"You never neither. You said—"

The depot master held up his hand. "Don't both talk at once," he commanded. "Set down and be peaceful, can't you. That's right. What about this Effie, Barzilla?"

"Now look here!" protested Stitt.

"Shut up, Bailey! Who was Effie, Barzilla?"

"She was third assistant roustabout and table girl at the Old Home House," said Wingate triumphantly. "Got another cigar, Sol? Thanks. Yes, this Effie had never worked out afore and she was greener'n a mess of spinach; but she was kind of pretty to look at and—"

"Ah, ha!" crowed Captain Bailey, "here comes the heart confessions. Want to look out for these old bachelors, Sol. Fire away, Barzilla; let us know the worst."

"I took a fancy to her, in a way. She got in the habit of tellin' me her troubles and secrets, me bein' old enough to be her dad—"

"Aw, yes!" this from Stitt, the irrepressible. "That's an old gag. We know—"

"WILL you shut up?" demanded Captain Sol. "Go on, Barzilla."

"Me bein' old enough to be her dad," with a glare at Captain Bailey, "and not bein' too proud to talk with hired help. I never did have that high-toned notion. 'Twa'n't so long since I was a fo'mast hand.

"So Effie told me a lot about herself. Seems she'd been over to the Cattle Show at Ostable one year, and she was loaded to the gunwale with some more or less facts that a fortune-tellin' specimen by the name of the 'Marvelous Oriental Seer' had handed her in exchange for a quarter.

"'Yup,' says she, bobbin' her head so emphatic that the sky-blue ribbon pennants on her black hair flapped like a loose tops'l in a gale of wind. 'Yup,' says she, 'I b'lieve it just as much as I b'lieve anything. How could I help it when he told me so much that has come true already? He said I'd seen trouble, and the dear land knows that's so! and that I might see more, and I cal'late that's pretty average likely. And he said I hadn't been brought up in luxury—'

"'Which wa'n't no exaggeration neither,' I put in, thinkin' of the shack over on the Neck Road where she and her folks used to live.

"'No,' says she; 'and he told me I'd always had longin's for better and higher things and that my intellectuals was above my station. Well, ever sence I was knee high to a kitchen chair I'd ruther work upstairs than down, and as for intellectuals, ma always said I was the smartest young one she'd raised yet. So them statements give me consider'ble confidence. But he give out that I was to make a journey and get money, and when THAT come true I held up both hands and stood ready to swaller all the rest of it.'

"'So it come true, did it?' says I.

"'Um-hm,' says she, bouncin' her head again. 'Inside of four year I traveled 'way over to South Eastboro—'most twelve mile—to my Uncle Issy's fun'ral, and there I found that he'd left me nine hundred dollars for my very own. And down I flops on the parlor sofy and says I: "There! don't talk superstition to ME no more! A person that can foretell Uncle Issy's givin' anybody a cent, let alone nine hundred dollars, is a good enough prophet for ME to tie to. Now I KNOW that I'm going to marry the dark-complected man, and I'll be ready for him when he comes along. I never spent a quarter no better than when I handed it over to that Oriental Seer critter at the Cattle Show." That's what I said then and I b'lieve it yet. Wouldn't you feel the same way?'

"I said sure thing I would. I'd found out that the best way to keep Effie's talk shop runnin' was to agree with her. And I liked to hear her talk.

"'Yup,' she went on, 'I give right in then. I'd traveled same as the fortune teller said, and I'd got more money'n I ever expected to see, let alone own. And ever sence I've been sartin as I'm alive that the feller I marry will be of a rank higher'n mine and dark complected and good-lookin' and distinguished, and that he'll be name of Butler.'

"'Butler?' says I. 'What will he be named Butler for?'

"''Cause the Seer critter said so. He said he could see the word Butler printed out over the top of my head in flamin' letters. Pa used to say 'twas a wonder it never set fire to my crimps, but he was only foolin'. I know that it's all comin' out true. You ain't acquaintanced to any Butlers, are you?'

"'No,' says I. 'I heard Ben Butler make a speech once when he was gov'nor, but he's dead now. There ain't no Butlers on the Old Home shippin' lists.'

"'Oh, I know that!' she says. 'And everybody round here is homelier'n a moultin' pullet. There now! I didn't mean exactly EVERYbody, of course. But you ain't dark complected, you know, nor—'

"'No,' says I, 'nor rank nor distinguished neither. Course the handsome part might fit me, but I'd have to pass on the rest of the hand. That's all right, Effie; my feelin's have got fire-proofed sence I've been in the summer hotel business. Now you'd better run along and report to Susannah. I hear her whoopin' for you, and she don't light like a canary bird on the party she's mad with.'

"She didn't, that was a fact. Susannah Debs, who was housekeeper for us that year, was middlin' young and middlin' good-lookin', and couldn't forget it. Also and likewise, she had a suit for damages against the railroad, which she had hopes would fetch her money some day or other, and she couldn't forget that neither. She was skipper of all the hired hands and, bein' as Effie was prettier than she was, never lost a chance to lay the poor girl out. She put the other help up to pokin' fun at Effie's green ways and high-toned notions, and 'twas her that started 'em callin' her 'Lady Evelyn' in the fo'castle—servants' quarters, I mean.

"'I'm a-comin', 'screams Effie, startin' for the door. 'Susannah's in a tearin' hurry to get through early to-day,' she adds to me. 'She's got the afternoon off, and her beau's comin' to take her buggy ridin'. He's from over Harniss way somewheres and they say he's just lovely. My sakes! I wisht somebody'd take ME to ride. Ah hum! cal'late I'll have to wait for my Butler man. Say, Mr. Wingate, you won't mention my fortune to a soul, will you? I never told anybody but you.'

"I promised to keep mum and she cleared out. After dinner, as I was smokin', along with Cap'n Jonadab, on the side piazza, a horse and buggy drove in at the back gate. A young chap with black curly hair was pilotin' the craft. He was a stranger to me, wore a checkerboard suit and a bonfire necktie, and had his hat twisted over one ear. Altogether he looked some like a sunflower goin' to seed.

"'Who's that barber's sign when it's to home?' says I to Jonadab. He snorted contemptuous.

"'That?' he says. 'Don't you know the cut of that critter's jib? He plays pool "for the house" in Web Saunders's place over to Orham. He's the housekeeper's steady comp'ny—steady by spells, if all I hear's true. Good-for-nothin' cub, I call him. Wisht I'd had him aboard a vessel of mine; I'd 'a' squared his yards for him. Look how he cants his hat to starboard so's to show them lovelocks. Bah!'

"'What's his name?' I asks.

"'Name? Name's Butler—Simeon Butler. Don't you remember . . . Hey? What in tunket . . .?'

"Both of us had jumped as if somebody'd touched off a bombshell under our main hatches. The windows of the dining room was right astern of us. We whirled round, and there was Effie. She'd been clearin' off one of the tables and there she stood, with the smashed pieces of an ice-cream platter in front of her, the melted cream sloppin' over her shoes, and her face lookin' like the picture of Lot's wife just turnin' to salt. Only Effie looked as if she enjoyed the turnin'. She never spoke nor moved, just stared after that buggy with her black eyes sparklin' like burnt holes in a blanket.

"I was too astonished to say anything, but Jonadab had his eye on that smashed platter and HE had things to say, plenty of 'em. I walked off and left Effie playin' congregation to a sermon on the text 'Crockery costs money.' You'd think that ice-cream dish was a genuine ugly, nicked 'antique' wuth any city loon's ten dollars, instead of bein' only new and pretty fifty-cent china. I felt real sorry for the poor girl.

"But I needn't have been. That evenin' I found her on the back steps, all Sunday duds and airs. Her hair had a wire friz on it, and her dress had Joseph's coat in Scriptur' lookin' like a mournin' rig. She'd have been real handsome—to a body that was color blind.

"'My, Effie!' says I, 'you sartin do look fine to-night.'

"'Yup,' she says, contented, 'I guess likely I do. Hope so, 'cause I'm wearin' all I've got. Say, Mr. Wingate,' says she, excited as a cat in a fit, 'did you see him?'

"'Him?' says I. 'Who's him?'

"'Why, HIM! The one the Seer said was comin'. The handsome, dark-complected feller I'm goin' to marry. The Butler one. That was him in the buggy this afternoon.'

"I looked at her. I'd forgot all about the fool prophecy.

"'Good land of love!' I says. 'You don't cal'late he's comin' to marry YOU, do you, just 'cause his name's Butler? There's ten thousand Butlers in the world. Besides, your particular one was slated to be high ranked and distinguished, and this specimen scrubs up the billiard-room floor and ain't no more distinguished than a poorhouse pig.'

"'Ain't?' she sings out. 'Ain't distinguished? With all them beautiful curls, and rings on his fingers, and—'

"'Bells on his toes? No!' says I, emphatic. 'Anyhow, he's signed for the v'yage already. He's Susannah Debs's steady, and they're off buggy ridin' together right now. And if she catches you makin' eyes at her best feller—Whew!'

"Didn't make no difference. He was her Butler, sure. 'Twas Fate—that's what 'twas—Fate, just the same as in storybooks. She was sorry for poor Susannah and she wouldn't do nothin' mean nor underhanded; but couldn't I understand that 'twas all planned out for her by Providence and that everlastin' Seer? Just let me watch and see, that's all.

"What can you do with an idiot like that? I walked off disgusted and left her. But I cal'lated to watch. I judged 'twould be more fun than any 'play-actin' show ever I took in.

"And 'twas, in a way. Don't ask me how they got acquainted, 'cause I can't tell you for sartin. Nigh's I can learn, Susannah and Sim had some sort of lover's row durin' their buggy ride, and when they got back to the hotel they was scurcely on speakin' terms. And Sim, who always had a watch out for'ard for pretty girls, see Effie standin' on the servants' porch all togged up regardless and gay as a tea-store chromo, and nothin' to do but he must be introduced. One of the stable hands done the introducin', I b'lieve, and if he'd have been hung afterwards 'twould have sarved him right.

"Anyhow, inside of a week Butler come round again to take a lady friend drivin', but this time 'twas Effie, not the housekeeper, that was passenger. And Susannah glared after 'em like a cat after a sparrow, and the very next day she was for havin' Effie discharged for incompetentiveness. I give Jonadab the tip, though, so that didn't go through. But I cal'late there was a parrot and monkey time among the help from then on.

"They all sided with Susannah, of course. She was their boss, for one thing, and 'Lady Evelyn's' high-minded notions wa'n't popular, for another. But Effie didn't care—bless you, no! She and that Butler sport was together more and more, and the next thing I heard was that they was engaged. I snum, if it didn't look as if the Oriental man knew his job after all.

"I spoke to the stable hand about it.

"'Look here,' says I, 'is this business betwixt that pool player and our Effie serious?'

"He laughed. 'Serious enough, I guess,' he says. 'They're goin' to be married pretty soon, I hear. It's all 'cordin' to the law and the prophets. Ain't you heard about the fortune tellin' and how 'twas foretold she'd marry a Butler?'

"I'd heard, but I didn't s'pose he had. However, it seemed that Effie hadn't been able to keep it to herself no longer. Soon as she'd hooked her man she'd blabbed the whole thing. The fo'mast hands wa'n't talkin' of nothin' else, so this feller said.

"'Humph!' says I. 'Is it the prophecy that Butler's bankin' on?'

"He laughed again. 'Not so much as on Lady Evelyn's nine hundred, I cal'late,' says he. Sim likes Susannah the best of the two, so we all reckon, but she ain't rich and Effie is. And yet, if the Debs woman should win that lawsuit of hers against the railroad she'd have pretty nigh twice as much. Butler's a fool not to wait, I think,' he says.

"This was of a Monday. On Friday evenin' Effie comes around to see me. I was alone in the office.

"'Mr. Wingate,' she says, 'I'm goin' to leave to-morrer night. I'm goin' to be married on Sunday.'

"I'd been expecting it, but I couldn't help feelin' sorry for her.

"'Don't do nothin' rash, Effie,' I told her. 'Are you sure that Butler critter cares anything about you and not your money?'

"She flared up like a tar barrel. 'The idea!' she says, turnin' red. 'I just come in to give you warnin'. Good-by.'

"'Hold on,' I sung out to her. 'Effie, I've thought consider'ble about you lately. I've been tryin' to help you a little on the sly. I realized that 'twa'n't pleasant for you workin' here under Susannah Debs, and I've been tryin' to find a nice place for you. I wrote about you to Bob Van Wedderburn; he's the rich banker chap who stopped here one summer. "Jonesy," we used to call him. I know him and his wife fust rate, and he'd do 'most anything as a favor to me. I told him what a neat, handy girl you was, and he writes that he'll give you the job of second girl at his swell New York house, if you want it. Now you just hand that Sim Butler his clearance papers and go work for Bob's wife. The wages are double what you get here, and—'

"She didn't wait to hear the rest. Just sailed out of the room with her nose in the air. In a minute, though, back she come and just put her head in the door.

"'I'm much obliged to you, Mr. Wingate,' says she. 'I know you mean well. But you ain't had your fate foretold, same's I have. It's all been arranged for me, and I couldn't stop it no more'n Jonah could help swallerin' the whale. I—I kind of wish you'd be on hand at the back door on Sunday mornin' when Simeon comes to take me away. You—you're about the only real friend I've got,' she says.

"And off she went, for good this time. I pitied her, in spite of her bein' such a dough head. I knew what sort of a husband that pool-room shark would make. However, there wa'n't nothin' to be done. And next day Cap'n Jonadab was round, madder'n a licked pup. Seems Susannah's lawyer at Orham had sent for her to come right off and see him. Somethin' about the suit, it was. And she was goin' in spite of everything. And with Effie's leavin' at the same time, what was we goin' to do over Sunday? and so forth and so on.

"Well, we had to do the best we could, that's all. But that Saturday was busy, now I tell you. Sunday mornin' broke fine and clear and, after breakfast was over, I remembered Effie and that 'twas her weddin' day. On the back steps I found her, dressed in all her grandeur, with her packed trunk ready, waitin' for the bridegroom.

"'Ain't come yet, hey, Effie?' says I.

"'No,' says she, smilin' and radiant. 'It's a little early for him yet, I guess.'

"I went off to 'tend to the boarders. At half past ten, when I made the back steps again, she was still there. T'other servants was peekin' out of the kitchen windows, grinnin' and passin' remarks.

"'Hello!' I calls out. 'Not married yet? What's the matter?'

"She'd stopped smilin', but she was as chipper as ever, to all appearances.

"'I—I guess the horse has gone lame or somethin',' says she. 'He'll be here any time now.'

"There was a cackle from the kitchen windows. I never said nothin'. She'd made her nest; now let her roost on it.

"But at twelve Butler hadn't hove in sight. Every hand, male and female, on the place, that wa'n't busy, was hangin' around the back of the hotel, waitin' and watchin' and ridiculin' and havin' a high time. Them that had errands made it a p'int to cruise past that way. Lots of the boarders had got wind of the doin's, and they was there, too.

"Effie was settin' on her trunk, tryin' hard to look brave. I went up and spoke to her.

"'Come, my girl,' says I. 'Don't set here no longer. Come into the house and wait. Hadn't you better?'

"'No!' says she, loud and defiant like. 'No, sir! It's all right. He's a little late, that's all. What do you s'pose I care for a lot of jealous folks like those up there?' wavin' her flipper scornful toward the kitchen.

"And then, all to once, she kind of broke down, and says to me, with a pitiful sort of choke in her voice:

"'Oh, Mr. Wingate! I can't stand this. Why DON'T he come?'

"I tried hard to think of somethin' comfortin' to say, but afore I could h'ist a satisfyin' word out of my hatches I heard the noise of a carriage comin'. Effie heard it, too, and so did everybody else. We all looked toward the gate. 'Twas Sim Butler, sure enough, in his buggy and drivin' the same old horse; but settin' alongside of him on the seat was Susannah Debs, the housekeeper. And maybe she didn't look contented with things in gen'ral!

"Butler pulled up his horse by the gate. Him and Susannah bowed to all hands. Nobody said anything for a minute. Then Effie bounced off the trunk and down them steps.

"'Simmie' she sung out, breathless like, 'Simeon Butler, what does this mean?'

"The Debs woman straightened up on the seat. 'Thank you, marm,' says she, chilly as the top section of an ice chest, 'I'll request you not to call my husband by his first name.'

"It was so still you could have heard yourself grow. Effie turned white as a Sunday tablecloth.

"'Your—husband?' she gasps. 'Your—your HUSBAND?'

"'Yes, marm,' purrs the housekeeper. 'My husband was what I said. Mr. Butler and me have just been married.'

"'Sorry, Effie, old girl,' puts in Butler, so sassy I'd love to have preached his fun'ral sermon. 'Too bad, but fust love's strongest, you know. Susie and me was engaged long afore you come to town.'

"THEN such a haw-haw and whoop bust from the kitchen and fo'castle as you never heard. For a jiffy poor Effie wilted right down. Then she braced up and her black eyes snapped.

"'I wish you joy of your bargain, marm,' says she to Susannah. 'You'd ought to be proud of it. And as for YOU,' she says, swingin' round toward the rest of the help, 'I—'

"'How 'bout that prophet?' hollers somebody.

"'Three cheers for the Oriental!' bellers somebody else.

"'When you marry the right Butler fetch him along and let us see him!' whoops another.

"She faced 'em all, and I gloried in her spunk.

"'When I marry him I WILL come back,' says she. 'And when I do you'll have to get down on your knees and wait on me. You—and you—Yes, and YOU, too!'

"The last two 'yous' was hove at Sim and Susannah. Then she turned and marched into the hotel. And the way them hired hands carried on was somethin' scandalous—till I stepped in and took charge of the deck.

"That very afternoon I put Effie and her trunk aboard the train. I paid her fare to New York and give her directions how to locate the Van Wedderburns.

"'So long, Effie,' says I to her. 'It's all right. You're enough sight better off. All you want to do now is to work hard and forget all that fortune-tellin' foolishness.'

"She whirled on me like a top.

"'Forget it!' she says. 'I GUESS I shan't forget it! It's comin' true, I tell you—same as all the rest come true. You said yourself there was ten thousand Butlers in the world. Some day the right one—the handsome, high-ranked, distinguished one—will come along, and I'll get him. You wait and see, Mr. Wingate—just you wait and see.'"



CHAPTER XV

THE "HERO" AND THE COWBOY

"So that was the end of it, hey?" said Captain Bailey. "Well, it's what you might expect, but it wa'n't much to be so anxious to tell; and as for PROVIN' anything about fortune tellin'—why—"

"It AIN'T the end," shouted the exasperated Barzilla. "Not nigh the end. 'Twas the beginnin'. The housekeeper left us that day, of course, and for the rest of that summer the servant question kept me and Jonadab from thinkin' of other things. Course, the reason for the Butler scamp's sudden switch was plain enough. Susannah's lawyer had settled the case with the railroad and, even after his fee was subtracted, there was fifteen hundred left. That was enough sight better'n nine hundred, so Sim figgered when he heard of it; and he hustled to make up with his old girl.

"Fifteen hundred dollars doesn't last long with some folks. At the beginnin' of the next spring season both of 'em was round huntin' jobs. Susannah was a fust-rate waitress, so we hired her for that—no more housekeeper for hers, and served her right. As for her husband, we took him on in the stable. He wouldn't have been wuth his salt if it hadn't been for her. She said she'd keep him movin' and she did. She nagged and henpecked him till I'd have been sorry if 'twas anybody else; as 'twas, I got consider'ble satisfaction out of it.

"I got one letter from Effie pretty soon after she left, sayin' she liked her new job and that the Van Wedderburns liked her. And that's all I did hear, though Bob himself wrote me in May, sayin' him and Mabel, his wife, had bought a summer cottage in Wapatomac, and me and Jonadab—especially me—must be sure and come to see it and them. He never mentioned his second girl, and I almost forgot her myself.

"But one afternoon in early July a big six-cylinder automobile come sailin' down the road and into the Old Home House yard. A shofer—I b'lieve that's what they call the tribe—was at the helm of it, and on the back seat, lollin' luxurious against the upholstery, was a man and a woman, got up regardless in silk dusters and goggles and veils and prosperity. I never expect to see the Prince of Wales and his wife, but I know how they'd look—after seein' them two.

"Jonadab was at the bottom step to welcome 'em, bowin' and scrapin' as if his middle j'int had just been iled. I wa'n't fur astern, and every boarder on deck was all eyes and envy.

"The shofer opens the door of the after cockpit of the machine, and the man gets out fust, treadin' gingerly but grand, as if he was doin' the ground a condescension by steppin' on it. Then he turns to the woman and she slides out, her duds rustlin' like the wind in a scrub oak. The pair sails up the steps, Jonadab and me backin' and fillin' in front of 'em. All the help that could get to a window to peek had knocked off work to do it.

"'Ahem!' says the man, pompous as Julius Caesar—he was big and straight and fine lookin' and had black side whiskers half mast on his cheeks—ahem!' says he. 'I say, good people, may we have dinner here?'

"Well, they tell us time and tide waits for no man, but prob'ly that don't include the nobility. Anyhow, although 'twas long past our reg'lar dinner time, I heard Jonadab tellin' 'em sure and sartin they could. If they wouldn't mind settin' on the piazza or in the front parlor for a spell, he'd have somethin' prepared in a jiffy. So up to the piazza they paraded and come to anchor in a couple of chairs.

"'You can have your automobile put right into the barn,' I says, 'if you want to.'

"'I don't know as it will be necessary—' began the big feller, but the woman interrupted him. She was starin' through her thick veil at the barn door. Sim Butler, in his overalls and ragged shirt sleeves, was leanin' against that door, interested as the rest of us in what was goin' on.

"'I would have it put there, I think,' says the woman, lofty and superior. 'It is rather dusty, and I think the wheels ought to be washed. Can that man be trusted to wash 'em?' she asks, pointin' kind of scornful at Simeon.

"'Yes, marm, I cal'late so,' I says. 'Here, Sim!' I sung out, callin' Butler over to the steps. 'Can you wash the dust off them wheels?'

"He said course he could, but he didn't act joyful over the job. The woman seemed some doubtful.

"'He looks like a very ignorant, common person,' says she, loud and clear, so that everybody, includin' the 'ignorant person' himself, could hear her. 'However, James'll superintend. James,' she orders the shofer, 'you see that it is well done, won't you? Make him be very careful.'

"James looked Butler over from head to foot. 'Humph!' he sniffs, contemptuous, with a kind of half grin on his face. 'Yes, marm, I'll 'tend to it.'

"So he steered the auto into the barn, and Simeon got busy. Judgin' by the sharp language that drifted out through the door, 'twas plain that the shofer was superintendin' all right.

"Jonadab heaves in sight, bowin', and makes proclamation that dinner is served. The pair riz up majestic and headed for the dinin' room. The woman was a little astern of her man, and in the hall she turns brisk to me.

"'Mr. Wingate,' she whispers, 'Mr. Wingate.'

"I stared at her. Her voice had sounded sort of familiar ever sence I heard it, but the veil kept a body from seein' what she looked like.

"'Hey?' I sings out. 'Have I ever—'

"'S-s-h-h!' she whispers. 'Say, Mr. Wingate, that—that Susannah thing is here, ain't she? Have her wait on us, will you, please?'

"And she swept the veil off her face. I choked up and staggered bang! against the wall. I swan to man if it wa'n't Effie! EFFIE, in silks and automobiles and gorgeousness!

"Afore I could come to myself the two of 'em marched into that dining room. I heard a grunt and a 'Land of love!' from just ahead of me. That was Jonadab. And from all around that dinin' room come a sort of gasp and then the sound of whisperin'. That was the help.

"They took a table by the window, which had been made ready. Down they set like a king and a queen perchin' on thrones. One of the waiter girls went over to em.

"But I'd come out of my trance a little mite. The situation was miles ahead of my brain, goodness knows, but the joke of it all was gettin' a grip on me. I remembered what Effie had asked and I spoke up prompt.

"'Susannah,' says I, 'this is a particular job and we're anxious to please. You'd better do the waitin' yourself.'

"I wish you could have seen the glare that ex-housekeeper give me. For a second I thought we'd have open mutiny. But her place wa'n't any too sartin and she didn't dare risk it. Over she walked to that table, and the fun began.

"Jonadab had laid himself out to make that meal a success, but they ate it as if 'twas pretty poor stuff and not by no means what they fed on every day. They found fault with 'most everything, but most especial with Susannah's waitin'. My! how they did order her around—a mate on a cattle boat wa'n't nothin' to it. And when 'twas all over and they got up to go, Effie says, so's all hands can hear:

"'The food here is not so bad, but the service—oh, horrors! However, Albert,' says she to the side-whiskered man, 'you had better give the girl our usual tip. She looks as if she needed it, poor thing!'

"Then they paraded out of the room, and I see Susannah sling the half dollar the man had left on the table clear to Jericho, it seemed like.

"The auto was waitin' by the piazza steps. The shofer and Butler was standin' by it. And when Sim see Effie with her veil throwed back he pretty nigh fell under the wheels he'd been washin' so hard. And he looked as if he wisht they'd run over him.

"'Oh, dear!' sighs Effie, lookin' scornful at the wheels. 'Not half clean, just as I expected. I knew by the looks of that—that PERSON that he wouldn't do it well. Don't give him much, Albert; he ain't earned it.'

"They climbed into the cockpit, the shofer took the helm, and they was ready to start. But I couldn't let 'em go that way. Out I run.

"'Say—say, Effie!' I whispers, eager. 'For the goodness' sakes, what's all this mean? Is that your—your—'

"'My husband? Yup,' she whispers back, her eyes shinin'. 'Didn't I tell you to look out for my prophecy? Ain't he handsome and distinguished, just as I said? Good-by, Mr. Wingate; maybe I'll see you again some day.'

"The machinery barked and they got under way. I run along for two steps more.

"'But, Effie,' says I, 'tell me—is his name—?'

"She didn't answer. She was watchin' Sim Butler and his wife. Sim had stooped to pick up the quarter the Prince of Wales had hove at him. And that was too much for Susannah, who was watchin' from the window.

"'Don't you touch that money!' she screams. 'Don't you lay a finger on it! Ain't you got any self-respect at all, you miser'ble, low-lived—' and so forth and so on. All the way to the front gate I see Effie leanin' out, lookin' and listenin' and smilin'.

"Then the machine buzzed off in a typhoon of dust and I went back to Jonadab, who was a livin' catechism of questions which neither one of us could answer."

"So THAT'S the end!" exclaimed Captain Bailey. "Well—"

"No, it ain't the end—not even yet. Maybe it ought to be, but it ain't. There's a little more of it.

"A fortni't later I took a couple of days off and went up to Wapatomac to visit the Van Wedderburns, same as I'd promised. Their 'cottage' was pretty nigh big enough for a hotel, and was so grand that I, even if I did have on my Sunday frills, was 'most ashamed to ring the doorbell.

"But I did ring it, and the feller that opened the door was big and solemn and fine lookin' and had side whiskers. Only this time he wore a tail coat with brass buttons on it.

"How do you do, Mr. Wingate?' says he. Step right in, sir, if you please. Mr. and Mrs. Van Wedderburn are out in the auto, but they'll be back shortly, and very glad to see you, sir, I'm sure. Let me take your grip and hat. Step right into the reception room and wait, if you please, sir. Perhaps,' he says, and there was a twinkle in his port eye, though the rest of his face was sober as the front door of a church, 'perhaps,' says he, 'you might wish to speak with my wife a moment. I'll take the liberty of sendin' her to you, sir.'

"So, as I sat on the gunwale of a blue and gold chair, tryin' to settle whether I was really crazy or only just dreamin', in bounces Effie, rigged up in a servant's cap and apron. She looked polite and demure, but I could see she was just bubblin' with the joy of the whole bus'ness.

"'Effie,' says I, 'Effie, what—what in the world—?'

"She giggled. 'Yup,' she says, 'I'm chambermaid here and they treat me fine. Thank you very much for gettin' me the situation.'

"'But—but them doin's the other day? That automobile—and them silks and satins—and—?'

"'Mr. Van Wedderburn lent 'em to me,' she said, 'him an' his wife. And he lent us the auto and the shofer, too. I told him about my troubles at the Old Home House and he thought 'twould be a great joke for me to travel back there like a lady. He's awful fond of a joke—Mr. Van Wedderburn is.'

"'But that man?' I gasps. 'Your husband? That's what you said he was.'

"'Yes,' says she, 'he is. We've been married 'most six months now. My prophecy's all come true. And DIDN'T I rub it in on that Susannah Debs and her scamp of a Sim? Ho! ho!'

"She clapped her hands and pretty nigh danced a jig, she was so tickled.

"'But is he a Butler?' I asks.

"'Yup,' she nods, with another giggle. 'He's A butler, though his name's Jenkins; and a butler's high rank—higher than chambermaid, anyhow. You see, Mr. Wingate,' she adds, ''twas all my fault. When that Oriental Seer man at the show said I was to marry a butler, I forgot to ask him whether you spelt it with a big B or a little one.'"

The unexpected manner in which Effie's pet prophecy had been fulfilled amused Captain Sol immensely. He laughed so heartily that Issy McKay looked in at the door with an expression of alarm on his face. The depot master had laughed little during the past few days, and Issy was surprised.

But Captain Stitt was ready with a denial. He claimed that the prophecy was NOT fulfilled and therefore all fortune telling was fraudulent. Barzilla retorted hotly, and the argument began again. The two were shouting at each other. Captain Sol stood it for a while and then commanded silence.

"Stop your yellin'!" he ordered. "What ails you fellers? Think you can prove it better by screechin'? They can hear you half a mile. There's Cornelius Rowe standin' gawpin' on the other side of the street this minute. He thinks there's a fire or a riot, one or t'other. Let's change the subject. See here, Bailey, didn't you start to tell us somethin' last time you was in here about your ridin' in an automobile?"

"I started to—yes. But nobody'd listen. I rode in one and I sailed in one. You see—"

"I'm goin' outdoor," declared Barzilla.

"No, you're not. Bailey listened to you. Now you do as much for him. I heard a little somethin' about the affair at the time it happened and I'd like to hear the rest of it. How was it, Bailey?"

Captain Stitt knocked the ashes from his pipe.

"Well," he began, "I didn't know the critter was weak in his top riggin' or I wouldn't have gone with him in the fust place. And he wa'n't real loony, nuther. 'Twas only when he got aboard that—that ungodly, kerosene-smellin', tootin', buzzin', Old Harry's gocart of his that the craziness begun to show. There's so many of them weak-minded city folks from the Ocean House comes perusin' 'round summers, nowadays, that I cal'lated he was just an average specimen, and never examined him close."

"Are all the Ocean House boarders weak-minded nowadays?" asked the depot master.

Mr. Wingate answered the question.

"My land!" he snapped; "would they board at the Ocean House if they WA'N'T weak-minded?"

Captain Bailey did not deign to reply to this jibe. He continued calmly:

"This feller wa'n't an Ocean Houser, though. He was young Stumpton's automobile skipper-shover, or shofer, or somethin' they called him. He answered to the hail of Billings, and his home port was the Stumpton ranch, 'way out in Montana. He'd been here in Orham only a couple of weeks, havin' come plumb across the United States to fetch his boss the new automobile. You see, 'twas early October. The Stumptons had left their summer place on the Cliff Road, and was on their way South for the winter. Young Stumpton was up to Boston, but he was comin' back in a couple of days, and then him and the shover was goin' automobilin' to Florida. To Florida, mind you! In that thing! If it was me I'd buy my ticket to Tophet direct and save time and money.

"Well, anyhow, this critter Billings, he ain't never smelt salt water afore, and he don't like the smell. He makes proclamations that Orham is nothin' but sand, slush, and soft drinks. He won't sail, he can't swim, he won't fish; but he's hankerin' to shoot somethin', havin' been brought up in a place where if you don't shoot some of the neighbors every day or so folks think you're stuck up and dissociable. Then somebody tells him it's the duckin' season down to Setuckit P'int, and he says he'll spend his day off, while the boss is away, massycreein' the coots there. This same somebody whispers that I know so much about ducks that I quack when I talk, and he comes cruisin' over in the buzz cart to hire me for guide. And—would you b'lieve it?—it turns out that he's cal'latin' to make his duckin' v'yage in that very cart. I was for makin' the trip in a boat, like a sensible man, but he wouldn't hear of it.

"'Land of love!' says I. 'Go to Setuckit in a automobile?'

"'Why not?' he says. 'The biscuit shooter up at the hotel tells me there's a smart chance of folks goes there a-horseback. And where a hoss can travel I reckon the old gal here'—slappin' the thwart of the auto alongside of him—'can go, too!'

"'But there's the Cut-through,' says I.

"''Tain't nothin' but a creek when the freshet's over, they tell me,' says he. 'And me and the boss have forded four foot of river in this very machine.'

"By the 'freshet' bein' over I judged he meant the tide bein' out. And the Cut-through ain't but a little trickle then, though it's a quarter mile wide and deep enough to float a schooner at high water. It's the strip of channel that makes Setuckit Beach an island, you know. The gov'ment has had engineers down dredgin' of it out, and pretty soon fish boats'll be able to save the twenty-mile sail around the P'int and into Orham Harbor at all hours.

"Well, to make a long story short, I agreed to let him cart me to Setuckit P'int in that everlastin' gas carryall. We was to start at four o'clock in the afternoon, 'cause the tide at the Cut-through would be dead low at half-past four. We'd stay overnight at my shanty at the P'int, get up airly, shoot all day, and come back the next afternoon.

"At four prompt he was on hand, ready for me. I loaded in the guns and grub and one thing or 'nother, and then 'twas time for me to get aboard myself.

"'You'll set in the tonneau,' says he, indicatin' the upholstered after cockpit of the concern. I opened up the shiny hatch, under orders from him, and climbed in among the upholstery. 'Twas soft as a feather bed.

"'Jerushy!' says I, lollin' back luxurious. This is fine, ain't it?'

"'Cost seventy-five hundred to build,' he says casual. 'Made to order for the boss. Lightest car of her speed ever turned out.'

"'Go 'way! How you talk! Seventy-five hundred what? Not dollars?'

"'Sure,' he says. Then he turns round—he was in the bow, hangin' on to the steerin' wheel—and looks me over, kind of interested, but superior. 'Say,' he says, 'I've been hearin' things about you. You're a hero, ain't you?'

"Durn them Orham gabblers! Ever sence I hauled that crew of seasick summer boarders out of the drink a couple of years ago and the gov'ment gave me a medal, the minister and some more of his gang have painted out the name I was launched under and had me entered on the shippin' list as 'The Hero.' I've licked two or three for callin' me that, but I can't lick a parson, and he was the one that told Billings.

"'Oh, I don't know!' I answers pretty sharp. 'Get her under way, why don't you?'

"All he done was look me over some more and grin.

"'A hero! A real live gov'ment-branded hero!' he says. 'Ain't scared of nothin', I reckon—hey?'

"I never made no answer. There's some things that's too fresh to eat without salt, and I didn't have a pickle tub handy.

"'Hum!' he says again, reverend-like. 'A sure hero; scared of nothin'! Never rode in an auto afore, did you?'

"'No,' says I, peppery; 'and I don't see no present symptom of ridin' in one now. Cast off, won't you?'

"He cast off. That is to say, he hauled a nickel-plated marlinespike thing toward him, shoved another one away from him, took a twist on the steerin' wheel, the gocart coughed like a horse with the heaves, started up some sort of buzz-planer underneath, and then we begun to move.

"From the time we left my shanty at South Orham till we passed the pines at Herrin' Neck I laid back in that stuffed cockpit, feelin' as grand and tainted as old John D. himself. The automobile rolled along smooth but swift, and it seemed to me I had never known what easy trav'lin' was afore. As we rounded the bend by the pines and opened up the twelve-mile narrow white stretch of Setuckit Beach ahead of us, with the ocean on one side and the bay on t'other, I looked at my watch. We'd come that fur in thirteen minutes.

"'Land sakes!' I says. 'This is what I call movin' right along!'

"He turned round and sized me up again, like he was surprised.

"'Movin'?' says he. 'Movin'? Why, pard, we've been settin' down to rest! Out our way, if a lynchin' party didn't move faster than we've done so fur, the center of attraction would die on the road of old age. Now, my heroic college chum,' he goes on, callin' me out of my name, as usual, 'will you be so condescendin' as to indicate how we hit the trail?'

"'Hit—hit which? Don't hit nothin', for goodness' sake! Goin' the way we be, it would—'

"'Which way do we go?'

"'Right straight ahead. Keep on the ocean side, 'cause there's more hard sand there, and—hold on! Don't do that! Stop it, I tell you!'

"Them was the last rememberable words said by me durin' the next quarter of an hour. That shover man let out a hair-raisin' yell, hauled the nickel marlinespike over in its rack, and squeezed a rubber bag that was spliced to the steerin' wheel. There was a half dozen toots or howls or honks from under our bows somewheres, and then that automobile hopped off the ground and commenced to fly. The fust hop landed me on my knees in the cockpit, and there I stayed. 'Twas the most fittin' position fur my frame of mind and chimed in fust-rate with the general religious drift of my thoughts.

"The Cut-through is two mile or more from Herrin' Neck. 'Cordin' to my count we hit terra cotta just three times in them two miles. The fust hit knocked my hat off. The second one chucked me up so high I looked back for the hat, and though we was a half mile away from it, it hadn't had time to git to the ground. And all the while the horn was a-honkin', and Billings was a-screechin, and the sand was a-flyin'. Sand! Why, say! Do you see that extra bald place on the back of my head? Yes? Well, there was a two-inch thatch of hair there afore that sand blast ground it off.

"When I went up on the third jounce I noticed the Cut-through just ahead. Billings see it, too, and—would you b'lieve it?—the lunatic stood up, let go of the wheel with one hand, takes off his hat and waves it, and we charge down across them wet tide flats like death on the woolly horse, in Scriptur'.

"'Hi, yah! Yip!' whoops Billings. 'Come on in, fellers! The water's fine! Yow! Y-e-e-e! Yip!'

"For a second it left off rainin' sand, and there was a typhoon of mud and spray. I see a million of the prettiest rainbows—that is, I cal'lated there was a million; it's awful hard to count when you're bouncin' and prayin' and drowndin' all to once. Then we sizzed out of the channel, over the flats on t'other side, and on toward Setuckit.

"Never mind the rest of the ride. 'Twas all a sort of constant changin' sameness. I remember passin' a blurred life-savin' station, with three—or maybe thirty—blurred men jumpin' and laughin' and hollerin'. I found out afterwards that they'd been on the lookout for the bombshell for half an hour. Billings had told around town what he was goin' to do to me, and some kind friend had telephoned it to the station. So the life-savers was full of anticipations. I hope they were satisfied. I hadn't rehearsed my part of the show none, but I feel what the parson calls a consciousness of havin' done my best.

"'Whoa, gal!' says Billings, calm and easy, puttin' the helm hard down. The auto was standin' still at last. Part of me was hangin' over the lee rail. I could see out of the part, so I knew 'twas my head. And there alongside was my fish shanty at the P'int, goin' round and round in circles.

"I undid the hatch of the cockpit and fell out on the sand. Then I scrambled up and caught hold of the shanty as it went past me. That fool shover watched me, seemin'ly interested.

"'Why, pard,' says he, 'what's the matter? Do you feel pale? Are you nervous? It ain't possible that you're scared? Honest, now, pard, if it weren't that I knew you were a genuine gold-mounted hero I'd sure think you was a scared man.'

"I never said nothin'. The scenery and me was just turnin' the mark buoy on our fourth lap.

"'Dear me, pard!' continues Billings. 'I sure hope I ain't scared you none. We come down a little slow this evenin', but to-morrow night, when I take you back home, I'll let the old girl out a little.'

"I sensed some of that. And as the shanty had about come to anchor, I answered and spoke my mind.

"'When you take me back home!' I says. 'When you do! Why, you crack-brained, murderin' lunatic, I wouldn't cruise in that hell wagon of yours again for the skipper's wages on a Cunarder. No, nor the mate's hove in!'

"And that shover he put his head back and laughed and laughed and laughed."



CHAPTER XVI

THE CRUISE OF THE RED CAR

"I don't wonder he laughed," observed Wingate, who seemed to enjoy irritating his friend. "You must have been good as a circus."

"Humph!" grunted the depot master. "If I remember right you said YOU wa'n't any ten-cent side show under similar circumstances, Barzilla. Heave ahead, Bailey!"

Captain Stitt, unruffled, resumed:

"I tell you, I had to take it that evenin'," he said. "All the time I was cookin' and while he was eatin' supper, Billings was rubbin' it into me about my bein' scared. Called me all the saltwater-hero names he could think of—'Hobson' and 'Dewey' and the like of that, usin' em sarcastic, of course. Finally, he said he remembered readin' in school, when he was little, about a girl hero, name of Grace Darlin'. Said he cal'lated, if I didn't mind, he'd call me Grace, 'cause it was heroic and yet kind of fitted in with my partic'lar brand of bravery. I didn't answer much; he had me down, and I knew it. Likewise I judged he was more or less out of his head; no sane man would yell the way he done aboard that automobile.

"Then he commenced to spin yarns about himself and his doin's, and pretty soon it come out that he'd been a cowboy afore young Stumpton give up ranchin' and took to automobilin'. That cleared the sky line some, of course; I'd read consider'ble about cowboys in the ten-cent books my nephew fetched home when he was away to school. I see right off that Billings was the livin' image of Deadwood Dick and Wild Bill and the rest in them books; they yelled and howled and hadn't no regard for life and property any more'n he had. No, sir! He wa'n't no crazier'n they was; it was in the breed, I judged.

"'I sure wish I had you on the ranch, Grace,' says he. 'Why don't you come West some day? That's where a hero like you would show up strong.'

"'Godfrey mighty!' I sings out. 'I wouldn't come nigh such a nest of crazy murderers as that fur no money! I'd sooner ride in that automobile of yours, and St. Peter himself couldn't coax me into THAT again, not if 'twas fur a cruise plumb up the middle of the golden street!'

"I meant it, too, and the next afternoon when it come time to start for home he found out that I meant it. We'd shot a lot of ducks, and Billings was havin' such a good time that I had to coax and tease him as if he was a young one afore he'd think of quittin'. It was quarter of six when he backed the gas cart out of the shed. I was uneasy, 'cause 'twas past low-water time, and there was fog comin' on.

"'Brace up, Dewey!' says he. 'Get in.'

"'No, Mr. Billings,' says I. 'I ain't goin' to get in. You take that craft of yourn home, and I'll sail up alongside in my dory.'

"'In your which?' says he.

"'In my dory,' I says. 'That's her hauled up on the beach abreast the shanty.'

"He looked at the dory and then at me.

"'Go on!' says he. 'You ain't goin' to pack yourself twelve mile on THAT SHINGLE?'

"'Sartin I am! says I. 'I ain't takin' no more chances.'

"Do you know, he actually seemed to think I was crazy then. Seemed to figger that the dory wa'n't big enough; and she's carried five easy afore now. We had an argument that lasted twenty minutes more, and the fog driftin' in nigher all the time. At last he got sick of arguin', ripped out somethin' brisk and personal, and got his tin shop to movin'.

"'You want to cross over to the ocean side,' I called after him. 'The Cut-through's been dredged at the bay end, remember.'

"'Be hanged!' he yells, or more emphatic. And off he whizzed. I see him go, and fetched a long breath. Thanks to a merciful Providence, I'd come so fur without bein' buttered on the undercrust of that automobile or scalped with its crazy shover's bowie knife.

"Ten minutes later I was beatin' out into the bay in my dory. All around was the fog, thin as poorhouse gruel so fur, but thickenin' every minute. I was worried; not for myself, you understand, but for that cowboy shover. I was afraid he wouldn't fetch t'other side of the Cut-through. There wa'n't much wind, and I had to make long tacks. I took the inshore channel, and kept listenin' all the time. And at last, when 'twas pretty dark and I was cal'latin' to be about abreast of the bay end of the Cut-through, I heard from somewheres ashore a dismal honkin' kind of noise, same as a wild goose might make if 'twas chokin' to death and not resigned to the worst.

"'My land!' says I. 'It's happened!' And I come about and headed straight in for the beach. I struck it just alongside the gov'ment shanty. The engineers had knocked off work for the week, waitin' for supplies, but they hadn't took away their dunnage.

"'Hi!' I yells, as I hauled up the dory. 'Hi-i-i! Billings, where be you?'

"The honkin' stopped and back comes the answer; there was joy in it.

"'What? Is that Cap'n Stitt?'

"'Yes,' I sings out. 'Where be you?'

"'I'm stuck out here in the middle of the crick. And there's a flood on. Help me, can't you?'

"Next minute I was aboard the dory, rowin' her against the tide up the channel. Pretty quick I got where I could see him through the fog and dark. The auto was on the flat in the middle of the Cut-through, and the water was hub high already. Billings was standin' up on the for'ard thwart, makin' wet footmarks all over them expensive cushions.

"'Lord,' says he, 'I sure am glad to see you, pard! Can we get to land, do you think?'

"'Land?' says I, makin' the dory fast alongside and hoppin' out into the drink. ''Course we can land! What's the matter with your old derelict? Sprung a leak, has it?'

"He went on to explain that the automobile had broke down when he struck the flat, and he couldn't get no farther. He'd been honkin' and howlin' for ten year at least, so he reckoned.

"'Why in time,' says I, 'didn't you mind me and go up the ocean side? And why in nation didn't you go ashore and—But never mind that now. Let me think. Here! You set where you be.'

"As I shoved off in the dory again he turned loose a distress signal.

"'Where you goin'?' he yells. 'Say, pard, you ain't goin' to leave me here, are you?'

"'I'll be back in a shake,' says I, layin' to my oars. 'Don't holler so! You'll have the life-savers down here, and then the joke'll be on us. Hush, can't you? I'll be right back!'

"I rowed up channel a little ways, and then I sighted the place I was bound for. Them gov'ment folks had another shanty farther up the Cut-through. Moored out in front of it was a couple of big floats, for their stone sloops to tie up to at high water. The floats were made of empty kerosene barrels and planks, and they'd have held up a house easy. I run alongside the fust one, cut the anchor cable with my jackknife, and next minute I was navigatin' that float down channel, steerin' it with my oar and towin' the dory astern.

"'Twas no slouch of a job, pilotin' that big float, but part by steerin' and part by polin' I managed to land her broadside on to the auto. I made her fast with the cable ends and went back after the other float. This one was a bigger job than the fust, but by and by that gas wagon, with planks under her and cable lashin's holdin' her firm, was restin' easy as a settin' hen between them two floats. I unshipped my mast, fetched it aboard the nighest float, and spread the sail over the biggest part of the brasswork and upholstery.

"'There,' says I, 'if it rains durin' the night she'll keep pretty dry. Now I'll take the dory and row back to the shanty after some spare anchors there is there.'

"'But what's it fur, pard?' asks Billings for the nine hundred and ninety-ninth time. 'Why don't we go where it's dry? The flood's risin' all the time.'

"'Let it rise,' I says. 'I cal'late when it gets high enough them floats'll rise with it and lift the automobile up, too. If she's anchored bow and stern she'll hold, unless it comes on to blow a gale, and to-morrow mornin' at low tide maybe you can tinker her up so she'll go.'

"'Go?' says he, like he was astonished. 'Do you mean to say you're reckonin' to save the CAR?'

"'Good land!' I says, starin' at him. 'What else d'you s'pose? Think I'd let seventy-five hundred dollars' wuth of gilt-edged extravagance go to the bottom? What did you cal'late I was tryin' to save—the clam flat? Give me that dory rope; I'm goin' after them anchors. Sufferin' snakes! Where IS the dory? What have you done with it?'

"He'd been holdin' the bight of the dory rodin'. I handed it to him so's he'd have somethin' to take up his mind. And, by time, he'd forgot all about it and let it drop! And the dory had gone adrift and was out of sight.

"'Gosh!' says he, astonished-like. 'Pard, the son of a gun has slipped his halter!'

"I was pretty mad—dories don't grow on every beach plum bush—but there wa'n't nothin' to say that fitted the case, so I didn't try.

"'Humph!' says I. 'Well, I'll have to swim ashore, that's all, and go up to the station inlet after another boat. You stand by the ship. If she gets afloat afore I come back you honk and holler and I'll row after you. I'll fetch the anchors and we'll moor her wherever she happens to be. If she shouldn't float on an even keel, or goes to capsize, you jump overboard and swim ashore. I'll—'

"'Swim?' says he, with a shake in his voice. 'Why, pard, I can't swim!'

"I turned and looked at him. Shover of a two-mile-a-minute gold-plated butcher cart like that, a cowboy murderer that et his friends for breakfast—and couldn't swim! I fetched a kind of combination groan and sigh, turned back the sail, climbed aboard the automobile, and lit up my pipe.

"'What are you settin' there for?' says he. 'What are you goin' to do?'

"'Do?' says I. 'Wait, that's all—wait and smoke. We won't have to wait long.'

"My prophesyin' was good. We didn't have to wait very long. It was pitch dark, foggy as ever, and the tide a-risin' fast. The floats got to be a-wash. I shinned out onto 'em, picked up the oar that had been left there, and took my seat again. Billings climbed in, too, only—and it kind of shows the change sence the previous evenin'—he was in the passenger cockpit astern, and I was for'ard in the pilot house. For a reckless daredevil he was actin' mighty fidgety.

"And at last one of the floats swung off the sand. The automobile tipped scandalous. It looked as if we was goin' on our beam ends. Billings let out an awful yell. Then t'other float bobbed up and the whole shebang, car and all, drifted out and down the channel.

"My lashin's held—I cal'lated they would. Soon's I was sure of that I grabbed up the oar and shoved it over the stern between the floats. I hoped I could round her to after we passed the mouth of the Cut-through, and make port on the inside beach. But not in that tide. Inside of five minutes I see 'twas no use; we was bound across the bay.

"And now commenced a v'yage that beat any ever took sence Noah's time, I cal'late; and even Noah never went to sea in an automobile, though the one animal I had along was as much trouble as his whole menagerie. Billings was howlin' blue murder.

"'Stop that bellerin'!' I ordered. 'Quit it, d'you hear! You'll have the station crew out after us, and they'll guy me till I can't rest. Shut up! If you don't, I'll—I'll swim ashore and leave you.'

"I was takin' big chances, as I look at it now. He might have drawed a bowie knife or a lasso on me; 'cordin' to his yarns he'd butchered folks for a good sight less'n that. But he kept quiet this time, only gurglin' some when the ark tilted. I had time to think of another idee. You remember the dory sail, mast and all, was alongside that cart. I clewed up the canvas well as I could and managed to lash the mast up straight over the auto's bows. Then I shook out the sail.

"'Here!' says I, turnin' to Billings. 'You hang on to that sheet. No, you needn't nuther. Make it fast to that cleat alongside.'

"I couldn't see his face plain, but his voice had a funny tremble to it; reminded me of my own when I climbed out of that very cart after he'd jounced me down to Setuckit the day before.

"'What?' he says. 'Wh-what? What sheet? I don't see any sheet. What do you want me to do?'

"'Tie this line to that cleat. That cleat there! CLEAT, you lubber! CLEAT! That knob! MAKE IT FAST! Oh, my gosh t'mighty! Get out of my way!'

"The critter had tied the sheet to the handle of the door instead of the one I meant, and the pull of the sail hauled the door open and pretty nigh ripped it off the hinges. I had to climb into the cockpit and straighten out the mess. I was losin' my temper; I do hate bunglin' seamanship aboard a craft of mine.

"'But what'll become of us?' begs Billings. 'Will we drown?'

"'What in tunket do we want to drown for? Ain't we got a good sailin' breeze and the whole bay to stay on top of—fifty foot of water and more?'

"'Fifty foot!' he yells. 'Is there fifty foot of water underneath us now? Pard, you don't mean it!'

"'Course I mean it. Good thing, too!'

"'But fifty foot! It's enough to drown in ten times over!'

"'Can't drown but once, can you? And I'd just as soon drown in fifty foot as four—ruther, 'cause 'twouldn't take so long.'

"He didn't answer out loud; but I heard him talkin' to himself pretty constant.

"We was well out in the bay by now, and the seas was a little mite more rugged—nothin' to hurt, you understand, but the floats was all foam, and once in a while we'd ship a little spray. And every time that happened Billings would jump and grab for somethin' solid—sometimes 'twas the upholstery and sometimes 'twas me. He wa'n't on the thwart, but down in a heap on the cockpit floor.

"'Let go of my leg!' I sings out, after we'd hit a high wave and that shover had made a more'n ordinary savage claw at my underpinnin'. 'You make me nervous. Drat this everlastin' fog! somethin'll bump into us if we don't look out. Here, you go for'ard and light them cruisin' lights. They ain't colored 'cordin' to regulations, but they'll have to do. Go for'ard! What you waitin' for?'

"Well, it turned out that he didn't like to leave that cockpit. I was mad.

"'Go for'ard there and light them lights!' I yelled, hangin' to the steerin' oar and keepin' the ark runnin' afore the wind.

"'I won't!' he says, loud and emphatic. 'Think I'm a blame fool? I sure would be a jack rabbit to climb over them seats the way they're buckin' and light them lamps. You're talkin' through your hat!'

"Well, I hadn't no business to do it, but, you see, I was on salt water, and skipper, as you might say, of the junk we was afloat in; and if there's one thing I never would stand it's mutiny. I hauled in the oar, jumped over the cockpit rail, and went for him. He see me comin', stood up, tried to get out of the way, and fell overboard backwards. Part of him lit on one of the floats, but the biggest part trailed in the water between the two. He clawed with his hands, but the planks was slippery, and he slid astern fast. Just as he reached the last plank and slid off and under I jumped after him and got him by the scruff of the neck. I had hold of the lashin' end with one hand, and we tailed out behind the ark, which was sloppin' along, graceful as an elephant on skates.

"I was pretty well beat out when I yanked him into that cockpit again. Neither of us said anything for a spell, breath bein' scurce as di'monds. But when he'd collected some of his, he spoke.

"'Pard,' he says, puffin', 'I'm much obleeged to you. I reckon I sure ain't treated you right. If it hadn't been for you that time I'd—'

"But I was b'ilin' over. I whirled on him like a teetotum.

"'Drat your hide!' I says. 'When you speak to your officer you say sir! And now you go for'ard and light them lights. Don't you answer back! If you do I'll fix you so's you'll never ship aboard another vessel! For'ard there! Lively, you lubber, lively!'

"He went for'ard, takin' consider'ble time and hangin' on for dear life. But somehow or 'nuther he got the lights to goin'; and all the time I hazed him terrible. I was mate on an Australian packet afore I went fishin' to the Banks, and I can haze some. I blackguarded that shover awful.

"'Ripperty-rip your everlastin' blankety-blanked dough head!' I roared at him. 'You ain't wuth the weight to sink you. For'ard there and get that fog horn to goin'! And keep it goin'! Lively, you sculpin! Don't you open your mouth to me!'

"Well, all night we sloshed along, straight acrost the bay. We must have been a curious sight to look at. The floats was awash, so that the automobile looked like she was ridin' the waves all by her lonesome; the lamps was blazin' at either side of the bow; Billings was a-tootin' the rubber fog horn as if he was wound up; and I was standin' on the cushions amidships, keepin' the whole calabash afore the wind.

"We never met another craft the whole night through. Yes, we did meet one. Old Ezra Cahoon, of Harniss, was out in his dory stealin' quahaugs from Seth Andrews's bed over nigh the Wapatomac shore. Ezra stayed long enough to get one good glimpse of us as we bust through the fog; then he cut his rodin' and laid to his oars, bound for home and mother. We could hear him screech for half an hour after he left us.

"Ez told next day that the devil had come ridin' acrost the bay after him in a chariot of fire. Said he could smell the brimstone and hear the trumpet callin' him to judgment. Likewise he hove in a lot of particulars concernin' the personal appearance of the Old Boy himself, who, he said, was standin' up wavin' a red-hot pitchfork. Some folks might have been flattered at bein' took for such a famous character; but I wa'n't; I'm retirin' by nature, and besides, Ez's description wa'n't cal'lated to bust a body's vanity b'iler. I was prouder of the consequences, the same bein' that Ezra signed the Good Templars' pledge that afternoon, and kept it for three whole months, just sixty-nine days longer than any previous attack within the memory of man had lasted.

"And finally, just as mornin' was breakin', the bows of the floats slid easy and slick up on a hard, sandy beach. Then the sun riz and the fog lifted, and there we was within sight of the South Ostable meetin'-house. We'd sailed eighteen miles in that ark and made a better landin' blindfold than we ever could have made on purpose.

"I hauled down the sail, unshipped the mast, and jumped ashore to find a rock big enough to use for a makeshift anchor. It wa'n't more'n three minutes after we fust struck afore my boots hit dry ground, but Billings beat me one hundred and seventy seconds, at that. When I had time to look at that shover man he was a cable's length from high-tide mark, settin' down and grippin' a bunch of beach grass as if he was afeard the sand was goin' to slide from under him; and you never seen a yallerer, more upset critter in your born days.

"Well, I got the ark anchored, after a fashion, and then we walked up to the South Ostable tavern. Peleg Small, who runs the place, he knows me, so he let me have a room and I turned in for a nap. I slept about three hours. When I woke up I started out to hunt the automobile and Billings. Both of 'em looked consider'ble better than they had when I see 'em last. The shover had got a gang of men and they'd got the gas cart ashore, and Billings and a blacksmith was workin' over—or rather under—the clockwork.

"'Hello!' I hails, comin' alongside.

"Billings sticks his head out from under the tinware.

"'Hi, pard!' says he. I noticed he hadn't called me 'Grace' nor 'Dewey' for a long spell. Hi, pard,' he says, gettin' to his feet, 'the old gal ain't hurt a hair. She'll be good as ever in a couple of hours. Then you and me can start for Orham.'

"'In HER?' says I.

"'Sure,' he says.

"'Not by a jugful!' says I, emphatic. 'I'll borrer a boat to get to Orham in, when I'm ready to go. You won't ketch me in that man killer again; and you can call me a coward all you want to!'

"'A coward?' says he. 'You a coward? And—Why, you was in that car all night!'

"'Oh!' I says. 'Last night was diff'rent. The thing was on water then, and when I've got enough water underneath me I know I'm safe.'

"'Safe!' he sings out. 'SAFE! Well, by—gosh! Pard, I hate to say it, but it's the Lord's truth—you had me doin' my "Now I lay me's"!'

"For a minute we looked at each other. Then says I, sort of thinkin' out loud, 'I cal'late,' I says, 'that whether a man's brave or not depends consider'ble on whether he's used to his latitude. It's all accordin'. It lays in the bringin' up, as the duck said when the hen tried to swim.'

"He nodded solemn. 'Pard,' says he, 'I sure reckon you've called the turn. Let's shake hands on it.'

"So we shook; and . . ."

Captain Bailey stopped short and sprang from his chair. "There's my train comin'," he shouted. "Good-by, Sol! So long, Barzilla! Keep away from fortune tellers and pretty servant girls or YOU'LL be gettin' married pretty soon. Good-by."

He darted out of the waiting room and his companions followed. Mr. Wingate, having a few final calls to make, left the station soon afterwards and did not return until evening. And that evening he heard news which surprised him.

As he and Captain Sol were exchanging a last handshake on the platform, Barzilla said:

"Well, Sol, I've enjoyed loafin' around here and yarnin' with you, same as I always do. I'll be over again in a month or so and we'll have some more."

The Captain shook his head. "I may not be here then, Barzilla," he observed.

"May not be here? What do you mean by that?"

"I mean that I don't know exactly where I shall be. I shan't be depot master, anyway."

"Shan't be depot master? YOU won't? Why, what on airth—"

"I sent in my resignation four days ago. Nobody knows it, except you, not even Issy, but the new depot master for East Harniss will be here to take my place on the mornin' of the twelfth, that's two days off."

"Why! Why! SOL!"

"Yes. Keep mum about it. I'll—I'll let you know what I decide to do. I ain't settled it myself yet. Good-by, Barzilla."



CHAPTER XVII

ISSY'S REVENGE

The following morning, at nine o'clock, Issy McKay sat upon the heap of rusty chain cable outside the blacksmith's shop at Denboro, reading, as usual, a love story. Issy was taking a "day off." He had begged permission of Captain Sol Berry, the permission had been granted, and Issy had come over to Denboro, the village eight miles above East Harniss, in his "power dory," or gasoline boat, the Lady May. The Lady May was a relic of the time before Issy was assistant depot master, when he gained a precarious living by quahauging, separating the reluctant bivalve from its muddy house on the bay bottom with an iron rake, the handle of which was forty feet long. Issy had been seized with a desire to try quahauging once more, hence his holiday. The rake was broken and he had put in at Denboro to have it fixed. While the blacksmith was busy, Issy laboriously spelled out the harrowing chapters of "Vivian, the Shop Girl; or Lord Lyndhurst's Lowly Love."

A grinning, freckled face peered cautiously around the corner of the blacksmith's front fence. Then an overripe potato whizzed through the air and burst against the shop wall a few inches from the reader's head. Issy jumped.

"You—you everlastin' young ones, you!" he shouted fiercely. "If I git my hands onto you, you'll wish you'd—I see you hidin' behind that fence."

Two barefooted little figures danced provokingly in the roadway and two shrill voices chanted in derision:

"Is McKay—Is McKay— Makes the Injuns run away!

"Scalped anybody lately, Issy?"

Alas for the indiscretions of youth! The tale of Issy's early expedition in search of scalps and glory was known from one end of Ostable County to the other. It had made him famous, in a way.

"If I git a-holt of you kids, I'll bet there'll be some scalpin' done," retorted the persecuted one, rising from the heap of cable.

A second potato burst like a bombshell on the shingles behind him. McKay was a good general, in that he knew when it was wisest to retreat. Shoving the paper novel into his overalls pocket, he entered the shop.

"What's the matter, Is?" inquired the grinning blacksmith. Most people grinned when they spoke to Issy. "Gittin' too hot outside there, was it? Why don't you tomahawk 'em and have 'em for supper?"

"Humph!" grunted the offended quahauger. "Don't git gay now, Jake Larkin. You hurry up with that rake."

"Oh, all right, Is. Don't sculp ME; I ain't done nothin'. What's the news over to East Harniss?"

"Oh, I don't know. Not much. Sam Bartlett, he started for Boston this mornin'."

"Who? Sam Bartlett? I want to know! Thought he was down for six weeks. You sure about that, Is?"

"Course I'm sure. I was up to the depot and see him buy his ticket and git on the cars."

"Did, hey? Humph! So Sam's gone. Gertie Higgins still over to her Aunt Hannah's at Trumet?"

Issy looked at his questioner. "Why, yes," he said suspiciously. "I s'pose she's there. Fact, I know she is. Pat Starkey's doin' the telegraphin' while she's away. What made you ask that?"

The blacksmith chuckled. "Oh, nothin'," he said. "How's her dad's dyspepsy? Had any more of them sudden attacks of his? I cal'late they'll take the old man off some of these days, won't they? I hear the doctor thinks there's more heart than stomach in them attacks."

But the skipper of the Lady May was not to be put off thus. "What you drivin' at, Jake?" he demanded. "What's Sam Bartlett's goin' away got to do with Gertie Higgins?"

In his eagerness he stepped to Mr. Larkin's side. The blacksmith caught sight of the novel in his customer's pocket. He snatched it forth.

"What you readin' now, Is?" he demanded. "More blood and brimstone? 'Vivy Ann, the Shop Girl!' Gee! Wow!"

"You gimme that book, Jake Larkin! Gimme it now!"

Fending the frantic quahauger off with one mighty arm, the blacksmith proceeded to read aloud:

"'Darlin',' cried Lord Lyndhurst, strainin' the beautiful and blushin' maid to his manly bosom, 'you are mine at last. Mine! No—' Jerushy! a love story! Why, Issy! I didn't know you was in love. Who's the lucky girl? Send me an invite to your weddin', won't you?"

Issy's face was a fiery red. He tore the precious volume from its desecrator's hand, losing the pictured cover in the struggle.

"You—you pesky fool!" he shouted. "You mind your own business."

The blacksmith roared in glee. "Oh, ho!" he cried. "Issy's in love and I never guessed it. Aw, say, Is, don't be mean! Who is she? Have you strained her to your manly bosom yit? What's her name?"

"Shut up!" shrieked Issy, and strode out of the shop. His tormentor begged him not to "go off mad," and shouted sarcastic sympathy after him. But Mr. McKay heeded not. He stalked angrily along the sidewalk. Then espying just ahead of him the boys who had thrown the potatoes, he paused, turned, and walking down the carriageway at the side of the blacksmith's place of business, sat down upon a sawhorse under one of its rear windows. He could, at least, be alone here and think; and he wanted to think.

For Issy—although he didn't look it—was deeply interested in another love story as well as that in his pocket. This one was printed upon his heart's pages, and in it he was the hero, while the heroine—the unsuspecting heroine—was Gertie Higgins, daughter of Beriah Higgins, once a fisherman, now the crotchety and dyspeptic proprietor of the "general store" and postmaster at East Harniss.

This story began when Issy first acquired the Lady May. The Higgins home stood on the slope close to the boat landing, and when Issy came in from quahauging, Gertie was likely to be in the back yard, hanging out the clothes or watering the flower garden. Sometimes she spoke to him of her own accord, concerning the weather or other important topics. Once she even asked him if he were going to the Fourth of July ball at the town-hall. It took him until the next morning—like other warriors, Issy was cursed with shyness—to summon courage enough to ask her to go to the ball with him. Then he found it was too late; she was going with her cousin, Lennie Bloomer. But he felt that she had offered him the opportunity, and was happy and hopeful accordingly.

This, however, was before she went to Boston to study telegraphy. When she returned, with a picture hat and a Boston accent, it was to preside at the telegraph instrument in the little room adjoining the post office at her father's store. When Issy bowed blushingly outside the window of the telegraph room, he received only the airiest of frigid nods. Was there what Lord Lyndhurst would have called "another"? It would seem not. Old Mr. Higgins, her father, encouraged no bows nor attentions from young men, and Gertie herself did not appear to desire them. So Issy gave up his tales of savage butchery for those of love and blisses, adored in silence, and hoped—always hoped.

But why had the blacksmith seemed surprised at the departure of Sam Bartlett, the "dudey" vacationist from the city, whose father had, years ago, been Beriah Higgins's partner in the fish business? And why had he coupled the Bartlett name with that of Gertie, who had been visiting her father's maiden sister at Trumet, the village next below East Harniss, as Denboro is the next above it? Issy's suspicions were aroused, and he wondered.

Suddenly he heard voices in the shop above him. The window was open and he heard them plainly.

"Well! WELL!" It was the blacksmith who uttered the exclamation. "Why, Bartlett, how be you? What you doin' over here? Thought you'd gone back to Boston. I heard you had."

Slowly, cautiously, the astonished quahauger rose from the sawhorse and peered over the window sill. There were two visitors in the shop. One was Ed Burns, proprietor of the Denboro Hotel and livery stable. The other was Sam Bartlett, the very same who had left East Harniss that morning, bound, ostensibly, for Boston. Issy sank back again and listened.

"Yes, yes!" he heard Sam say impatiently; "I know, but—see here, Jake, where can I hire a horse in this God-forsaken town?"

"Well, well, Sam!" continued Larkin. "I was just figurin' that Beriah had got the best of you after all, and you'd had to give it up for this time. Thinks I, it's too bad! Just because your dad and Beriah Higgins had such a deuce of a row when they bust up in the fish trade, it's a shame that he won't hark to your keepin' comp'ny with Gertie. And you doin' so well; makin' twenty dollars a week up to the city—Ed told me that—and—"

"Yes, yes! But never mind that. Where can I get a horse? I've got to be in Trumet by eight to-night sure."

"Trumet? Why, that's where Gertie is, ain't it?"

"Look a-here, Jake," broke in the livery-stable keeper. "I'll tell you how 'tis. Oh, it's all right, Sam! Jake knows the most of it; I told him. He can keep his mouth shut, and he don't like old crank Higgins any better'n you and me do. Jake, Sam here and Gertie had fixed it up to run off and git married to-night. He was to pretend to start for Boston this mornin'. Bought a ticket and all, so's to throw Beriah off the scent. He was to get off the train here at Denboro and I was to let him have a horse 'n' buggy. Then, this afternoon, he was goin' to drive through the wood roads around to Trumet and be at the Baptist Church there at eight to-night sharp. Gertie's Aunt Hannah, she's had her orders, and bein' as big a crank as her brother, she don't let the girl out of her sight. But there's a fair at the church and Auntie's tendin' a table. Gertie, she steps out to the cloak room to git a handkerchief which she's forgot; see? And she hops into Sam's buggy and away they go to the minister's. After they're once hitched Old Dyspepsy can go to pot and see the kittle bile."

"Bully! By gum, that's fine! Won't Beriah rip some, hey?"

"Yes, but there's the dickens to pay. I've only got two horses in the stable to-day. The rest are let. And the two I've got—one's old Bill, and he couldn't go twenty mile to save his hide. And t'other's the gray mare, and blamed if she didn't git cast last night and use up her off hind leg so's she can't step. And Sam's GOT to have a horse. Where can I git one?"

"Hum! Have you tried Haynes's?"

"Yes, yes! And Lathrop's and Eldredge's. Can't git a team for love nor money."

"Sho! And he can't go by train?"

"What? With Beriah postmaster at East Harniss and always nosin' through every train that stops there? You can't fetch Trumet by train without stoppin' at East Harniss and—What was that?"

"I don't know. What was it?"

"Sounded like somethin' outside that back winder."

The two ran to the window and looked out. All they saw was an overturned sawhorse and two or three hens scratching vigorously.

"Guess 'twas the chickens, most likely," observed the blacksmith. Then, striking his blackened palms together, he exclaimed:

"By time! I've thought of somethin'! Is McKay is in town to-day. Come over in the Lady May. She's a gasoline boat. Is would take Sam to Trumet for two or three dollars, I'll bet. And he's such a fool head that he wouldn't ask questions nor suspicion nothin'. 'Twould be faster'n a horse and enough sight less risky."

And just then the "fool head," his brain whirling under its carroty thatch, was hurrying blindly up the main street, bound somewhere, he wasn't certain where.

A mushy apple exploded between his shoulders, but he did not even turn around. So THIS was what the blacksmith meant! This was why Mr. Higgins watched his daughter so closely. This was why Gertie had been sent off to Trumet. She had met the Bartlett miscreant in Boston; they had been together there; had fallen in love and—He gritted his teeth and shook his fists almost in the face of old Deacon Pratt, who, knowing the McKay penchant for slaughter, had serious thoughts of sending for the constable.

Beriah Higgins must be warned, of course, but how? To telegraph was to put Pat Starkey in possession of the secret, and Pat was too good a friend of Gertie's to be trusted. There was no telephone at the store. Issy entered the combination grocery store and post office.

"Has the down mail closed yet?" he panted.

The postmaster looked out of his little window.

"Yes," he replied. "Why? Got a letter you want to go? Take it up to the depot. The train's due, but 'tain't here yit. If you run you can make it."

Issy took a card from his pocket. It was the business card of the firm to whom he sold his quahaugs. On the back of the card he wrote in pencil as follows:

"Mr. Beriah Higgins, your daughter Gertrude is going to meet Sam'l Bartlett at the Baptist Church in Trumet at 8 P.M. to-night and get married to him. LOOK OUT!!!"

After an instant's consideration he signed it "A True Friend," this being in emulation of certain heroes of the Deadwood Dick variety. Then he put the card into an envelope and ran at top speed to the railway station. The train came in as he reached the platform. The baggage master was standing in the door of his car.

"Here, mister!" panted Issy. "Jest hand this letter to Beriah Higgins when he takes the mail bag at East Harniss, won't you? It's mighty important. Don't forgit. Thanks."

The train moved off. Issy stared after it, grinning malevolently. Higgins would get that note in ample time to send word to the watchful Aunt Hannah. When the unsuspecting eloper reached the Trumet church, it would be the aunt, not the niece, who awaited him. Still grinning, Mr. McKay walked off the platform, and into the arms of Ed Burns, the stable keeper, and Sam Bartlett, his loathed and favored rival.

"Here he is!" shouted Burns. "Now we've got him."

The foiler of the plot turned pale. Was his secret discovered? But no; his captors began talking eagerly, and gradually the sense of their pleadings became plain. They wanted him—HIM, of all people—to convey Bartlett to Trumet in the Lady May.

"You see, it's a business meetin'," urged Burns. "Sam's got to be there by ha'f past seven or he'll—he won't win on the deal, will you, Sam? Say yes, Issy; that's a good feller. He'll give you—I don't know's he won't give you five dollars."

"Ten," cried Bartlett. "And I'll never forget it, either. Will you, Is?"

A mighty "No!" was trembling on Issy's tongue. But before it was uttered Burns spoke again.

"McKay's got the best boat in these parts," he urged. "She's got a tiptop engine in her, and—"

The word "engine" dropped into the whirlpool of Issy's thoughts with a familiar sound. In the chapter of "Vivian" that he had just finished, the beautiful shopgirl was imprisoned on board the yacht of the millionaire kidnaper, while the hero, in his own yacht, was miles astern. But the hero's faithful friend, disguised as a stoker, was tampering with the villain's engine. A vague idea began to form in Issy's brain. Once get the would-be eloper aboard the Lady May, and, even though the warning note should remain undelivered, he—

Issy smiled, and the ghastliness of that smile was unnoticed by his companions.

"I—I'll do it," he cried. "By mighty! I WILL do it. You be at the wharf here at four o'clock. I wouldn't do it for everybody, Sam Bartlett, but for you I'd do consider'ble, just now. And I don't want your ten dollars nuther."

Doctoring an engine may be easy enough—in stories. But to doctor a gasoline engine so that it will run for a certain length of time and THEN break down is not so easy. Three o'clock came and the problem was still unsolved. Issy, the perspiration running down his face, stood up in the Lady May's cockpit and looked out across the bay, smooth and glassy in the afternoon sun.

The sky overhead was clear and blue, but along the eastern and southern horizon was a gray bank of cloud, heaped in tumbled masses.

A sunburned lobsterman in rubber boots and a sou'wester was smoking on the wharf.

"What time you goin' to start for home, Is?" he asked.

"Oh, in an hour or so," was the absent-minded reply.

"Humph! You'd better cast off afore that or you'll be fog bound. It'll be thicker'n dock mud toward sundown, and you'll fetch up in Waptomac 'stead of East Harniss, 'thout you've got a good compass."

"Oh, my compass is all right," began Issy, and stopped short. The lobsterman made other attempts at conversation, but they were unproductive. McKay was gazing at the growing fog bank and thinking hard. To doctor an engine may be difficult, but to get lost in a fog—He took the compass from the glass-lidded binnacle by the wheel, and carrying it into the little cabin, placed it in the cuddy forward.

It was nearer five than four when the Lady May, her engine barking aggressively, moved out of Denboro Harbor. Mr. Bartlett, the passenger, had been on time and had fumed and fretted at the delay. But Issy was deliberation itself. He had forgotten his quahaug rake, and the lapse of memory entailed a trip to the blacksmith's. Then the gasoline tank needed filling and the battery had to be overhauled.

"Are you sure you can make it?" queried Sam anxiously. "It's important, I tell you. Mighty important."

The skipper snorted in disgust. "Make it?" he repeated. "If the Lady May can't make fourteen mile in two hours—let alone two'n a ha'f—then I don't know her. She's one of them boats you read about, she is."

The Cape makes a wide bend between Denboro and Trumet. The distance between these towns is twenty long, curved miles over the road; by water it is reduced to a straight fourteen. And midway between the two, at the center of the curve, is East Harniss.

The Lady May coughed briskly on. There was no sea, and she sent long, widening ripples from each side of her bow. Bartlett, leaning over the rail, gazed impatiently ahead. Issy, sprawled on the bench by the wheel, was muttering to himself. Occasionally he glanced toward the east. The gray fog bank was now half way to the zenith and approaching rapidly. The eastern shore had disappeared.

"Is! Hi, Is! What are you doing? Don't kill him before my eyes."

Issy came out of his trance with a start.

"What—what's that?" he asked. His passenger was grinning broadly.

"What? Kill who?"

"Why, the big chief, or whoever you had under your knee just then. You've been rolling your eyes and punching air with your fist for the last five minutes. I was getting scared. You're an unmerciful sinner when you get started, ain't you, Is? Who was the victim that time? 'Man Afraid of Hot Water'? or who?"

The skipper scowled. He shoved the fist into his pocket.

"Naw," he growled. "'Twa'n't."

"So? Not an Indian? Then it must have been a white man. Some fellow after your girl, perhaps. Hey?"

The disconcerted Issy was speechless. His companion's chance shot had scored a bull's-eye. Sam whooped.

"That's it!" he crowed. "Sure thing! Give it to him, Is! Don't spare him."

Mr. McKay chokingly admitted that he "wa'n't goin' to."

"Ho, ho! That's the stuff! But who's SHE, Is? When are you going to marry her?"

Issy grunted spitefully. "You ain't married yourself—not yit," he observed, with concealed sarcasm.

The unsuspecting Bartlett laughed in triumph. "No," he said. "I'm not, that's a fact; but maybe I'm going to be some of these days. It looked pretty dubious for a while, but now it's all right."

"'Tis, hey? You're sure about that, be you?"

"Guess I am. Great Scott! what's that? Fog?"

A damp breath blew across the boat. The clouds covered the sky overhead and the bay to port. The fog was pouring like smoke across the water.

"Fog, by thunder!" exclaimed Bartlett.

Issy smiled. "Hum! Yes, 'tis fog, ain't it?" he observed.

"But what'll we do? It'll be here in a minute, won't it?"

"Shouldn't be a mite surprised. Looks 's if twas here now."

The fog came on. It reached the Lady May, passed over her, and shut her within gray, wet walls. It was impossible to see a length from her side. Sam swore emphatically. The skipper was provokingly calm. He stepped to the engine, bent over it, and then returned to the wheel.

"What are you doing?" demanded Bartlett.

"Slowin' down, of course. Can't run more'n ha'f speed in a fog like this. 'Tain't safe."

"Safe! What do I care? I want to get to Trumet."

"Yes? Well, maybe we'll git there if we have luck."

"You idiot! We've GOT to get there. How can you tell which way to steer? Get your compass, man! get your compass!"

"Ain't got no compass," was the sulky answer. "Left it to home."

"Why, no, you didn't. I—"

"I tell you I did. 'Twas careless of me, I know, but—"

"But I say you didn't. When you went uptown after that quahaug rake I explored this craft of yours some. The compass is in that little closet at the end of the cabin. I'll get it."

He rose to his feet. Issy sprang forward and seized him by the arm.

"Set down!" he yelled. "Who's runnin' this boat, you or me?"

The astounded passenger stared at his companion.

"Why, you are," he replied. "But that's no reason—What's the matter with you, anyway? Have your dime novels driven you loony?"

Issy hesitated. For a moment chagrin and rage at this sudden upset of his schemes had gotten the better of his prudence. But Bartlett was taller than he and broad in proportion. And valor—except of the imaginative brand—was not Issy's strong point.

"There, there, Sam!" he explained, smiling crookedly. "You mustn't mind me. I'm sort of nervous, I guess. And you mustn't hop up and down in a boat that way. You set still and I'll fetch the compass."

He stumbled across the cockpit and disappeared in the dusk of the cabin. Finding that compass took a long time. Sam lost patience.

"What's the matter?" he demanded. "Can't you find it? Shall I come?"

"No, no!" screamed Issy vehemently. "Stay where you be. Catch a-holt of that wheel. We'll be spinnin' circles if you don't. I'm a-comin'."

But it was another five minutes before he emerged from the cabin, carrying the compass box very carefully with both hands. He placed it in the binnacle and closed the glass lid.

"'Twas catched in a bluefish line," he explained. "All snarled up, 'twas."

Sam peered through the glass at the compass.

"Thunder!" he exclaimed. "I should say we had spun around. Instead of north being off here where I thought it was, it's 'way out to the right. Queer how fog'll mix a fellow up. Trumet's about northeast, isn't it?"

"No'theast by no'th's the course. Keep her just there."

The Lady May, still at half speed, kept on through the mist. Time passed. The twilight, made darker still by the fog, deepened. They lit the lantern in order to see the compass card. Issy had the wheel now. Sam was forward, keeping a lookout and fretting at the delay.

"It's seven o'clock already," he cried. "For Heaven's sake, how late will you be? I've got to be there by quarter of eight. D'you hear? I've GOT to."

"Well, we're gittin' there. Can't expect to travel so fast with part of the power off. You'll be where you're goin' full as soon as you want to be, I cal'late."

And he chuckled.

Another half hour and, through the wet dimness, a light flashed, vanished, and flashed again. Issy saw it and smiled grimly. Bartlett saw it and shouted.

"'What's that light?" he cried. "Did you see it? There it is, off there."

"I see it. There's a light at Trumet Neck, ain't there?"

"Humph! It's been years since I was there, but I thought Trumet light was steady. However—"

"Ain't that the wharf ahead?"

Sure enough, out of the dark loomed the bulk of a small wharf, with catboats at anchor near it. Higher up, somewhere on the shore, were the lighted windows of a building.

"By thunder, we're here!" exclaimed Sam, and drew a long breath.

Issy shut off the power altogether, and the Lady May slid easily up to the wharf. Feverishly her skipper made her fast.

"Yes, sir!" he cried exultantly. "We're here. And no Black Rover nor anybody else ever done a better piece of steerin' than that, nuther."

He clambered over the stringpiece, right at the heels of his impatient but grateful passenger. Sam's thanks were profuse and sincere.

"I'll never forget it, Is," he declared. "I'll never forget it. And you'll have to let me pay you the—What makes you shake so?"

Issy pulled his arm away and stepped back.

"I'll never forget it, Is," continued Sam. "I—Why! What—?"

He was standing at the shore end of the wharf, gazing up at the lighted windows. They were those of a dwelling house—an old-fashioned house with a back yard sloping down to the landing.

And then Issy McKay leaned forward and spoke in his ear.

"You bet you won't forgit it, Sam Bartlett!" he crowed, in trembling but delicious triumph. "You bet you won't! I've fixed you just the same as the Black Rover fixed the mutineers. Run off with my girl, will ye? And marry her, will ye? I—"

Sam interrupted him. "Why! WHY!" he cried. "That's—that's Gertie's house! This isn't Trumet! IT'S EAST HARNISS!"

The next moment he was seized from behind. The skipper's arms were around his waist and the skipper's thin legs twisted about his own. They fell together upon the sand and, as they rolled and struggled, Issy's yells rose loud and high.

"Mr. Higgins!" he shrieked. "Mr. Higgins! Come on! I've got him! I've got the feller that's tryin' to steal your daughter! Come on! I've got him! I'm hangin' to him!"

A door banged open. Some one rushed down the walk. And then a girl's voice cried in alarm:

"What is it? Who is it? What IS the matter?"

And from the bundle of legs and arms on the ground two voices exclaimed: "GERTIE!"

"But where IS your father?" asked Sam. Issy asked nothing. He merely sat still and listened.

"Why, he's at Trumet. At least I suppose he is. Mrs. Jones—she's gone to telephone to him now—says that he came home this morning with one of those dreadful 'attacks' of his. And after dinner he seemed so sick that, when she went for the doctor, she wired me at Auntie's to come home. I didn't want to come—you know why—but I COULDN'T let him die alone. And so I caught the three o'clock train and came. I knew you'd forgive me. But it seems that when Mrs. Jones came back with the doctor they found father up and dressed and storming like a crazy man. He had received some sort of a letter; he wouldn't say what. And, in spite of all they could do, he insisted on going out. And Cap'n Berry—the depot master—says he went to Trumet on the afternoon freight. We must have passed each other on the way. And I'm so—But why are you HERE? And what were you and Issy doing? And—"

Her lover broke in eagerly. "Then you're alone now?" he asked.

"Yes, but—"

"Good! Your father can't get a train back from Trumet before to-morrow morning. I don't know what this letter was—but never mind. Perhaps friend McKay knows more about it. It may be that Mr. Higgins is waiting now outside the Baptist church. Gertie, now's our chance. You come with me right up to the minister's. He's a friend of mine. He understands. He'll marry us, I know. Come! We mustn't lose a minute. Your dad may take a notion to drive back."

He led her off up the lane, she protesting, he urging. At the corner of the house he turned.

"I say, Is!" he called. "Don't you want to come to the wedding? Seems to me we owe you that, considering all you've done to help it along. Or perhaps you want to stay and fix that compass of yours."

Issy didn't answer. Some time after they had gone he arose from the ground and stumbled home. That night he put a paper novel into the stove. Next morning, before going to the depot, he removed an iron spike from the Lady May's compass box. The needle swung back to its proper position.



CHAPTER XVIII

THE MOUNTAIN AND MAHOMET

The eleventh of July. The little Berry house stood high on its joists and rollers, in the middle of the Hill Boulevard, directly opposite the Edwards lot. Close behind it loomed the big "Colonial." Another twenty-four hours, and, even at its one-horse gait, the depot master's dwelling would be beyond the strip of Edwards fence. The "Colonial" would be ready to move on the lot, and Olive Edwards, the widow, would be obliged to leave her home. In fact, Mr. Williams had notified her that she and her few belongings must be off the premises by the afternoon of the twelfth.

The great Williams was in high good-humor. He chuckled as he talked with his foreman, and the foreman chuckled in return. Simeon Phinney did not chuckle. He was anxious and worried, and even the news of Gertie Higgins's runaway marriage, brought to him by Obed Gott, who—having been so recently the victim of another unexpected matrimonial alliance—was wickedly happy over the postmaster's discomfiture, did not interest him greatly.

"Well, I wonder who'll be the next couple," speculated Obed. "First Polena and old Hardee, then Gertie Higgins and Sam Bartlett! I declare, Sim, gettin' married unbeknownst to anybody must be catchin', like the measles. Nobody's safe unless they've got a wife or husband livin'. Me and Sol Berry are old baches—we'd better get vaccinated or WE may come down with the disease. Ho! ho!"

After dinner Mr. Phinney went from his home to the depot. Captain Sol was sitting in the ticket office, with the door shut. On the platform, forlornly sprawled upon the baggage truck, was Issy McKay, the picture of desolation. He started nervously when he heard Simeon's step. As yet Issy's part in the Bartlett-Higgins episode was unknown to the townspeople. Sam and Gertie had considerately kept silence. Beriah had not learned who sent him the warning note, the unlucky missive which had brought his troubles to a climax. But he was bound to learn it, he would find out soon, and then—No wonder Issy groaned.

"Come in here, Sim," said the depot master. Phinney entered the ticket office.

"Shut the door," commanded the Captain. The order was obeyed. "Well, what is it?" asked Berry.

"Why, I just run in to see you a minute, Sol, that's all. What are you shut up in here all alone for?"

"'Cause I want to be alone. There's been more than a thousand folks in this depot so far to-day, seems so, and they all wanted to talk. I don't feel like talkin'."

"Heard about Gertie Higgins and—"

"Yes."

"Who told you?"

"Hiram Baker told me first. He's a fine feller and he's so tickled, now that his youngster's 'most well, that he cruises around spoutin' talk and joy same as a steamer's stack spouts cinders. He told me. Then Obed Gott and Cornelius Rowe and Redny Blount and Pat Starkey, and land knows how many more, came to tell me. I cut 'em short. Why, even the Major himself condescended to march in, grand and imposin' as a procession, to make proclamations about love laughin' at locksmiths, and so on. Since he got Polena and her bank account he's a bigger man than the President, in his own estimate."