibald interrupted, quietly, "are trading White Bay and the French Shore."

"I know it, dad," Archie began eagerly, "but——"

"Will you compete with them?" Sir Archibald asked, his eyes wide open. "The Black Eagle sails north on a trading voyage in a fortnight. She's loading now."

"That's all right," said Archie, blithely. "We're going to——"

"Encounter harsh competition," Sir Archibald put in, dryly. "How will you go about it?"

Archie had been fidgeting in his chair—hardly able to command his politeness.

"A cash trader!" he burst out.

"Ah!" Sir Archibald drawled, enlightened. "I see. I see-ee!"

"We'll be the only cash trader on the coast, dad," Archie continued; "and we'll advertise—and carry a phonograph—and sell under the credit prices—and——"

Sir Archibald whistled in chagrin.

"And we'll make good," Archie concluded.

"You little pirate!" Sir Archibald ejaculated.

Father and son laughed together. Then Sir Archibald began to drum on the desk with his finger-tips. Presently he got up and began to pace the floor, his hands thrust deep in his pockets, his lips pursed, his brows drawn in a scowl of reflection. This was a characteristic thing. Sir Archibald invariably paced, and pursed his lips, and scowled, when a problem of more than ordinary interest engaged him. He knew that Archie's plan was not unreasonable. There might—there ought to be—good profit in a cash-trading voyage in a small schooner to the harbours of White Bay and the French Shore. There are no shops in most of these little settlements. Shops go to the people in the form of trading-schooners from St. John's and the larger ports of the more southerly coast. It is in this way that the fisher-folk procure their flour and tea, their medicines and clothing, their tackle, their molasses, pins and needles, their trinkets, everything, in fact, both the luxuries and necessities of life. It is chiefly a credit business, the prices based on credit; the folk are outfitted in the spring and pay in salt-cod in the late summer and fall. Why shouldn't a cash-trader, underselling the credit plan, do well on the coast in a small way?

By and by, his face clearing, Sir Archibald sat down at the desk again.

"How much do you want?" he asked, directly.

Archie took a grip on the arms of his chair and clenched his teeth. It took a good deal of resolution to utter the amount.

"Well, well?" Sir Archibald impatiently demanded.

"A thousand dollars," said Archie, grimly.

Sir Archibald started.

"Two hundred and fifty dollars in cash," Archie added, "and seven hundred and fifty in credit at the warehouse."

"What's the security?" Sir Archibald blandly inquired.

"Security!" Archie gasped.

"It is a customary consideration in business," said Sir Archibald.

Archie's house of cards seemed to be tumbling about his ears. Security? He had not thought of that. He began to drum on the desk with his finger-tips. Presently he got up and began to pace the floor, his hands thrust deep in his pockets, his lips pursed, his brow drawn in a scowl of reflection. Sir Archibald, recognizing his own habit in his son's perturbation, smiled in a fatherly-fond way. The boy was very dear to him; no doubt about it. But Sir Archibald was not sentimental in the affection.

"Well, sir," said Archie, by and by, his face clearing as he sat down, "I could offer you security, and good enough security, but it doesn't seem quite fair."

Sir Archibald asked the nature of the bond.

"I have a pony and cart, a motor boat and a sloop yacht," Archie replied, grinning. "I 'low," he drawled, with a sly drooping of his eyelids, "that they're worth more than a thousand dollars. Eh, father? What do you think?"

Sir Archibald guffawed.

"The trouble is," Archie went on, seriously, "that you gave them to me; and it doesn't seem fair to you to offer them as security. But I tell you, dad," he declared, "if we don't make good in this trading cruise I'll sell those things and do without 'em. It isn't fair, I know—it seems pretty mean to you—it looks as if I didn't care for what you've given me. But I do care; and you know I care. The trouble is that I want awfully to go trading."

"It is the only security you have?"

"Except mother," said Archie. "But," he added, hastily, "I wouldn't—I won't—drag a lady into this."

Sir Archibald threw back his head and roared.

"What you laughing at, dad?" Archie asked, a little offended, if a quick flush meant anything.

"I'm sure," his father replied, "that the lady wouldn't mind."

"No," said Archie, grave with his little problem of honour; "but I wouldn't let a lady in for a thing like that."

"Son," said Sir Archibald, now all at once turning very serious, "you have better security than your pony and sloop."

Archie looked up in bewilderment.

"It is your integrity," Sir Archibald explained, gently, "and your efficiency."

Archie flushed with pleasure.

"These are great things to possess," said Sir Archibald.

"Thank you, sir," said Archie, rising in acknowledgment of this hearty compliment.

The lad was genuinely moved.



CHAPTER XXIV

In Which the Honour of Archie Armstrong Becomes Involved, the First of September Becomes a Date of Utmost Importance, He Collides With Tom Tulk, and a Note is Made in the Book of the Future

Sir Archibald began again to tap the desk with his finger-tips. Archie strayed to the broad window and looked out upon the wharves and harbour.

"Is that the Black Eagle at the wharf?" he asked.

"The Black Eagle, sure enough!" Sir Archibald laughed. "She's the White Bay and French Shore trader."

"Trade enough for all," Archie returned.

"George Rumm, master," said Sir Archibald.

"Still?" Archie exclaimed.

The sailing reputation of Skipper George had been in question through the season. He had come within six inches of losing the Black Eagle in a small gale of the last voyage.

"Who's clerk?" Archie asked.

"Tommy Bull, boy."

No friend of Archie!

"Sharp enough, anyhow," the boy thought.

Sir Archibald put his hands in his pockets again and began to pace the floor; his lips were pursed, his brows drawn. Archie waited anxiously at the window.

"When," demanded Sir Archibald, pausing abruptly in his walk—"when do you propose to liquidate this debt?"

"We'll sail the Spot Cash into St. John's harbour, sir, on September first, or before."

"With three hundred quintals of fish in her hold, I suppose?"

Three hundred quintals of dry fish, at four dollars, roughly, a quintal, was twelve hundred dollars.

"More than that, sir," said Archie.

"Well, boy," said Sir Archibald, briskly, "the security I have spoken of is all right, and——"

"Not worth much at auction sale," Archie interrupted, grinning.

"There's no better security in the world," said Sir Archibald, "than youth, integrity and capacity."

Archie waited.

"I'll back you," said Sir Archibald, shortly.

"Father," Archie declared, his eyes shining with a little mist of delight and affection, "I'll stand by this thing for all I'm worth!"

They shook hands upon it.

* * * * *

Sir Archibald presently wrote a check and scribbled a few lines on a slip of paper. The check was for two hundred and fifty dollars; it was for running expenses and emergencies that Archie needed the hard cash. The slip of paper was an order upon the warehouses and shops for credit in the sum of seven hundred and fifty dollars.

"Now," said Sir Archibald, "it is explicitly understood between us that on or before the first of September you are to turn over to the firm of Armstrong & Company a sufficient quantity of properly cured fish to liquidate this account."

"Yes, sir," Archie replied, earnestly; "on or before the first day of September next."

"You perfectly understand the terms?" Sir Archibald insisted. "You know the nature of this obligation?"

"Yes, sir."

"Very well, son," said Sir Archibald; "your honour is involved."

Archie received the two slips of paper. It must be confessed that they burned his fingers a little. It was a good deal to come into possession of all at once—a good deal of money and an awe-inspiring responsibility. Sir Archibald watched the boy's face narrowly. He seemed to be pleased with what he found there—a little fear, a little anxiety, a great deal of determination. The veteran business man wondered if the boy would sleep as easily as usual that night. Would he wake up fresh and smiling in the morning? These were large cares to lie upon the shoulders of a lad.

"Shall I give you a—well—a receipt—or a note—or anything like that?" Archie asked.

"You are upon your honour," said his father.

Archie scratched his head in doubt.

"Your honour," Sir Archibald repeated, smiling.

"The first of September," Archie laughed. "I shan't forget that date."

In the end he had good cause to remember it.

* * * * *

Before Archie left the office Sir Archibald led him to the broad window behind the desk. Archie was used to this. It was his father's habit. The thing was not done in a spirit of boasting, as the boy was very well aware. Nor was it an attempt to impress the boy with a sense of his own importance and future wealth in the world. It was rather a well-considered and consistent effort to give him a sense of the reality and gravity of the obligations that would some day be his. From the broad window Archie looked out once more upon the various activities of his father's great business. There were schooners fitting out for the fishing cruise to the Labrador; there were traders taking in stores for the voyage to the Straits of Belle Isle, to the South Coast, to the French Shore; there were fore-and-afters outbound to the Grand Banks and waiting for a favourable wind; there were coastwise vessels, loading flour and pork for the outport merchants; there were barques awaiting more favourable weather in which to load salt-cod for the West Indies and Spain.

All this never failed to oppress Archie a little as viewed from the broad window of his father's office.

"Look!" said Sir Archibald, moving a hand to include the shipping and storehouses.

Archie gazed into the rainy day.

"What do you see?" his father asked, in a way half bantering, half grave.

"Your ships and wharves, sir."

"Some day," said Sir Archibald, "they will be yours."

"I wish you wouldn't say that, dad—at least, not just in that way," said Archie, turning away from the window. "It sort of frightens me."

Sir Archibald laughed and clapped him on the back. "You know what I mean," said he.

"You mean that the firm has a name," said Archie. "You mean that the name must never be disgraced. I know what you mean."

Sir Archibald nodded.

"I hope," said Archie, the suspicion of a quaver in his voice and a tremble in his lower lip, "that I'll never disgrace it."

"Nor the name of the little firm that goes into business this day," said Sir Archibald.

Archie's solemn face broke into a smile of amusement and surprise. "Why, dad," said he, "it hasn't got a name."

"Armstrong & Company, Junior?"

"Armstrong, Topsail, Grimm & Company," said Archie, promptly.

"Good luck to it!" wished Sir Archibald.

"No; that's not it at all," said Archie. "Billy Topsail schemed this thing out. Wish luck to the firm of Topsail, Armstrong, Grimm & Company."

"Build the firm," said Sir Archibald, "upon hard work and fair play."

Archie hurriedly said they would—and vanished.

"Son is growing up," thought Sir Archibald, when the boy had gone. "Son is decidedly growing up. Well, well!" he sighed; "son is growing up and in far more trouble than he dreams of. It's a big investment, too. However," he thought, well pleased and cheerful again, "let him go ahead and learn his daddy's business. And I'll back him," he declared, speaking aloud in his enthusiastic faith. "By Jove! I'll back him to win!"

* * * * *

At the foot of the stairway Archie collided full tilt with two men who were engaged in intimate conversation as they passed the door. The one was George Rumm, skipper of the Black Eagle—a timid, weak-mouthed, shifty-eyed man, with an obsequious drawl in his voice, a diffident manner, and, altogether, a loose, weak way. The other was old Tom Tulk of Twillingate. Archie leaped back with an apology to Skipper George. The boy had no word to say to Tom Tulk of Twillingate. Tom Tulk was notoriously a rascal whom the law was eager to catch but could never quite satisfactorily lay hands on. It did not occur to Archie that no wise skipper would put heads mysteriously together in a public place with old Tom Tulk of Twillingate. The boy was too full of his own concerns to take note of anything.

"Hello, Skipper George!" he cried, buoyantly. "I'll see you on the French Shore."

"Goin' north?" Skipper George drawled.

"Tradin'," said Archie.

Skipper George started. Tom Tulk scowled. "Goin' aboard the Black Eagle?" asked Skipper George.

"Tradin' on my own hook, Skipper George," said Archie; "and I'm bound to cut your throat on the Shore."

Tom Tulk and Skipper George exchanged glances as Archie darted away. There was something of relief in Skipper George's eyes—a relieved and teasing little smile. But Tom Tulk was frankly angry.

"The little shaver!" said he, in disgust.

It was written in the book of the future that Skipper George Rumm and Archie Armstrong should fall in with each other on the north coast before the summer was over.



CHAPTER XXV

In Which Notorious Tom Tulk o' Twillingate and the Skipper of the "Black Eagle" Put Their Heads Together Over a Glass of Rum in the Cabin of a French Shore Trader

There was never a more notorious rascal in Newfoundland than old Tom Tulk of Twillingate. There was never a cleverer rascal—never a man who could devise new villainies as fast and execute them as neatly. The law had never laid hands on him. At any rate not for a crime of importance. He had been clapped in jail once, but merely for debt; and he had carried this off with flying colours by pushing past the startled usher in church and squatting his great flabby bulk in the governor's pew of the next Sunday morning. He was a thief, a chronic bankrupt, a counterfeiter, an illicit liquor seller. It was all perfectly well known; but not once had a constable brought an offense home to him. He had once been arrested for theft, it is true, and taken to St. John's by the constables; but on the way he had stolen a watch from one and put it in the pocket of the other, thereby involving both in far more trouble than they could subsequently involve him.

Add to these evil propensities a deformed body and a crimson countenance and you have the shadow of an idea of old Tom Tulk.

* * * * *

George Rumm and Tom Tulk boarded the Black Eagle in the rain and sought the shelter of her little cabin. The cook had made a fire for the skipper; the cabin was warm and quiet. Tom Tulk closed the door with caution and glanced up to see that the skylights were tight. Skipper George produced the bottle and glasses.

"Now, Skipper George," said Tom Tulk, as he tipped the bottle, "'tis a mint o' money an' fair easy t' make."

"I'm not likin' the job," the skipper complained. "I'm not likin' the job at all."

"'Tis an easy one," Tom Tulk maintained, "an' 'tis well paid when 'tis done."

Skipper George scowled in objection.

"Ye've a soft heart for man's work," said Tom, with a bit of a sneer.

Skipper George laughed. "Is you thinkin' t' drive me by makin' fun o' me?" he asked.

"I'm thinkin' nothin'," Tom Tulk replied, "but t' show you how it can be done. Will you listen t' me?"

"Not me!" George Rumm declared.

Tom Tulk observed, however, that the skipper's ears were wide open.

"Not me!" Skipper George repeated, with a loud thump on the table. "No, sir! I'll have nothin' t' do with it!"

Tom Tulk fancied that the skipper's ears were a little bit wider than before; he was not at all deceived by this show of righteousness on the part of a weak man.

"Well, well!" he sighed. "Say no more about it."

"I'm not denyin'," said Skipper George, "that it could be done. I'm not denyin' that it would be easy work. But I tells you, Tom Tulk, that I'll have nothin' t' do with it. I'm an honest man, Tom Tulk, an' I'd thank you t' remember it."

"Well, well!" Tom Tulk sighed again. "There's many a man in this harbour would jump at the chance; but there's never another so honest that I could trust him."

"Many a man, if you like," Skipper George growled; "but not me."

"No, no," Tom Tulk agreed, with a covert little sneer and grin; "not you."

"'Tis a prison offense, man!"

"If you're cotched," Tom Tulk laughed. "An' tell me, George Rumm, is I ever been cotched?"

"I'm not sayin' you is."

"No; nor never will be."

It had all been talked over before, of course; and it would be talked over again before a fortnight was past and the Black Eagle had set sail for the French Shore with a valuable cargo. Tom Tulk had begun gingerly; he had proceeded with exquisite caution; he had ventured a bit more; at last he had come boldly out with the plan. Manned with care—manned as she could be and as Tom Tulk would take care to have her—the Black Eagle was the ship for the purpose; and Skipper George, with a reputation for bad seamanship, was the man for the purpose. And the thing would be easy. Tom Tulk knew it. Skipper George knew it. It could be successfully done. There was no doubt about it; and Skipper George hated to think that there was no doubt about it. The ease and safety with which he might have the money tumble into his pocket troubled him. It was not so much a temptation as an aggravation. He found himself thinking about it too often; he wanted to put it out of his mind, but could not.

"Now, Tom Tulk," said he, at last, flushing angrily, "let's have no more o' this. I'm fair tired of it. I'll have nothin' t' do with it; an' I tells you so, once an' for all."

"Pass the bottle," said Tom Tulk.

The bottle went from hand to hand.

"We'll say no more about it," said Tom Tulk; "but I tells you, Skipper George, that that little clerk o' yours, Tommy Bull, is just the ticket. As for a crew, I got un handy."

"Belay, belay!"

"Ay, ay, Skipper George," Tom Tulk agreed; "but as for fetchin' a cargo o' fish into St. John's harbour without tellin' where it came from, if there's any man can beat me at that, why, I'd——"

Skipper George got up and pulled open the hatch.

"I'll see you again," said Tom Tulk.

Skipper George of the Black Eagle helped himself to another dram when Tom Tulk had withdrawn his great body and sly face. It was true, all that Tom Tulk had said. It was true about the clerk; he was ripe to go bad. It was true about the crew; with hands scarce, and able-bodied young fellows bound to the Sidney mines for better wages, Skipper George could ship whom he liked and Tom Tulk chose. It was true about fetching fish into St. John's without accounting whence it came. Tom Tulk could do it; nobody would ask eccentric old Tom Tulk where he got his fish—everybody would laugh. It was true about the skipper himself; it was quite true that his reputation was none of the best as a sailing-master. But he had never lost a ship yet. They might say he had come near it, if they liked; but he had never lost a ship yet. No, sir; he had never lost a ship yet. Nor would he. He'd fetch the Black Eagle home, right enough, and show Sir Archibald Armstrong!

But the thing would be easy. It was disgustingly easy in prospect. Skipper George wished that old Tom Tulk had never come near to bother him.

"Hang Tom Tulk!" thought he.

But how easy, after all, the thing would be!

* * * * *

The first hand put his head in the hatchway to tell Skipper George that he was to report to Sir Archibald Armstrong in the office at once. Skipper George was not quite easy about the three drams he had taken; but there was nothing for it but to appear in the office without delay. As a matter of fact Sir Archibald Armstrong detected nothing out of the way. He had something to say to Skipper George about the way to sail a schooner—about timid sailing, and reckless sailing, and feeling about in fogs, and putting out to sea, and running for harbour. When he had finished—and he spoke long and earnestly, with his blue eyes flashing, his head in the air, his teeth snapping once in a while—when Sir Archibald had finished, Skipper George was standing with his cap in his hand, his face flushed, answering, "Yes, sir," and, "No, sir," in a way of the meekest. When he left the office he was unpleasantly aware that he was face to face with his last chance. In this new trouble he forgot all about Tom Tulk.

"Skipper George," he thought, taking counsel with himself, as he poured another dram, "you got t' do better."

He mused a long time.

"I will do better," he determined. "I'll show un that I can sail a schooner."

Before he stowed away for the night, a little resentment crept into his thoughts of Sir Archibald. He had never felt this way before.

"I got t' stop this," he thought.

Tom Tulk was then dreaming over a glass of rum; and his dreams were pleasant dreams—concerning Skipper George of the Black Eagle.



CHAPTER XXVI

In Which the Enterprise of Archie Armstrong Evolves Senor Fakerino, the Greatest Magician In Captivity. In Which, also, the Foolish are Importuned Not to be Fooled, Candy is Promised to Kids, Bill o' Burnt Bay is Persuaded to Tussle With "The Lost Pirate," and the "Spot Cash" Sets Sail

For three dismal, foggy days, Archie Armstrong was the busiest business man in St. John's, Newfoundland. He was forever damp, splashed with mud, grimy-faced, wilted as to clothes and haggard as to manner. But make haste he must; there was not a day—not an hour—to spare: for it was now appallingly near August; and the first of September would delay for no man. When, with the advice of Sir Archibald and the help of every man-jack in the warehouses (even of the rat-eyed little Tommy Bull), the credit of Topsail, Armstrong, Grimm & Company had been exhausted to the last penny, Archie sighed in a thoroughly self-satisfied way, pulled out his new check-book and plunged into work of another sort.

"How's that bank-account holding out?" Sir Archibald asked, that evening.

"I'm a little bit bent, dad," Archie replied, "but not yet broke."

Sir Archibald looked concerned.

"Advertising," Archie briefly explained.

"But," said Sir Archibald, in protest, "nobody has ever advertised in White Bay before."

"Somebody is just about to," Archie laughed.

Sir Archibald was puzzled. "Wh-wh-what for?" he inquired. "What kind of advertising?"

"Handbills, dad, and concerts, and flags, and circus-lemonade."

"Nothing more, son?" Sir Archibald mocked.

"Senor Fakerino," Archie replied, with a smack of self-satisfaction, "the World's Greatest Magician."

"The same being?"

"Yours respectfully, A. Armstrong."

Sir Archibald shrugged his shoulders. Then his eyes twinkled, his sides began to shake, and he threw back his head and burst into a roar of laughter, in which Archie and his mother—they were all at dinner—joined him.

"Why, dad," Archie exclaimed, with vast enthusiasm, "the firm of Topsail, Armstrong, Grimm & Company is going to give the people of White Bay such a good time this summer that they'll never deal with anybody else. And we're going to give them the worth of their money, too—every penny's worth. On a cash basis we can afford to. We're going into business to build up a business; and when I come back from that English school next summer it's going to go right ahead."

Sir Archibald admitted the good prospect.

"Pity the poor Black Eagle!" said Archie, grinning.

Lady Armstrong finished Senor Fakerino's gorgeously spangled crimson robe and high-peaked hat that night and Archie completed a very masterpiece of white beard. Afterwards, Archie packed his trunks. When he turned in at last, outward bound next day by the cross-country mixed train, he had the satisfaction of knowing that he had stowed the phonograph, the printing-press and type, the signal flags, the magical apparatus and Fakerino costume and the new accordion; and he knew—for he had taken pains to find out—that the stock of trading goods, which he had bought with most anxious discrimination, was packed and directed and waiting at the station, consigned to Topsail, Armstrong, Grimm & Company, General Merchants, Ruddy Cove, Newfoundland.

Archie slept well.

When the mail-boat made Ruddy Cove, Archie was landed, in overflowing spirits, with his boxes and bales and barrels and trunks and news. The following days were filled with intense activity. Topsail, Armstrong, Grimm & Company chartered the On Time in due form; and with the observance of every legal requirement she was given a new name, the Spot Cash. They swept and swabbed her, fore and aft; they gave her a line or two of gay paint; they fitted her cabin with shelves and a counter and her forecastle with additional bunks; and Bill o' Burnt Bay went over her rigging and spars. While Jimmie Grimm, Bobby North and Bagg unpacked the stock and furnished the cabin shelves and stowed the hold, Billy Topsail and Archie turned to on the advertising.

The printing-press was set up in Mrs. Skipper William's fish-stage. Billy Topsail—who had never seen the like—stared open-mouthed at the operation.

"We got to make 'em buy," Archie declared.

"H-h-how?" Billy stammered.

"We got to make 'em want to," said Archie. "They'll trade if they want to."

In return Billy watched Archie scribble.

"How's this?" Archie asked, at last.

Billy listened to the reading.

"Will that fetch 'em aboard?" Archie demanded, anxiously.

"It would my mother," said the astonished Billy. "I'd fetch her, bet yer life!"

They laboriously set up the handbill and triumphantly struck it off:

kANDY FOR KIdS

X

Boys Girls and Babies come Aboard the

"sPOT CAsH" You Get Perfectly Pure Peppermint if you bring your

:o: PAREnTS :o: WE LOVE KIDs KIdDIES AND KiDLETS

Topsail, Armstrong, Grimm & Co.

"That'll fetch 'em, all right!" Archie declared. "Now for the concert."

Billy had another shock of surprise. "Th-th what?" he ejaculated.

"Concert," Archie replied. "You're going to sing, Billy."

"Me!" poor Billy exclaimed in large alarm.

"And Skipper Bill is, too," Archie went on; "and Bagg's going to double-shuffle, and Bobby North is going to shake that hornpipe out of his feet, and Jimmie Grimm is going to recite 'Sailor Boy, Sailor Boy,' and I'm going to do a trifling little stunt myself. I'm Senor Fakerino, Billy," Archie laughed, "the Greatest Magician in Captivity. Just you wait and see. I think I'll have a bill all to myself."

Archie scowled and scribbled again with a result that presently made him chuckle. It appeared in the handbill (after some desperately hard work) in this guise:

tO-NIGHT! tO-NIGHT! On Board the "SPOT CASH"

——SENOR FAKE-erino——

Will Fully Fool the Foolish :o: DOn'T :o: Be Foolish and Fully Fooled by Credit Trading

TRADE FOR CASH ***

ABOARD the *** "SPOT CASH"

It was late in the afternoon before the last handbill was off the press; and Billy Topsail then looked more like a black-face comedian than senior member of the ambitious firm of Topsail, Armstrong, Grimm & Company. Archie was no better—perspiring, ink-stained, tired in head and hands. But the boys were delighted with what they had accomplished. There were two other productions: one announcing the concert and the other an honest and quiet comparison of cash and credit prices with a fair exposition of the virtue and variety of the merchandise to be had aboard the Spot Cash.

When Bill o' Burnt Bay, however, was shown the concert announcement and informed, much to his amazement, that it was down in the articles of agreement, as between him, master of the Spot Cash, and the firm of Topsail, Armstrong, Grimm & Company—down in black and white in the articles of agreement which he was presumed to have signed—down and no dodging it—that he was to sing "The Lost Pirate" when required—Bill o' Burnt Bay was indignant and flatly resigned his berth.

"All right, skipper," Archie drawled. "You needn't sing, I 'low. Billy Topsail has a sweet little pipe, an' I 'low it'll be a good deal better to have him sing twice."

"Eh?" Bill gasped, chagrined. "What's that?"

"Better to have Billy sing twice," Archie repeated indifferently.

Bill o' Burnt Bay glared at Billy Topsail.

"Billy Topsail," said Archie, in a way the most careless, "has the neatest little pipe on the coast."

"I'll have you to know," Bill o' Burnt Bay snorted, "that they's many a White Bay liveyere would pay a dime t' hear me have a tussle with 'The Lost Pirate.'"

Archie whistled.

"Look you, Archie!" Skipper Bill demanded; "is you goin' t' let me sing, or isn't you?"

"I is," Archie laughed.

That was the end of the mutiny.

* * * * *

At peep of dawn the Spot Cash set sail from Ruddy Cove with flags flying and every rag of sail spread to a fair breeze. Presently the sun was out, the sky blue, the wind smartly blowing. Late in the afternoon she passed within a stone's throw of Mother Burke and rounded Cape John into White Bay. Before dark she dropped anchor in Coachman's Cove and prepared for business.

"Come on, lads!" Archie shouted, when the anchor was down and all sail stowed. "Let's put these dodgers where they'll do most good."

The handbills were faithfully distributed before the punts of Coachman's came in from the fishing grounds; and that night, to an audience that floated in punts in the quiet water, just beyond the schooner's stern, and by the light of four torches, Topsail, Armstrong, Grimm & Company presented their first entertainment in pursuit of business, the performers operating upon a small square stage which Bill o' Burnt Bay had rigged on the house of the cabin.

It was a famous evening.



CHAPTER XXVII

In Which the Amazing Operations of the "Black Eagle" Promise to Ruin the Firm of Topsail, Armstrong, Grimm & Company, and Archie Armstrong Loses His Temper and Makes a Fool of Himself

Trade was brisk next day—and continued brisk for a fortnight. From Coachman's Cove to Seal Cove, from Seal Cove to Black Arm, from Black Arm to Harbour Round and Little Harbour Deep went the Spot Cash. She entered with gay signal flags and a multitude of little Union Jacks flying; and no sooner was the anchor down than the phonograph began its musical invitation to draw near and look and buy. And there was presently candy for the children; and there were undeniable bargains for the mothers. In the evening—under a quiet starlit sky—Skipper Bill "tussled" gloriously with "The Lost Pirate," and Bobby North shook the hornpipe out of his very toes, and Bill Topsail wistfully piped the well-loved old ballads of the coast in a tender treble; and after that Senor Fakerino created no end of mystification and applause by extracting half-dollars from the vacant air, and discovering three small chicks in an empty top-hat, and producing eggs at will from Bagg's capacious mouth, and with a mere wave of his wand changing the blackest of ink into the very most delicious of lemonade. The folk of that remote coast were delighted. They had never been amused before; and they craved amusement—like little children.



Trade followed as a matter of course.

* * * * *

Trade was brisk as any heart could wish up the White Bay coast to the first harbours of the northern reaches of the French Shore; and there it came to an appalling full stop. The concerts were patronized as before; but no fish came aboard for exchange.

"I can't bear to look the calendar in the face," Archie complained.

The Spot Cash then lay at anchor in Englee.

"'Tis the fifth o' August," said Billy Topsail.

"Whew!" Archie whistled. "Sixteen days to the first of September!"

"What's the matter, anyhow?" Skipper Bill inquired.

"The Black Eagle's the matter," said Archie, angrily. "She's swept these harbours clean. She cleaned out Englee yesterday."

"Stand by, all hands!" roared the skipper.

"What's up, skipper?" asked Archie.

"Nothin'," replied the skipper; "that's the trouble. But the mains'l will be up afore very long if there's a rope's end handy," he added. "We'll chase the Black Eagle."

They caught the Black Eagle at anchor in Conch that evening. She was deep in the water. Apparently her hold was full; there were the first signs of a deck-load of fish to be observed. In a run ashore Archie very soon discovered the reason of her extraordinary success. He returned to the deck of the Spot Cash in a towering rage. The clerk of the Black Eagle had put up the price of fish and cut the price of every pound and yard of merchandise aboard his vessel. No wonder she had loaded. No wonder the folk of the French Shore had emptied their stages of the summer's catch. And what was the Spot Cash to do? Where was she to get her fish? By selling at less than cost and buying at more than the market price? Nothing of the sort! Topsail, Armstrong, Grimm & Company were not going to be ruined by that sort of folly. Topsail, Armstrong, Grimm & Company couldn't have any fish. The powerful firm of Armstrong & Company of St. John's was going to put the poor little firm of Topsail, Armstrong, Grimm & Company out of business—going to snuff 'em out—had snuffed 'em out. The best thing Topsail, Armstrong, Grimm & Company could do was to get to cover and call cash trading as big a failure as had ever been made in Newfoundland business.

"Isn't fair!" Archie complained, aboard the Spot Cash. "It's dirty business, I tell you."

"Let's fire away, anyhow," said Jimmie Grimm.

"It isn't fair of dad," Archie repeated, coming as near to the point of tears as a boy of his age well could. "It's a low trick to cut a small trader's throat like this. They can outsail us and keep ahead of us; and they'll undersell and overbuy us wherever we go. When they've put us out of business, they'll go back to the old prices. It isn't fair of dad," he burst out. "I tell you, it isn't fair!"

"Lend a hand here," said Bill. "We'll see what they do."

A pretense of hauling up the mainsail was made aboard the Spot Cash. There was an immediate stir on the deck of the Black Eagle; the hands were called from the forecastle.

"Look at that!" said Archie, in disgust.

Both crews laughed and gave it up.

"It isn't like your dad," said Bill o' Burnt Bay. "I'll lay you alongside the Black Eagle, Archie," he added, "an' you can have a little yarn with Skipper George."

* * * * *

Skipper George Rumm was glad to see Archie—glad in a too bland way, in which, however, Archie did not detect a very obvious nervousness. Three eighty-five for fish? Yes; the skipper did believe that Tommy Bull was paying three eighty-five. No; he didn't know the market price in St. John's. Flour and pork and sugar and tea? No; the skipper didn't know just what Tommy Bull was selling flour and pork and sugar and tea at. You see, Tommy Bull was clerk of the Black Eagle; and that was the clerk's business. Tommy Bull was ashore just then; the skipper didn't just quite know when he'd come aboard. Were these prices Sir Archibald's orders? Really, Skipper George didn't know. Tommy Bull knew all about that; and Tommy Bull had clerked in these waters long enough to keep the firm's business to himself. Tommy Bull was closemouthed; he wouldn't be likely to blab Sir Archibald's orders in every harbour of the coast or whisper them in the ear of a rival trading clerk.

This last thrust was too much for Archie's dignity. He leaped from the deck of the Black Eagle into his own punt in a greater rage than ever.

"There's t' be a spell o' rough weather," were Skipper George's last words.

The punt moved away.

"Skipper Bill," said Archie, "the nearest telegraph station is at Tilt Cove. Can we make it in a night?"

"If the wind holds," the skipper answered.

"Then we'll try," said Archie.

The predicament was explained to Donald North and Jimmie Grimm and Billy Topsail. The Spot Cash could have no more fish as long as the Black Eagle paid three eighty-five with the St. John's market at three thirty-five. But was the market at three thirty-five? Hadn't the Black Eagle later information? That must be found out; and from Tilt Cove it could be discovered in two hours. So up went the sails of the Spot Cash, and, with the Black Eagle following, she jockeyed out of the harbour. Presently, when she had laid a course for Cape John and Tilt Cove, the Black Eagle came about and beat back to Conch.

* * * * *

Next morning—and dirty weather was promised for the day—the Spot Cash dropped anchor in the shelter of the cliff at Tilt Cove and Billy Topsail pulled Archie ashore. It was in Archie's heart to accuse his father's firm of harsh dealing with a small competitor; but he resolved to do no more than ask the price of fish. The answer would be significant of all that the lad wished to know; and if the great firm of Armstrong & Company had determined to put obstacles in the way of Topsail, Armstrong, Grimm & Company, even to the point of ruin, there was no help for Topsail, Armstrong, Grimm & Company. Archie would ask no quarter.

"Make haste!" Skipper Bill called from the deck of the Spot Cash. "I've no love for this harbour in a gale o' wind."

It was poor shelter at best.

"Much as I can," Archie shouted back.

The boy sent this telegram:

Tilt Cove, August 6.

Armstrong & Company, St. John's. Price of fish.

Topsail, Armstrong, Grimm & Company.

There was now nothing to do but wait. Sir Archibald would be in his little office overlooking his wharves and shipping. It would not be long. And the reply presently came:

St. John's, August 6.

Topsail, Armstrong, Grimm & Company, Aboard "Spot Cash," Tilt Cove. Still three thirty-five. No rise probable.

Armstrong & Company.

Archie Armstrong was hurt. He could hardly conceive that his father had planned the ruin of his undertaking and the loss of his honour. But what was left to think? Would the skipper and clerk of the Black Eagle deliberately court discharge? And discharge it would be—discharge in disgrace. There was no possible excuse for this amazing change in prices. No; there was no explanation but that they were proceeding upon Sir Archibald's orders. It was inconceivable that they should be doing anything else. Archie would ask no quarter of his father; but he would at least let Sir Archibald know that he was aware of the difference between fair and unfair competition. Before he boarded the Spot Cash he dispatched this message:

Tilt Cove, August 6.

Armstrong & Company, St. John's. Tilt Cove.

"Black Eagle" paying three eighty-five. Underselling flour, pork, tea, sugar. Why don't you play fair?

Topsail, Armstrong, Grimm & Company.

If Archie Armstrong could have been in the little office which overlooked the wharves to observe the effect of that message upon Sir Archibald he would not only have been amazed but would have come to his senses in a good deal less time than he actually did. The first item astounded and bewildered Sir Archibald; the second—the brief expression of distrust—hurt him sorely. But he had no time to be sentimental. Three eighty-five for fish? What was the meaning of that? Cut prices on flour, pork, sugar and tea? What was the meaning of that? Sir Archibald saw in a flash what it meant to Topsail, Armstrong, Grimm & Company. But what did it mean to Armstrong & Company? Sir Archibald flushed and perspired with wrath. He pushed buttons—he roared orders—he scribbled telegrams. In ten minutes, so vociferous was his rage, so intense his purpose, it was known from one end of the establishment to the other that the Black Eagle must be communicated with at once.

But Armstrong & Company could not manage to communicate with the Black Eagle direct, it seemed. Armstrong & Company might, however, communicate with the Spot Cash, now at Tilt Cove and possibly bound north. Doubtless by favour of the clerk of the Spot Cash Armstrong & Company would be able to speak orders in the ear of Skipper George Rumm.

"Judd!" Sir Archibald roared.

The pale little clerk appeared on the bound.

"Rush this," said Sir Archibald.

The message read:

St. John's, August 6.

Archibald Armstrong II, On board "Spot Cash," Tilt Cove.

Please oblige order "Black Eagle" St. John's forthwith. This your authority.

Armstrong & Company.



CHAPTER XXVIII

In Which the "Spot Cash" is Caught By a Gale In the Night and Skipper Bill Gives Her Up For Lost

It was blowing up when Archie returned to the Spot Cash. There was a fine rain in the wind, too; and a mist—hardly yet a fog—was growing denser on the face of a whitening sea. Nothing to bother about yet, of course: only a smart breeze and a little tumble, with thick weather to make a skipper keep his eyes open. But there was the threat of heavy wind and a big sea in gray sky overhead and far out upon the water. Tilt Cove was no place for the Spot Cash to lie very long; she must look for shelter in Sop's Arm before night.

"Archie, b'y," said Bill o' Burnt Bay, in the cozy forecastle with the boys, "there's something queer about this here Black Eagle."

"I should say so!" Archie sneered. "It's the first time I ever knew my father not to play fair."

"Bosh!" Skipper Bill ejaculated.

Archie started up in a rage.

"'Ear the wind!" said Bagg, with a little shiver.

It had begun to blow in earnest. The wind, falling over the cliff, played mournfully in the rigging. A gust of rain lashed the skylight. Swells from the open rocked the schooner.

"Blowin' up," said Billy Topsail.

"How long have you knowed Sir Archibald?" the skipper asked.

Archie laughed.

"Off an' on for about sixteen years, I 'low?" said the skipper.

Archie nodded shortly.

"'Ark t' the wind!" Bagg whispered.

"'Twill be all in a tumble off the cape," said Jimmie Grimm.

"Know Sir Archibald well?" the skipper pursued.

Archie sat down in disgust.

"Pretty intimate, eh?" asked the skipper.

The boy laughed again; and then all at once—all in a flash—his ill-humour and suspicion vanished. His father not play fair? How preposterous the fancy had been! Of course, he was playing fair! But somebody wasn't. And who wasn't?

"It is queer," said he. "What do you make of it, Bill?"

"I been thinkin'," the skipper replied heavily.

"Have you fathomed it?"

"Well," the skipper drawled, "I've thunk along far enough t' want t' look into it farder. I'd say," he added, "t' put back t' Conch."

"It's going to blow, Skipper Bill."

It had already begun to blow. The wind was moaning aloft. The long-drawn melancholy penetrated to the cozy cabin. In the shelter of the cliff though she was, the schooner tossed in the spent seas that came swishing in from the open.

"Well," the skipper drawled, "I guess the wind won't take the hair off a body; an' I 'low we can make Conch afore the worst of it."

"I'm with the skipper," said Billy Topsail.

"Me, too," said Jimmie Grimm.

Bagg had nothing to say; he seldom had, poor fellow! in a gale of wind.

"I've a telegram to send," said Archie.

It was a message of apology. Archie went ashore with a lighter heart to file it. What an unkindly suspicious fool he had been! he reflected, heartily ashamed of himself.

"Something for you, sir," said the agent.

Sir Archibald's telegram was put in the boy's hand; and when this had been read aboard the Spot Cash—and when the schooner had rounded Cape John and was taking full advantage of a sudden change of wind to the southwest—Archie and the skipper and the crew felt very well indeed, thank you!

* * * * *

It blew hard in the afternoon—harder than Bill o' Burnt Bay had surmised. The wind had a slap to it that troubled the little Spot Cash. Crested seas broke over her bows and swept her deck. She was smothered in white water half the time. The wind was rising, too. It was to be a big gale from the southeast. It was already half a gale. There was wind enough for the Spot Cash. Much more would shake and drown her like a chip. Bill o' Burnt Bay, at the wheel, and the crew, forward and amidships, kept watch for the coast and the friendly landmarks of harbour. But what with wind and fog and rain it was a disheartening business.

When night gathered, the coast was not in sight. The Spot Cash was tossing somewhere offshore in a rising gale and dared not venture in. The wind continued in the southeast. The coast was a lee shore—all rocks and islands and cliffs. The Spot Cash must beat out again to sea and wait for the morning. Any attempt to make a harbour of that harsh shore in the dark would spell destruction. But the sea was hardly more hospitable. The Spot Cash, reefed down almost to bare poles, and standing out as best she could, tossed and plunged in the big black seas, with good heart, to be sure, but, presently, with small hope. It seemed to Bill o' Burnt Bay that the little craft would be broken and swamped.

The boys came aft from forward and amidships. All at once Archie, who had been staring into the night ahead, started, turned and uttered an ejaculation of dismay, which a gust of wind drove into the skipper's ear.

"What is it, b'y?" Skipper Bill roared.

"I forgot to insure her," shouted Archie.

Skipper Bill grinned.

"It's ruin if we wreck, Bill," Archie shouted again.

It looked to Bill o' Burnt Bay like wreck and death. If so, the ruin might take care of itself. It pleased him to know that Archie was still unconcerned about his life. He reflected that if the Spot Cash should by any chance survive he would tell Sir Archibald that story. But a great sea and a smothering blast of wind distracted him. The sea came clear over the bow and broke amidships; the wind fairly drove the breath back into the skipper's throat. There would be two more seas he knew: there were always three seas. The second would break in a moment; the third would swamp the schooner. He roared a warning to the boys and turned the wheel to meet the sea bow on. The big wave fell with a crash amidships; the schooner stopped and shivered while a torrent of water drove clear over the stern. Bill o' Burnt Bay saw the crest of the third sea grow white and tower in the night.

"Hang to her!" screamed Archie.

Skipper Bill smiled grimly as the sea came aboard. It broke and swept past. He expected no more; but more came—more and still more. The schooner was now tossing in a boiling pot from which the spray rose like steam. Bill caught the deep boom of breakers. The Spot Cash was somewhere inshore. The water was shallowing. She was fairly on the rocks. Again Bill shouted a warning to the boys to save themselves when she struck. He caught sight of a low cliff—a black shadow above a mass of moving, ghostly white. The schooner was lifted by a great sea and carried forward. Skipper Bill waited for the shock and thud of her striking. He glanced up at the spars—again screamed a warning—and stood rigid. On swept the schooner. She was a long time in the grip of that great wave.

Then she slipped softly out of the rough water into some placid place where the wind fluttered gently down from above.

* * * * *

There was a moment of silence and uttermost amazement. The wind had vanished; the roar of the sea was muffled. The schooner advanced gently into the dark.

"The anchor!" the skipper gasped.

He sprang forward, stumbling; but it was too late: the bowsprit crumpled against a rock, there was a soft thud, a little shock, a scraping, and the Spot Cash stopped dead.

"We're aground," said Bill.

"I wonders where?" said Jimmie Grimm.

"In harbour, anyhow," said Billy Topsail.

"And no insurance!" Archie added.

There was no levity in this. The boys were overawed. They had been afraid, every one of them; and the mystery of their escape and whereabouts oppressed them. But they got the anchor over the bow; and presently they had the cabin stove going and were drying off. Nobody turned in; they waited anxiously for the first light of day to disclose their surroundings.



CHAPTER XXVIX

In Which Opportunity is Afforded the Skipper of the "Black Eagle" to Practice Villainy in the Fog and He Quiets His Scruples. In Which, also, the Pony Islands and the Tenth of the Month Come Into Significant Conjunction

Aboard the Black Eagle, Skipper George Rumm and Tommy Bull, with the cook and three hands, all of Tom Tulk's careful selection, were engaged, frankly among themselves, in a conspiracy to wreck the schooner for their own profit. It was a simple plan; and with fortune to favour rascality, it could not go awry. Old Tom Tulk of Twillingate had conceived and directed it. The Black Eagle was to be loaded with salt-cod from the French Shore stages in haste and at any cost. She was then to be quietly taken off one of the out-of-the-way rocky little islands of the remote northern coast. Her fish and the remainder of her cargo were to be taken ashore and stowed under tarpaulin: whereupon—with thick weather to corroborate a tale of wreck—the schooner was to be scuttled in deep water.

"'Tis but a matter o' clever management," Tom Tulk had said. "Choose your weather—that's all."

Presently the castaways were to appear in Conch in the schooner's quarter boat with a circumstantial account of the disaster. The Black Eagle was gone, they would say; she had struck in a fog, ripped out her keel (it seemed), driven over the rock, filled and sunk. At Conch, by this time, the mail-boat would be due on the southward trip. Skipper George and the clerk would proceed in grief and humiliation to St. John's to report the sad news to Armstrong & Company; but the cook and the three hands would join Tom Tulk at Twillingate, whence with the old reprobate's schooner they would rescue fish and cargo from beneath the tarpaulins on the out-of-the-way rocky little island in the north. To exchange crews at Twillingate and run the cargo to St. John's for quick sale was a small matter.

"Barrin' accident," Tom Tulk had said, "it can't fail."

There, indeed, was a cold, logical plan. "Barrin' accident," as Tom Tulk was aware, and as he by and by persuaded Skipper George, it could not fail. Let the weather be well chosen, the story consistent: that was all. Was not Skipper George forever in danger of losing his schooner? Had not Sir Archibald already given him his last warning? They would say in St. John's merely that Skipper George had "done it at last." Nobody would be surprised; everybody would say, "I told you so." And when old Tom Tulk came into harbour with a mysterious load of fish who would suspect him? Was not Tom Tulk known to be an eccentric? Was there any accounting for what Tom Tulk would do? Tom Tulk would say, "Mind your business!" and that would make an end of the questioning.

"Choose your weather, Skipper George," said Tom Tulk. "Let it be windy and thick."

With fog to hide the deed—with a gale to bear out the story and keep prying craft away—there would be small danger of detection. And what if folk did suspect? Let 'em prove it! That's what the law demanded. Let 'em prove it!

* * * * *

When the Black Eagle put back to Conch from following the little Spot Cash, it was evident that the opportunity had come. The weather was thick; there was a promise of wind in the air. Moreover, with Archie Armstrong on the coast in a temper, it was the part of wisdom to beware. Skipper George went gloomily to the cabin when the schooner rode once more at anchor. It was time, now; he knew it, the clerk knew it, the crew knew it. But Skipper George had no liking for the job; nor had the clerk, to tell the truth, nor had the cook, nor had the crew. Rascals are not made in a day; and it takes a long time to innure them against fear and self-reproach. But skipper and crew of the Black Eagle were already committed. Their dealing for fish on the coast had been unpardonable. The skipper could not explain it in St. John's; nor could the clerk excuse it.

"We got t' go through with this, Tommy," said the gloomy skipper.

"Have a dram," the clerk replied. "I'm in sore need o' one meself."

It seemed the skipper was, too.

"With that little shaver on the coast," said the clerk, "'tis best done quickly."

"I've no heart for it," the skipper growled.

The clerk's thin face was white and drawn. His hand trembled, now, as he lifted his glass. Nor had he any heart for it. It had been all very well, at first; it had seemed something like a lark—just a wild lark. The crew, too, had taken it in the spirit of larking—at first. But now that the time was come both forecastle and cabin had turned uneasy and timid.

In the forecastle, the cook said to the first hand:

"Wisht I was out o' this."

"Wisht I'd never come in it," the first hand sighed.

Their words were in whispers.

"I 'low," said the second hand, with a scared glance about, "that the ol' man will—will do it—the morrow."

The three averted their eyes—each from the other's.

"I 'low," the cook gasped.

Meantime, in the cabin, the clerk, rum now giving him a saucy outlook, said: "'Twill blow half a gale the morrow."

"Ay," said the skipper, uneasily; "an' there's like t' be more than half a gale by the glass."

"There'll be few craft out o' harbour."

"Few craft, Tommy," said the skipper, drawing a timid hand over his bristling red beard. "I'm not likin' t' take the Black Eagle t' sea."

"'Tis like there'll be fog," the clerk continued.

"Ay; 'tis like there'll be a bit o' fog."

Skipper and clerk helped themselves to another dram of rum. Why was it that Tom Tulk had made them a parting gift? Perhaps Tom Tulk understood the hearts of new-made rascals. At any rate, skipper and clerk, both simple fellows, after all, were presently heartened.

Tommy Bull laughed.

"Skipper," said he, "do you go ashore an' say you'll take the Black Eagle t' sea the morrow, blow high or blow low, fair wind or foul."

The skipper looked up in bewilderment.

"Orders," the clerk explained, grinning. "Tell 'em you've been wigged lively enough by Sir Archibald for lyin' in harbour."

Skipper George laughed in his turn.

"For'ard, there!" the clerk roared, putting his head out of the cabin. "One o' you t' take the skipper ashore!"

Three fishing-schooners, bound down from the Labrador, had put in for safe berth through a threatening night. And with the skippers of these craft, and with the idle folk ashore, Skipper George foregathered. Dirty weather? (the skipper declared); sure, 'twas dirty weather. But there was no wind on that coast could keep the Black Eagle in harbour. No, sir: no wind that blowed. Skipper George was sick an' tired o' bein' wigged by Sir Archibald Armstrong for lyin' in harbour. No more wiggin' for him. No, sir! He'd take the Black Eagle t' sea in the mornin'? Let it blow high or blow low, fair wind or foul, 'twould be up anchor an' t' sea for the Black Eagle at dawn. Wreck her? Well, let her go t' wreck. Orders was orders. If the Black Eagle happened t' be picked up by a rock in the fog 'twould be Sir Archibald Armstrong's business to explain it. As for Skipper George, no man would be able t' tell him again that he was afraid t' take his schooner t' sea. An' orders was orders, sir. Yes, sir; orders was orders.

"I'm not likin' the job o' takin' my schooner t' sea in wind an' fog," Skipper George concluded, with a great assumption of indignant courage; "but when I'm told t' drive her, I'll drive, an' let the owner take the consequences."

This impressed the Labrador skippers.

"Small blame t' you, Skipper George," one declared, "if you do lose her."

Well satisfied with the evidence he had manufactured to sustain the story of wreck, Skipper George returned to the schooner.

"Well," he drawled to the clerk, "I got my witnesses. They isn't a man ashore would put t' sea the morrow if the weather comes as it promises."

The clerk sighed and anxiously frowned. Skipper George, infected by this melancholy and regret—for the skipper loved the trim, fleet-footed, well-found Black Eagle—Skipper George sighed, too.

"Time t' turn in, Tommy," said he.

The skipper had done a good stroke of business ashore. Sir Archibald had indeed ordered him to "drive" the Black Eagle.

* * * * *

And in the rising wind of the next day while the Spot Cash lay at anchor in Tilt Cove and Archie's messages were fleeting over the wire to St. John's—the Black Eagle was taken to sea. Ashore they advised her skipper to stick to shelter; but the skipper would have none of their warnings. Out went the Black Eagle under shortened sail. The wind rose; a misty rain gathered; fog came in from the far, wide open. But the Black Eagle sped straight out to sea. Beyond the Pony Islands—a barren, out-of-the-way little group of rocks—she beat aimlessly to and fro: now darting away, now approaching. But there was no eye to observe her peculiar behaviour. Before night fell—driven by the gale—she found poor shelter in a seaward cove. Here she hung grimly to her anchorage through the night. Skipper and crew, as morning approached, felt the wind fall and the sea subside.

Dawn came in a thick fog.

"What do you make of it, Tommy?" the skipper asked.

The clerk stared into the mist. "Pony Islands, skipper, sure enough," said he.

"Little Pony or Big?"

In a rift of the mist a stretch of rocky coast lay exposed.

"Little Pony," said the clerk.

"Ay," the skipper agreed: "an' 'twas Little Pony, easterly shore," he added, his voice dwindling away, "that Tom Tulk advised."

"An' about the tenth o' the month," Tommy Bull added.



CHAPTER XXX

In Which the Fog Thins and the Crew of the "Spot Cash" Fall Foul of a Dark Plot

Morning came to the Spot Cash, too—morning with a thick mist: morning with a slow-heaving sea and a vanished wind. Bill o' Burnt Bay looked about—stared in every direction from the listed little schooner—but could find no familiar landmark. They were in some snug harbour, however, of a desolate and uninhabited coast. There were no cottages on the hills; there were no fish-flakes and stages by the waterside. Beyond the tickle—that wide passage through which the schooner had driven in the dark—the sea was heaving darkly under the gray mist. Barren, rugged rock fell to the harbour water; and rocky hills, stripped of verdure by the winds of a thousand years, hid their bald heads in the fog.

"I don't know what it is," said Bill o' Burnt Bay to the boys; "but I know well enough what it ought t' be."

"'Tis never the Shore," Billy Topsail declared.

"I'm 'lowin'," said Skipper Bill, but yet doubtfully, "that 'tis one o' the Pony Islands. They lies hereabouts," he continued, scratching his head, "long about thirty mile off the mainland. We're on a westerly shore, and that means Islands, for we've never come t' the westerly coast o' Newfoundland. If I could get a peep at the Bald-head I could tell for certain."

The grim landmark called the Bald-head, however,—if this were indeed one of the Pony Islands—was in the mist.

"I'll lay 'tis the Pony Islands," Billy Topsail declared again.

"It may be," said the skipper.

"An' Little Pony, too," Billy went on. "I mind me now that we sheltered in this harbour in the Fish Killer afore she was lost on Feather's Folly."[6]

"I 'low 'tis," Skipper Bill agreed.

Whether the Pony Islands or not—and whether Big Pony or Little Pony—clearing weather would disclose. Meantime, as Archie Armstrong somewhat tartly pointed out, the Spot Cash was to be looked to. She had gone aground at low tide, it seemed; and she was now floating at anchor, free of the bottom. The butt of her bowsprit had been driven into the forecastle; and the bowsprit itself had gone permanently out of commission. Otherwise she was tight and ready. The practical-minded Archie Armstrong determined, with a laugh, that notwithstanding the loss of a bowsprit the firm of Topsail, Armstrong, Grimm & Company would not have to go out of business for lack of insurance. And after an amazingly hearty and hilarious breakfast, which Bagg, the cook—Bagg was the cook—presently announced, the folk of the Spot Cash went ashore to take observations.

"We'll rig a bowsprit o' some sort," Bill o' Burnt Bay remarked, "afore the fog lifts."

The fog was already thinning.

* * * * *

Meantime, on the easterly coast of the Little Pony, the Black Eagle was being warped in towards shore and moored with lines to a low, sheer rock, which served admirably as a landing wharf. The gangplank was run out, the hatches were lifted, the barrows were fetched from below; and all these significant operations were directed in a half-whisper by the rat-eyed little Tommy Bull. Ashore went the fish—ashore by the barrow-load—and into a convenient little gully where the tarpaulins would keep it snug against the weather. Fortune favoured the plan: fog hid the island from the sight of all men. But the faces of the crew grew longer as the work advanced; and the voice of the rat-eyed little clerk fell lower, and his manner turned still more furtive, and his hand began to shake.

In the cabin the skipper sat, with an inspiring dram, engaged in melancholy and apprehensive brooding. Armstrong & Company had not served him ill, after all (thought he); but, pshaw! the Black Eagle was insured to the hilt and would be small loss to the firm. Well, well! she was a tight little schooner and had many a time taken the evil fall weather with a stout heart. 'Twas a pity to scuttle her. Scuttle her? The skipper had much rather scuttle Tom Tulk! But pshaw! after all 'twould but make more work for Newfoundland ship-builders. Would it never be known? Would the murder never out? Could Tommy Bull and the crew be trusted? The skipper had already begun to fear Tommy Bull and the crew. He had caught himself deferring to the cook.

To the cook!

"Pah!" thought the skipper, as he tipped his bottle, "George Rumm knucklin' down to a cook! A pretty pass t' come to!"

Tommy Bull came down the ladder. "Skipper, sir," said he, "you'd best be on deck."

Skipper George went above with the clerk.

"She's gettin' light," said Tommy Bull.

At that moment the skipper started. With a hoarse ejaculation leaping from his throat he stared with bulging eyes towards the hills upon which a shaft of sunlight had fallen. Then he gripped Tommy Bull by the arm.

"Who's that?" he whispered.

"What?" the terrified clerk exclaimed. "Who's what, man? Where—where? What you talkin' about?"

The skipper pointed to the patch of sunlight on the hills. "That!" he gasped.

"'Tis a man!" said the clerk.

"We're cotched!" the skipper groaned.

The rat-like little clerk bared his teeth.

* * * * *

Bill o' Burnt Bay and the boys of the Spot Cash had seen what the lifting fog disclosed—the Black Eagle moored to the rocks of the Little Pony and unloading. But they had not fathomed the mystery. A mystery it was, however, and a deep one. To solve it they came down the hill towards the schooner in a body and were presently face to face with skipper and clerk on the deck. The crew went on with the unloading; there was never a hint of hesitation or embarrassment. And the skipper of the Spot Cash was serenely made welcome. Whatever rat-like impulse to bite may have been in the heart of the little clerk, when Bill o' Burnt Bay came over the crest of the hill, it had now vanished in discreet politeness. There was no occasion for biting. Had there been—had the crew of the Black Eagle been caught in the very act of scuttling the ship—Tommy Bull would no doubt have driven his teeth in deep. Even amateur scoundrels at bay may be highly dangerous antagonists. These were amateur scoundrels, to be sure, and good-hearted in the main; but they were not yet by any means at bay.

"Jus' a little leak, Skipper Bill," Skipper George explained, when Bill o' Burnt Bay had accounted for his presence in Little Pony. "Sprung it in the gale."

"Did you, now?" said Skipper Bill, suspiciously; "'tis lucky we happened along. I'm a bit of a carpenter, meself, an' I'd——"

"Not at all!" Skipper George protested, with a large wave of the hand. "Not at all!"

"'Twould be no trouble——"

"Not at all!" Skipper George repeated. "Here's Tommy just found the spot, an' we'll plug it in short order."

Skipper Bill could ill conceal his suspicion.

"You're in trouble yourself with the Spot Cash, says you," said Skipper George. "We'll lend you a spar an' a couple o' hands t' set it."

"We'll buy the spar," Archie put in.

Skipper George laughed heartily. "Well, well," said he. "Have it your own way. You make your repairs, an' I'll make mine; an' then we'll see who's back t' the Shore ports first."

Archie bethought himself.

"I'll lay you," Skipper George went on, clapping Archie on the back, "that you'll not find a fish in the harbours where the Black Eagle goes."

"You're ordered home, Skipper George," said Archie. "I've this message from Tilt Cove."

Skipper George glanced at the telegram. "Well, well!" said he, blandly; "we're nigh loaded, anyhow."

Archie wondered afterwards why Skipper George had caught his breath and lost some of his colour.

* * * * *

Presently the crew of the Spot Cash, with two stout hands from the Black Eagle, went over the hills with the spare spar. Skipper George and Tommy Bull made haste to the cabin.

"Ordered home," said the skipper, slapping the message on the counter.

"Forthwith," Tommy Bull added.

"There's more here than appears," the anxious skipper went on. "Tommy," said he, gravely, "there's something back o' this."

The clerk beat a devil's tattoo in perturbation.

"There's more suspected than these words tell," the skipper declared.

"'Tis by sheer good luck, Skipper George," said the clerk, "that we've a vessel t' take home. I tell you, b'y," said he, flushing with suspicion and rage, "I don't trust Tom Tulk. He'd sell his mother for a slave for a thousand dollars."

"Tom Tulk!" Skipper George exclaimed. "By thunder!" he roared, "Tom Tulk has blowed!"

For the second time that day the rat-like little clerk of the Black Eagle bared his teeth—now with a little snarl.

"They've no proof," said the skipper.

"True," the clerk agreed; "but they's as many as two lost jobs aboard this vessel. They'll be two able-bodied seamen lookin' for a berth when the Black Eagle makes St. John's."

"Well, Tommy Bull," said the skipper, with a shrug, "'tis the clerk that makes prices aboard a tradin' schooner; and 'twill be the clerk that will explain in this particular case."

"Huh!" Tommy Bull sneered.

Next day the Black Eagle, with her fish again aboard, put to sea and sped off on a straight course for St. John's. Notwithstanding the difficulties in store, clerk and skipper were in good humour with all the world (except Tom Tulk); and the crew was never so light-hearted since the voyage began. But as the day drew along—and as day by day passed—and as the home port and Sir Archibald's level eyes came ever nearer—the skipper grew troubled. Why should the Black Eagle have been ordered home? Why had Sir Archibald used that mysterious and unusual word "forthwith" with such emphasis? What lay behind the brusque order? Had Tom Tulk played false? Would there be a constable on the wharf? With what would Sir Archibald charge the skipper? Altogether, the skipper of the Black Eagle had never sailed a more disquieting voyage. And when the Black Eagle slipped through the narrows to St. John's harbour he was like a dog come home for a thrashing.

——-

[6] As related in "The Adventures of Billy Topsail."



CHAPTER XXXI

In Which the "Spot Cash" is Picked up by Blow-Me-Down Rock In Jolly Harbour, Wreckers Threaten Extinction and the Honour of the Firm Passes into the Keeping of Billy Topsail

The Spot Cash made for the French Shore with all the speed her heels could command. The seventh of August! How near it was to the first of September! The firm of Topsail, Armstrong, Grimm & Company, with the skipper and cook, shivered to think of it. Ten more trading days! Not another hour could they afford if the Spot Cash would surely make St. John's harbour on the specified day. And she would—she must—Archie declared. His honour was involved—the honour of them all—of the firm of Topsail, Armstrong, Grimm & Company. Had not Sir Archibald said so?

So in the harbours of the Shore Bill o' Burnt Bay once more tussled valiantly with "The Lost Pirate," and the flags flew, and the phonograph ground out inviting music, and Bobby North shook the hornpipe out of his active toes, and Bagg double-shuffled, and the torches flared, and "Kandy for Kids" and "Don't be Foolish and Fully Fooled" persuaded the populace, and Signor Fakerino created mystification, and Billy Topsail employed his sweet little pipe most wistfully in the old ballad of the coast:

"Sure, the chain 'e parted, An' the schooner drove ashore, An' the wives of the 'ands Never saw un any more, No more! Never saw un any mo-o-o-re!"

It was all to good purpose. Trade was even brisker than in White Bay. Out went the merchandise and in came the fish. Nor did the Spot Cash once leave harbour without a hearty, even wistful, invitation to return. Within seven days, so fast did the fish come aboard, the hold had an appearance of plethora. Jimmie Grimm and Bagg protested that not another quintal of fish could be stowed away. It was fairly time to think of a deck-load. There was still something in the cabin: something to be disposed of—something to turn into fish. And it was Archie who proposed the scheme of riddance.

"A bargain sale," said he. "The very thing."

"An' Jolly Harbour's the place," said the skipper.

"Then homeward bound!" shouted Archie.

They ran into Jolly Harbour on the wings of a brisk southerly wind—and unfortunately in the dusk brought up hard and fast on Blow-Me-Down Rock.

* * * * *

Aground! They were hard and fast aground on Blow-Me-Down Rock in Jolly Harbour at high tide. A malignant sea made a certainty of it. It lifted the Spot Cash—drove her on—and gently deposited her with a horrifying list to starboard. Archie Armstrong wrung his hands and stamped the deck. Where was the first of September now? How was the firm to—to—what was it Sir Archibald had said?—yes; how was the firm to "liquidate its obligations" on the appointed day and preserve its honour?

"By gettin' the Spot Cash afloat," said Skipper Bill, tersely.

"And a pretty time we'll have," groaned Archie.

"I 'low," Bill drawled, "that we may be in for a prettier time still."

"Sure, it couldn't be worse," Billy Topsail declared.

"This here," Bill explained, "is Jolly Harbour; an' the folk o' Jolly Harbour isn't got no reputations t' speak of."

This was hardly enlightening.

"What I means," Skipper Bill went on, "is that the Jolly Harbour folk is called wreckers. They's been a good deal o' talk about wreckers on this coast; an' they's more lies than truth in it. But Jolly Harbour," he added, "is Jolly Harbour; an' the folk will sure come swarmin' in punts and skiffs an' rodneys when they hear they's a vessel gone ashore."

"Sure, they'll give us help," said Billy Topsail.

"Help!" Skipper Bill scornfully exclaimed. "'Tis little help they'll give us. Why, b'y, when they've got her cargo, they'll chop off her standing rigging and draw the nails from her deck planks."

"'Tis a mean, sinful thing to do!" cried Billy.

"They live up to their lights, b'y," the skipper said. "They're an honest, good-hearted, God-fearin' folk on this coast in the main; but they believe that what the sea casts up belongs to men who can get it, and neither judge nor preacher can teach them any better. Here lies the Spot Cash, stranded, with a wonderful list t' starboard. They'll think it no sin to wreck her. I know them well. 'Twill be hard to keep them off once they see that she's high and dry."

Archie began to stamp the deck again.

* * * * *

When the dawn broke it disclosed the situation of the schooner. She was aground on a submerged rock, some distance offshore, in a wide harbour. It was a wild, isolated spot, with spruce-clad hills, which here and there showed their rocky ribs rising from the edge of the water. There was a cluster of cottages in a ravine at the head of the harbour; but there was no other sign of habitation.

Evidently the schooner's deep list betrayed her distress; for when the day had fully broken, a boat was pushed off from the landing-place and rowed rapidly towards her.

"Here's the first!" muttered Skipper Bill. "I'll warn him well."

He hailed the occupant, a fisherman with a simple, good-humoured face, who hung on his oars and surveyed the ship.

"Keep off, there!" shouted the skipper. "We need no man's help. I warn you an' your mates fair not to come aboard. You've no right here under the law so long as there's a man o' the crew left on the ship, and I'll use force to keep you off."

"You're not able to get her off, sir," said the fisherman, rowing on, as if bent on boarding. "She's a wreck."

"Billy," the skipper ordered, "get forward with a gaff and keep him off."

With that the fisherman turned his punt about and made off for the shore.

"Aye, aye, Billy!" he called, good-naturedly. "I'll give you no call to strike me."

"He'll come back with others," the skipper remarked, gloomily. "'Tis a bad lookout."

"We'll try to haul her off with the punt," suggested Archie.

"With the punt!" the skipper laughed. "'Twould be as easy to haul Blow-Me-Down out by the roots. But if we can keep the wreckers off, by trick or by force, we'll not lose her. The Grand Lake passed up the coast on Monday. She'll be steamin' into Hook-and-Line again on Thursday. As she doesn't call at Jolly Harbour we'll have t' go fetch her. We can run over in the punt an' fetch her. 'Tis a matter o' gettin' there and back before the schooner's torn t' pieces."

At dawn of the next day Skipper Bill determined to set out for Hook-and-Line to intercept the steamer. In the meantime there had been no sign of life ashore. Doubtless, the crew of the Spot Cash thought, the news of the wreck was on its way to neighbouring settlements. The wind had blown itself out; but the sea was still running high, and five hands (three of them boys) were needed to row the heavy schooner's punt through the lop and distance. Muscle was needed for the punt; nothing but wit could save the schooner. Who should stay behind?

"Let Archie stay behind," said Billy Topsail.

"No," Skipper Bill replied; "he'll be needed t' bargain with the captain o' the Grand Lake."

There was a moment of silence.

"Billy," said the skipper, "you'll stay."

Billy nodded shortly.

"Now, Billy Topsail," Skipper Bill went on, "I fear you've never read the chapter on' Wreck an' Salvage' in the 'Consolidated Statutes o' Newfoundland.' So I'm going t' tell you some things you don't know. Now, listen careful! By law, b'y," tapping the boy on the breast with a thick, tarry finger, "if they's nobody aboard a stranded vessel—if she's abandoned, as they say in court—the men who find her can have her and all that's in her. That's pretty near the law o' the land—near enough for you, anyway. Contrary, by law, b'y," with another impressive tap, "if they is one o' the crew aboard, he's a right to shoot down any man who comes over the side against his will. That's exactly the law. Do you follow?"

"But I've no mind for shootin' at so good-natured a man," said Billy, recalling the fisherman's broad grin.

"An' I hope you won't have to," said the skipper. "But they's no harm in aiming an empty gun anywhere you've a mind to. So far as I know, they's no harm in firin' away a blast or two o' powder if you forget t' put in the shot."

Billy laughed.

"Billy, boy," said Archie, tremulously, "it's up to you to save the firm of Topsail, Armstrong, Grimm & Company."

"All right, Archie," said Billy.

"I know it's all right," Archie declared.

"They's just two things to remember," said the skipper, from the bow of the punt, before casting off. "The first is to stay aboard; the second is to let nobody else come aboard if you can help it. 'Tis all very simple."

"All right, skipper," said Billy.

"Topsail—Armstrong—Grimm—and—Company," were the last words Billy Topsail heard; and they came from Archie Armstrong.



CHAPTER XXXII

In Which the "Grand Lake" Conducts Herself In a Most Peculiar Fashion to the Chagrin of the Crew of the "Spot Cash"

Skipper Bill and the punt of the stranded Spot Cash made the harbour at Hook-and-Line in good season to intercept the Grand Lake. She was due—she would surely steam in—that very day, said the men of Hook-and-Line. And it seemed to Archie Armstrong that everything now depended on the Grand Lake. It would be hopeless—Skipper Bill had said so and the boys needed no telling—it would be hopeless to attempt to get the Spot Cash off Blow-Me-Down Rock in an unfriendly harbour without the steamer's help.

"'Tis fair hard t' believe that the Jolly Harbour folk would give us no aid," said Jimmie Grimm.

Skipper Bill laughed. "You've no knowledge o' Jolly Harbour," said he.

"'Tis a big expense these robbers are putting us to," Archie growled.

"Robbers?" Bill drawled. "Well, they're a decent, God-fearin' folk, with their own ideas about a wreck."

Archie sniffed.

"I've no doubt," the skipper returned, "that they're thankin' God for the windfall of a tradin' schooner at family worship in Jolly Harbour at this very minute."

This view expressed small faith in the wits of Billy Topsail.

"Oh, Billy Topsail will stand un off," Jimmie Grimm stoutly declared.

"I'm doubtin' it," said the frank skipper.

"Wh-wh-what!" Archie exclaimed in horror.

"I'm just doubtin' it," the skipper repeated.

This was a horrifying confession; and Archie Armstrong knew that Skipper Bill was not only wise in the ways of the French Shore but was neither a man to take a hopeless view nor one needlessly to excite anxiety. When Bill o' Burnt Bay admitted his fear that Billy Topsail had neither the strength nor the wit to save the Spot Cash from the God-fearing folk of Jolly Harbour, he meant more than he said. The affairs of Topsail, Armstrong, Grimm & Company seemed to be in a bad way. It was now more than a mere matter of liquidating an obligation on the first of September; the problem was of liquidating it at all.

"Wisht the Grand Lake would 'urry up," said Bagg.

"I'd like t' save some splinters o' the schooner, anyway," the skipper chuckled, in a ghastly way, "even if we do lose the cargo."

It occurred all at once to Archie Armstrong that Topsail, Armstrong, Grimm & Company were not only in obligation for the debt to Armstrong & Company but were responsible for a chartered craft which was not insured.

"A thousand dollars—a cold thousand dollars—and the Spot Cash!" he exclaimed, aghast.

"Wisht she'd 'urry up," Bagg repeated.

Archie, pacing the wharf, his hands deep in his pockets, his face haggard and white, recalled that his father had once told him that many a man had been ruined by having too large a credit. And Archie had had credit—much credit. A mere boy with a thousand dollars of credit! With a thousand dollars of credit in merchandise and coin and the unquestioned credit of chartering a schooner! He realized that it had been much—too much. Somehow or other, as he feverishly paced the wharf at Hook-and-Line, the trading venture seemed infinitely larger and more precarious than it had in his father's office on the rainy day when the lad had so blithely proposed it. He understood, now, why it was that other boys could not stalk confidently into the offices of Armstrong & Company and be outfitted for a trading voyage.

His father's faith—his father's indulgent fatherhood—had provided the all-too-large credit for his ruin.

"Wisht she'd 'urry up," Bagg sighed.

"Just now," Archie declared, looking Skipper Bill in the eye, "it's up to Billy Topsail."

"Billy's a good boy," said the skipper.

Little Donald North—who had all along been a thoroughly serviceable but inconspicuous member of the crew—began to shed unwilling tears.

"Wisht she'd 'urry up," Bagg whimpered.

"There she is!" Skipper Bill roared.

It was true. There she was. Far off at sea—away beyond Grief Head at the entrance to Hook-and-Line—the smoke of a steamer surely appeared, a black cloud in the misty, glowering day. It was the Grand Lake. There was no other steamer on the coast. Cap'n Hand—Archie's friend, Cap'n Hand, with whom he had sailed on the sealing voyage of the stout old Dictator—was in command. She would soon make harbour. Archie's load vanished; from despair he was lifted suddenly into a wild hilarity which nothing would satisfy but a roaring wrestle with Skipper Bill. The Grand Lake would presently be in; she would proceed full steam to Jolly Harbour, she would pass a line to the Spot Cash, she would jerk the little schooner from her rocky berth on Blow-Me-Down, and presently that selfsame wilful little craft would be legging it for St. John's.

But was it the Grand Lake?

"Lads," the skipper declared, when the steamer was in view, "it sure is the Grand Lake."

They watched her.

"Queer!" Skipper Bill muttered, at last.

"What's queer?" asked Archie.

"She should be turnin' in," the skipper replied. "What's Cap'n Hand thinkin' about?"

"Wisht she'd 'urry up," said Bagg.

The boys were bewildered. The steamer should by this time have had her nose turned towards Hook-and-Line. To round Grief Head she was keeping amazingly far out to sea.

"Wonderful queer!" said the anxious skipper.

The Grand Lake steamed past Hook-and-Line and disappeared in the mist. Evidently she was in haste. Presently there was not so much as a trail of smoke to be descried at sea.



CHAPTER XXXIII

In Which Billy Topsail, Besieged by Wreckers, Sleeps on Duty and Thereafter Finds Exercise For His Wits. In Which, also, a Lighted Candle is Suspended Over a Keg of Powder and Precipitates a Critical Moment While Billy Topsail Turns Pale With Anxiety

At Jolly Harbour, meantime, where Billy Topsail kept watch, except for the flutter of an apron or skirt when the women went to the well for water, there was no sign of life at the cottages the livelong day. No boats ran out to the fishing-grounds; no men were on the flakes; the salmon nets and lobster-traps were not hauled. Billy prepared a spirited defense with the guns, which he charged heavily with powder, omitting the bullets. This done, he awaited the attack, meaning to let his wits or his arms deal with the situation, according to developments.