Four Afloat: Being the Adventures of the Big Four on the Water

“You’ll set the table,” said Nelson, “that’s what you’ll do.”

“Sure! How do you do it?”

“Put the cloth on and I’ll come and help you,” answered Nelson.

“Aye, aye, sir! A sailor’s life for me!”

Twenty minutes later they were seated around the table on which steamed a dish of corned-beef hash, nicely browned about the edges, a dish of hashed brown potatoes, and three cups of very strong tea. There was bread, too, and cheese in a little crockery jar, and jam and crackers. Dan uttered a sigh of content as he piled his plate.

“Tommy doesn’t know what he’s missing,” he said.

“I wish to goodness he’d show up,” said Bob. “Is it clearing up any, Dan?”

“Not so you’d notice it,” replied that youth who had been up on deck a moment before. “It’s as thick as ever and maybe thicker.”

“Well, Tommy’ll turn up all right, I guess,” said Nelson.

“When he does I’ll bet he will be hungry enough to eat raw dog,” said Dan. “Gee, but this hash is swell! Who’s got the bread?”

“Have some butter, won’t you, Dan?” begged Nelson.

“Well, I should say not! With my complexion? What are you thinking about? Say, how would a little lard taste on the bread, fellows?”

“You might try it,” answered Bob. “I dare say it wouldn’t be any worse than some butter I’ve met.”

They were very hungry, very merry, and very noisy, and as a consequence of the latter fact they did not hear the sound of oars outside or of feet on the deck, nothing, in fact, until some one stumbled wearily down the steps and appeared at the stateroom door.

“Tommy!” cried Dan, and——

“Tommy!” echoed Bob and Nelson.

Tommy, very tired looking and extremely damp, dragged himself across the floor and sank onto the edge of a bunk, staring famishedly at the table.

“Haven’t you got through breakfast yet?” he asked weakly.

“For goodness sake, Tommy,” exclaimed Nelson, “where have you been?”

“Been!” answered Tom with a suggestion of returning spirit, as he drew from his pocket a misshapen object wrapped in brown paper and tossed it onto the table, “I’ve been after your blamed old bu-bu-bu-butter!”

CHAPTER XV—TELLS OF ADVENTURES IN THE FOG

“Gee! I thought for a while I was never going to find anything. I kept rowing and rowing, easy, you know, so as not to bump anything, and wondering why I didn’t get to the shore. And then I was bothered about not finding any boats, because I knew there were two or three right between us and the steamboat wharf. Well, after about ten minutes I got sort of scared; thought perhaps I’d got turned around and was rowing out to sea. So I stopped and listened, but I couldn’t hear anything except a wagon somewhere in one direction and an engine whistle away off in the opposite direction. I didn’t know whether there was a railroad on the island or not. Is there?”

“I don’t think so,” said Nelson. “There’s one on Nantucket, though.”

“What he probably heard,” said Bob, “was the train across on the mainland. That would be only about six miles.”

“Well,” continued Tom, “I didn’t know where it was and so I decided to make toward where the wagon seemed to be. So I turned half around and started off in a new direction. I guess I rowed a quarter of an hour and didn’t see a thing or hear anything. Then I stopped and rested. I thought if I could only see which way the current was running I’d know where the mouth of the harbor was, because I was sure that the tide would be running out.”

“That was right,” said Nelson.

“Yes, but there wasn’t any way to tell. I could only see for about four or five feet around the tender and the water was like a looking-glass. Then, while I was resting, I heard some one shout: ‘Hi, Cap’n Joe!’ It sounded almost behind me and it startled me so I pretty near dropped the oars. So I shouted back and turned the boat around again. But I didn’t get any answer. So I began to row. Then I saw the shore ahead and when I got close I looked for a place to land. But all there was was a high wharf set on slippery spilings and no ladder anywhere. So I kept along the wharf for a long old ways, turned a corner and bumped into the stern of a coal barge. I edged the tender around that and found a fellow sitting on the gunwale fishing. So I asked him—Is there any more bread, Bob?”

“You asked him what?” exclaimed Bob.

“Get out! Cut me another slice of bread, like a good fellow. I asked him where the steamboat wharf was. And what do you think he did? Pointed over his shoulder, mind you, and said it was two miles! Then, thinks I, I’ve rowed around the point and this is Cottage City where the cottages are. ‘What place is this?’ I asked him. ‘Vineyard Haven,’ says he. Well, I didn’t know any more then, so I told him where I wanted to go and all about it. He was a nice chap, if his face was all over coal dust, and he told me that I was near a place called West Chop and that what I wanted was Eastville and that it was up the harbor and across. So I asked him then if there was a grocery store around there, and he said there was one about a quarter of a mile up the harbor. So I thanked him and started off again, keeping right up snug to the shore. And after I’d gone about a quarter of a mile, as I reckoned it, I made a landing at an old wharf and set out to find the grocery.

“It was like walking in the dark, because I couldn’t see more than a dozen feet ahead of me. Once I came pretty near going through a hole in the pier. But pretty soon I found a building of some sort and walked around it and found a road. But there wasn’t a soul to be seen. So I kept on going for quite a ways, and then I remembered that if I didn’t look out I’d never find the tender again. So I turned around and started back. And pretty soon I saw that I’d lost my way. But I found the grocery. There were two or three stores there and some houses. I went in and bought a pound of butter. I’d have got more but I didn’t know how good it would be. I suppose it’s pretty poor, isn’t it?”

“No,” answered Dan promptly, “it’s great; nice and salty.”

“Then I asked the old idiot in the store if he knew of a broken-down wharf around there; said I’d left my boat at it and couldn’t find it. He looked at me as though he thought I was crazy and said most of the wharves around there were broken down, but maybe the one I meant was the second one to the north. So I tried again and found it right away. I didn’t know what time it was, because I didn’t have my watch and I’d forgotten to ask. I tried to remember the direction the fellow on the coal barge had pointed, but I guess I got it wrong, for after I’d rowed a long time without finding anything except a log of wood I wasn’t near any land at all, as far as I could make out. I couldn’t see anything and I couldn’t hear anything except little sounds way off. I took a rest then, for I was dead tired and beastly hungry. I guess the tender floated out with the tide, for the first thing I knew I was looking up at three fellows leaning over the bow of a big sailing vessel.

“‘Hello, kid,’ says one of them. ‘Hello,’ says I, looking kind of surprised, I guess. ‘Was you looking for any one?’ he asked. I told him yes, I was looking for the Vagabond. ‘Oh, he means you, Gus,’ says the first fellow, and the three of them laughed and had a fine time about it. So I explained that the Vagabond was a launch and that she was lying off the steamboat wharf. ‘Oh, that’s it, eh?’ says one of the sailors. ‘Well, you want to strike right across there, kiddie,’ and he pointed behind him. But I didn’t like the grin on his face and suspected he was having fun with me. So I told him I hoped he’d choke and started off in the opposite direction. I think now,” Tom went on to an accompaniment of laughter from the others, “that maybe he told the truth. Anyhow, the way I went didn’t take me to any steamboat wharf!”

“I rowed for a long while; I don’t know how long it was; it’s mighty hard to tell out there in the fog. And pretty soon I saw something off to the left and made for it. It was a stone pier with a ladder down it. I thought then that I’d got across the harbor at last and I decided I’d tie the boat up and try to find you fellows on foot. Well, I walked a minute or two and came to a back door. I could see that it was the door of a little store of some sort, so I went in. And where do you suppose I was?”

“Wanamaker’s?” asked Dan.

“Give it up,” said Bob.

“I was in the same little old dive where I’d bought the butter. The old codger looked at me sort of suspicious and I made believe I’d come back on purpose. He wanted to know if I’d found my boat and I told him yes. Then I asked if he had any crackers and cheese. He had crackers but his cheese was all gone, he said. So I bought a nickel’s worth of crackers—stale old things they were, too—and a box of sardines. I’ll bet those sardines had been there ten years! But I ate them. Wish I hadn’t. I asked the man how to get to the steamboat wharf and he tried to tell me. Said if I started out from where my boat was and kept a little north of east I’d get there. I asked a fellow outside a place where they sold oilskins and he said about the same thing. So I hunted up my boat, starting from the back door of the grocery, you know, and found it all right. Then——”

“Maybe you pull on one oar harder than the other, Tommy,” suggested Dan. “Do you?”

“I don’t know. Maybe I do. I suppose that would account for my getting back to that old grocery shop. Well, off I went again. And you can bet that by that time my arms were aching!” Tom rubbed and stretched them now as though in proof of the assertion. “I rowed about ten minutes, I guess, and came to a beach. Well, that was a new one to me. I didn’t know where the dickens I was, and I don’t yet.”

“I do,” said Bob, who had spread the chart out on the corner of the table. “You were here somewhere.”

“That’s right,” said Tom, looking over his shoulder, “because I jumped out, pulled the boat up and looked around. And on the other side of the road was a marshy place and a lot more water all along. I didn’t know which way the road would take me, so I went back and pushed off again. By that time those sardines had begun to swim around inside of me and I got kind of squirmy. After a minute I heard a whistle and I thought it was the Vagabond’s. I listened and it sounded five times. Then, after a while, it sounded five again.”

“Yes,” said Nelson; “one, two—one, two, three; twenty-three for you, Tommy.”

“Was that it? It sounded to me like T, o,—m, m, y! T, o,—m, m, y! Anyhow, I started out for it but it was hard to tell just where it was. And after I’d been pulling about ten minutes or so I had to quit. The—the sardines weren’t satisfied where they were. I was as sick as a dog for a while, and afterward I laid down in the bottom of the boat and didn’t care whether I ever found you fellows or not. Every now and then I’d hear the whistle. And then I went to sleep. When I woke up I was stiff and the water was just running off me. I was sure then that the tide had taken me out to sea and I was scared blue. So I turned the boat right around and rowed in the opposite direction. After a bit I heard oars and shouted out. A man answered and I asked him where the steamboat wharf was. ‘Over there about two or three hundred feet,’ said he. But I couldn’t see, him and I didn’t know where ‘over there’ was. So I asked him to wait until I reached him. He was a young fellow in a fishing dory filled with lobster pots. I told him I was looking for the Vagabond and he said he’d just passed her and that if I’d follow him he’d show her to me. So I did. And we went about thirty or forty strokes, I guess, and found her. And here I am. And if any one wants to go for a row the boat’s out there. I’m going to stay right here until the fog goes away. Is there any more tea, Bob?”

“No, but I’ll make you some,” was the answer. “It won’t take a minute.”

“Well, you certainly had the time of your life,” said Dan with a grin. “You always were lucky, Tom. If it had been me I’d have been miles out in Nantucket Sound by this time.”

“There ought to be a compass in that tender,” said Nelson. “And I’m going to get one for it.”

“Well, it won’t do any harm,” remarked Bob from the engine room, “but it’s an easy bet that none of us is going to go out in her again in the fog.”

“I’m plumb sure I’m not,” sighed Tom. “After I get that cup of tea I’m going to hit my bunk and take a nap.”

And he did, sleeping most of the afternoon, while Bob and Dan played cards and Nelson busied himself at the engine. The wiring hadn’t satisfied him of late and so he put in new connections all over and had a nice, messy time of it. About half-past four the fog lifted somewhat and by six was almost gone. A cool breeze blew down from the north and in the west the sun set in a pool of orange and vermilion. The Four doffed oilskins and sweaters and got into respectable attire, and at half-past six went ashore for dinner.

In the evening they played Five Hundred until nearly ten o’clock, at which time Tom was seventeen hundred and something in the hole. Whereupon he said he was going to bed and in proof of the assertion tossed the cards into Dan’s bunk, where they spread themselves out artistically from top to bottom. Dan was for forcing Tom to pick them up, and during the fracas following Nelson and Bob made things shipshape for the night. Then the riot was quelled and, after reciting the “Dirge of the Salt Codfish,” Tom and Dan consented to retire.

Once, hours later, Bob awoke with the notion that some one had called him. But what he had heard was only Tom talking in his dreams.

“I have lost my ticket,” said Tom very distinctly, “but I wish to go to Steamboat Wharf.”

CHAPTER XVI—WITNESSES A DEFEAT FOR THE VAGABOND

“Well, if it clears up nicely,” answered Nelson, “suppose we take the outside route. We don’t have to go around Cuttihunk, though, Bob; if you’ll look at the chart you’ll find there’s a fair passage for small boats between Naushon and Pasque, and between Pasque and Nashawena there’s a good mile of clear water called Quicks Hole.”

“Yes, I see,” said Bob. “Let’s go through Quicks Hole.”

“Nonsense,” exclaimed Dan, pushing Bob aside. “What we want to do is to make for Nonamesset, leaving Uncatena on the starboard bow, head so’so’west for Penikese, keeping Woepecket on the weather rail, whatever that is, bear south off the no’east corner of Nashawena, give Cuttihunk the cold shoulder, dip our colors to Naushon, run through Canapitset Cut and drop anchor in Quamquisset for five o’clock tea!”

“Help!” yelled Nelson.

“Great Scott, what names!” laughed Bob.

“Well, now you know your route,” said Dan gravely. “I guess you fellows are pretty glad you’ve got me with you to show you the way. Talk about your Navigating Officers!”

“Tommy, do you think you could find the wharf?” asked Bob.

“Huh, I can see it,” said Tom.

“Then suppose you drop lightly into the tender and row ashore and buy us some provisions. Dan’s finished the butter, and we need some fresh meat and bread, don’t we?”

“Yep, and eggs. You fellows needn’t wait for me to get back before you start on the brass. Go ahead and enjoy yourselves.”

“That’s all right, Tommy,” Dan answered. “We’ll save your share for you.”

“Well, let’s get at it,” said Nelson. “We want the launch looking her best when we reach Newport. It won’t do to put into a swell place like that with dirty paint.”

“No,” said Dan. “I think we might even insist on Tommy’s washing his face.”

“It’s as clean as yours,” retorted Tom from the tender.

“Of course, we don’t want to be fussy, Tommy, and if it was any place but Newport we wouldn’t say a word. But as the Four Hundred will probably be down at the wharf to welcome us——”

Dan’s further remarks were interrupted by a shower of water impelled toward him by an oar blade. When he had regained his eyesight Tommy was too far distant to allow of reprisals and Dan contented himself with threats of future revenge.

Then house cleaning began in earnest, and it was no small task that confronted them. The decks were to scrub, the hull to wash, the port lights to be cleaned and the brasswork to be shined. And the brass was the biggest part of the undertaking. There was, as Dan complained later, altogether too much of it; stern cleat and chocks, bow cleat and chocks, gasoline and water-tank caps, wheel, deck rail, whistle, search light, lanterns, flag-pole sockets, and numerous bits of hardware such as hatch fastening, door knobs, and locker buttons. Oh, yes, there was plenty of work, and Dan, assisted later by all the others, rubbed and rubbed until long past the usual luncheon hour. But when it was all done they had the satisfaction of knowing that no cleaner, brighter, smarter craft was afloat.

They ate luncheon at a quarter past one, by which time the sun was out in full strength and what little breeze came in through the open ports felt very grateful to four very warm mariners.

At two o’clock to the minute the Vagabond’s anchor came up over the bow, and very dirty it was, to Dan’s disgust, and the propeller began to revolve. Out around West Chop Lighthouse and the stone jetty went the Vagabond, white paint glistening in the sunlight and bright-work sparkling gayly, while from the flag poles the launch’s bunting fluttered in the little westerly breeze. Then Dan, at the wheel, turned the boat’s head southwest and they met the waters of the Sound on the quarter as they sped for Quicks Hole. It was a glorious afternoon and the Four, protected from the sun by the awning, found life very enjoyable. The engine was doing her very best, taking kindly to the last lot of gasoline. They had about forty miles ahead of them and meant to cover it by half-past five. At a little after three they were in Quicks Hole, bobbing about gayly in the wake of a steamer.

“Wonder why they called these the Elizabeth Islands?” said Tom.

“After Queen Elizabeth, maybe,” hazarded Bob.

“And do you suppose Nonamesset, Uncatena, Naushon, and the rest of them were her children?” asked Tom.

“Well,” laughed Bob, “I never heard that she had any children.”

“Oh, that’s so,” murmured Tom sheepishly, “I forgot.”

“I hope,” remarked Nelson solicitously, “that English History wasn’t among the subjects in which you were examined for admission to Erskine, Tommy.”

“Say!” cried Tom. “I’d ought to hear pretty soon about that exam. Maybe the letter will be at Newport!”

“Want to turn back?” asked Bob.

“I—I’d almost like to,” admitted Tom.

“Oh, you’ve made it all right, Tommy,” Dan consoled. “The cheek of trying to get from third year at Hillton to Erskine so flabbergasted them that they passed you before they recovered.”

“I hope so,” said Tom anxiously. “If I’ve missed it I’ll——”

But they were alongside the steamer by that time and Tom forgot the subject of admission to Erskine College in the excitement of passing the big boat. There were not many persons aboard her, but what there were flocked to the rail and waved their handkerchiefs or caps. Bob gave a blast on the whistle and Dan peered out from the edge of the awning and blew a kiss. Ten minutes later the steamer was far behind and the Vagabond was churning her way across the waters of Buzzard’s Bay, with Sakonnet Point beckoning them ahead. Before five they were in Narragansett Bay and at twenty-two minutes past were tied up at the landing of the New York Yacht Club House.

They made hurriedly for the post office and were rewarded with a whole bundle of mail.

“Bear up bravely, Tommy,” said Nelson, who was sorting it over. “Here’s an epistle postmarked ‘Centerport.’”

“Oh, gosh!” muttered Tom as he took it.

The others were too much interested in receiving and outwardly examining their own letters to think further of Tom for several minutes. Then, as they turned to leave the office, Dan remembered.

“What’s the verdict, Tommy?” he asked.

Tommy shook his head silently.

“What? Missed it? Turned down?” cried Dan.

“I—I don’t know,” stammered Tom. “You—you read it.”

He held out the letter to Dan.

“Why, you haven’t opened it!” exclaimed the other. “What do you think of that, fellows? Tommy hasn’t the nerve to read it!”

“Oh ... well....” murmured Tom, tearing the envelope. “I didn’t expect to get through, anyway.” The others watched anxiously as he unfolded the single sheet which the envelope contained. Tom’s face flushed suddenly as he read. Then a wonderful, all-encompassing smile started at the corners of his mouth and grew and grew until it became an expansive grin. The others howled as they looked. There was no need to ask the verdict.

“Pu-pu-pu-pu-pu—” stuttered Tom.

“Good for you, Tommy!” cried Dan, whacking him on the back.

“——Pu-pu-passed!”

“Hurrah for Thomas Ferris, 1910!” cried Nelson.

“How many conditions, Tommy?” asked Bob. Tom chuckled.

“Only three,” he answered. “How do you suppose I ever did it?”

“Can’t imagine,” laughed Bob, “unless you hypnotized ’em.”

“I’m jealous,” said Dan. “You’ve got one more condition than I have. I shall appeal to the Faculty.”

“Oh, th-th-th-that’s all right,” said Tom eagerly, “you can have one of mine!”

They returned to the launch very joyfully.

There were many letters to be read and each fellow found a corner for himself and soon became immersed in his mail. Now and then one or another would break out with an ejaculatory announcement of news, as when Nelson exclaimed: “Of course! I never thought of it! Say, fellows, dad says if we’d strained that gasoline through chamois skin there wouldn’t have been any water in it!” Or when Dan remarked: “The governor got a letter from Jerry Hinckley the other day, and Mr. Cozzens is going to coach him this summer himself and let him try for Hillton in the Fall!” Or when Tom announced impressively: “Ben Hur’s got four kittens and they’re all white.”

Not very important news to us, of course, but of vital interest to them.

They went ashore at half-past six and had what Tom called “swell grub.” Afterwards they explored the town and stayed up very late on deck, watching the lights and listening to the music of a far-off orchestra. There was a good moon and Dan wanted to weigh anchor and go on along the shore to the next harbor. But Nelson and Bob, mindful of Mr. Tilford’s instructions, vetoed the plan. Just as they were preparing to turn in, the Fall River Line steamer came into sight down the harbor, a huge black hulk pricked out with thousands of lights, and they had to return to the deck to watch her float past on her way to the pier.

The next day dawned almost cloudless and very warm. The Four were out of their bunks early and into their bathing suits. Then followed a glorious plunge from the deck into the gleaming blue water of the harbor, a brisk rub-down in the engine room and some of Tom’s good coffee and eggs and crisp bacon. By the time breakfast was over the heat had become intense and the awning, put away overnight, was rigged up again. Tom, who exhibited symptoms of an inclination to go to sleep in one of the chairs in the cockpit, was routed out and compelled to give assistance.

They had the water tank filled and then pulled up anchor and turned the Vagabond toward the Sound, where white sails moved slowly along and gave promise of a cooling breeze. Tom was allowed to take the wheel, but Bob kept beside him in case, as the latter explained, Tom should fall asleep. But in justice to Tom it should be said that he really didn’t show any tendency toward sleepiness. On the contrary he stuck out his chest pompously, twirled the wheel in an important way and did his best to look like a master mariner. Halfway down the harbor they overtook a strange looking craft containing a single occupant, a young chap who was squatted uncomfortably in a diminutive cockpit surrounded by a veritable tangle of pipes and wires. The boat, a gasoline launch, was about eighteen feet long, very slender and was painted a vivid crimson. On the bow they read, as they drew abreast, the inscription So Long. The forward two thirds of the launch was covered by a crown cabin. Between that and the after deck was a four-foot space in which were crowded the engine and the crew. The crew was in his shirt sleeves and was smoking a pipe. The launch was ambling along at about six miles an hour and making a frightful noise about it; the reports from her exhaust pipe were deafening.

“Some one ought to make him a present of a muffler,” said Nelson as they drew alongside.

The occupant of the So Long glanced up as they approached and studied the Vagabond idly and, as it seemed to Tom, somewhat superciliously. Tom leaned over the corner of the cabin roof.

“Hello!” he shouted. “Want to race?”

The crew of the little launch puffed at his pipe and looked calmly away, but made no answer. Bob laughed.

“He doesn’t know you, Tommy,” he said. “Never’s been introduced.”

“Conceited ass!” growled Tom. Then, “Hey there, you in the red tub!” he called. “Do you want a race?”

The crew of the So Long turned and viewed Tom silently. And quite as silently, and without a change of expression, he nodded his head indifferently.

“Come on then!” cried Tom.

The man in the “red tub” removed the pipe from his mouth, knocked the ashes out on the edge of the washboard, dropped it into his pocket, and began leisurely to busy himself with valves and switches.

“Turn her on, Nel,” said Tom. “Give her full speed.”

“All right,” laughed Nelson, “but I don’t believe we’ll need quite full speed to walk away from that boat.” He disappeared into the cabin.

“He’s a sport, anyhow,” declared Dan. “I like a chap that’s not afraid of being beaten.”

The Vagabond began to move through the water at a faster pace and Tom allowed himself a final gibe at the rival boat.

“So long!” he shouted.

The smaller boat was already several lengths behind and her crew was still bending over the engine.

“It takes him long enough to get her started,” said Bob. “I wonder——”

But what Bob wondered was never disclosed. For at that moment there came a series of pistol-like reports from the So Long’s exhaust and the “red tub” suddenly dug her straight, sharp nose into the water, threw it away from her on each side in two long green waves and came alongside.

“Gosh!” exclaimed Bob.

They had a fleeting view of the placid countenance of the youth in shirt sleeves, a momentary impression of a brilliant crimson streak along the water and then they were gazing bewilderedly at each other. The So Long was lengths and lengths away and getting smaller every instant.

Nelson put his head out of the door, glanced toward where the other boat had been a minute before, looked puzzled, came out on deck and searched the neighborhood.

“Where is she?” he asked. “Sunk?”

For answer three hands pointed ahead. Nelson gazed a moment. Then he went silently below and slowed down the engine.

“How fu-fu-fast do you su-su-su-suppose she wu-wu-went?” asked Tom.

“About a mile a minute,” answered Bob gravely.

“I don’t believe she’s a launch at all,” said Dan. “I’ll bet she’s a blamed old automobile.”

“What was that remark you addressed to him just before she walked away, Tommy?” asked Bob.

“Shut up,” answered Tom sheepishly. “How did I know he had a streak of red lu-lu-lu-lightning? Where is she now?”

“Oh, about a mile ahead,” answered Nelson sadly. “Next time let’s pick out a chap our own size.”

“Well, she’s certainly a dandy!” said Bob. “She must do about thirty miles.”

“Maybe twenty-five,” said Nelson. “But that’ll hold us for awhile. Isn’t that her coming back?”

It was. They looked at each other inquiringly. Dan began to whistle. Tom glanced at Bob.

“You take the wheel,” he said finally. “I—I want to get something out of my locker.”

A shout of laughter went up.

“No, you’ll stay right where you are, Tommy,” said Bob, “and take your medicine. You’re to blame for it, anyhow.”

The So Long approached at full speed, cutting the water like a knife. The Four watched silently. When a little distance away the chap in shirt sleeves bent forward out of sight behind the arch of the cabin and the So Long’s speed decreased. But even so when the two boats met it was like an express train passing a freight on a siding. The chap in shirt sleeves looked across the twenty feet of water that separated the two boats and viewed the Four as calmly as ever, but there was a twinkle in his eye. As the “red tub” dashed by he waved his hand.

“So long!” he called politely.

“Hope you ch-ch-ch-choke!” sputtered Tom.

The others laughed at Tom’s discomfiture.

“Stung!” murmured Dan.

“He had you there, Tommy,” said Bob.

“I’ll bet Tommy won’t challenge any one else in a hurry,” Nelson laughed.

“Oh, well, what’s the good of having a boat like that, anyway?” asked Tom disgustedly. “Even if it does go fast there isn’t room to sit down in it comfortably. It’s a fool thing!”

Shortly afterwards they were off Point Judith, and in spite of the fact that the weather was calm and the ocean smiling there was a sea there that made the Vagabond cut all sorts of capers. Barry, who had been asleep on the cabin roof since breakfast, now descended to more comfortable quarters. But even in Bob’s lap he didn’t seem wholly happy and after a while he jumped down and disappeared into the cabin. Ten minutes later Nelson, who had been below to look at the engine, came back smiling broadly.

“Have we any lemons, Tommy?” he asked.

“Yes,” was the reply. “In the cupboard. Want one?”

“Not for myself, but Barry needs one.”

“Barry!” exclaimed Bob. “What’s the matter with him?”

“Well, you might just go down and see for yourself,” chuckled Nelson.

“Oh, get out! You can’t make me believe that Barry’s seasick! Who ever heard of a dog being seasick?”

“Well, you can’t get up an argument with me,” laughed Nelson. “But just the same, I’m glad it’s not my berth!”

Then Bob hurried below.

Ten minutes later Bob’s blanket was fluttering from the awning rod and Barry, curled up in a patch of sunlight and looking somewhat woe-begone, was striving to forget his recent discomfiture. They were past the point now and Block Island, which was their destination, was looming up clearly across the water some ten miles distant. They reached it at a little after eleven, found anchorage off the village and went ashore for what Bob called “an old-fashioned fish dinner.” Tom said he guessed they’d got it all right, because his fish was just about as old-fashioned as he’d ever found. But the others declared that it was all right and so Tom, declaring feelingly that he didn’t want to live without the others, ate his too. Later on Tom declared that he felt very uncomfortable and that he was certain he had ptomaine poisoning. But the others laughed at him and told him that any fellow who had eaten as much as he had ought to expect to feel uncomfortable. At two o’clock they were on their way again and making for New London, a matter of thirty-five miles distant.

CHAPTER XVII—IN WHICH DAN PLAYS A JOKE

“I think,” replied Tom, who was trying to make Barry stand on his hind legs and beg for a strip of bark torn from a spiling, “that it’s rather fun seeing trains again. I love engines, anyway. I used to think I’d be an engineer when I grew up.”

“Well, I think you’d make a success on the railroad,” said Bob thoughtfully, “but not as engineer.”

“What, then?” demanded Tom unsuspiciously.

“Why, you’d make a dandy sleeper, Tommy,” was the reply.

Presently they landed, crossed the railroad tracks, and skirted the little open space with its monument, erected, as Tom declared, to commemorate the discovery of New London by Thomas Ferris, the famous explorer. And just then they made another discovery. It was the eve of the Fourth of July. That fact was extremely evident. Up and down the street the sound of exploding firecrackers was deafening. Dan started to sing “The Night before the Fourth,” but Tommy darted into a store and when the others reached him he already had his arms full of crackers and Roman candles. Then they visited other shops and bought all sorts of things from news-papers to canvas shoes. Finally Dan was despatched to the launch with the purchases and the others went on up the hill to the big hotel. When Dan joined them he brought exciting news of a show which was announced for that evening at the local theater and during dinner they unanimously decided to attend.

“You ought to see the posters,” said Dan. “Oh, great! There’s one picture where the hero in a false yellow beard has got into the counterfeiters’ den and is holding them all at bay with a pistol in each hand, saying ‘The first to move is a dead man!’ Oh, it’s swell!”

“What’s it called?” asked Tom eagerly.

“‘The Counterfeiter’s Bride.’”

“Did you see the bride?” asked Bob.

“Yes, she was there, too; in a corner, with her face over her hands and——”

“With what?” shouted the others.

“I mean with her hands over her face. She has beautiful golden hair and wears black; they always do. Then there’s a terribly funny picture of the comic fellow jumping out of a second-story window with a life-preserver strapped around his waist.”

“That doesn’t sound terribly funny,” remarked Bob.

“With a life-preserver on him?” demanded Dan. “It was a fire.”

“You didn’t say it was a fire. I thought he was jumping into a river or something.”

“Well, he isn’t; he’s jumping into the street.”

“Still,” hazarded Nelson, “maybe he put the life-preserver on to save him from automobiles. You know it’s a mighty dangerous thing, jumping into the street nowadays.”

“Oh, you fade away!” growled Dan. “I’m going to see it, anyway.”

“We all are,” said Bob. “I haven’t been to a theater since Christmas vacation.”

So go they did, and had a fine time. After they got back to the launch and had been welcomed by Barry Tom and Dan reproduced the second act in the engine room, Dan playing the rôle of the Secret Service hero and Tom doing the distracted bride. Barry somewhat marred the effectiveness of the supreme situation by thinking the whole affair organized for his amusement and trying to shake Dan off his feet just when the latter had covered Nelson and Bob with a pair of “sneakers” and was in the act of declaiming in a blood-curdling voice: “The first to move is a dead man!”

Nelson’s and Bob’s laughter drowned the line, but Tom, who had his face covered with his hands, continued to emit his piercing shrieks long after and had to be forcibly persuaded to desist. Then they went up on deck and set off Roman candles and firecrackers, a proceeding which sent Barry into paroxysms of excitement.

The next day, instead of continuing westward along the shore, they headed the Vagabond up the Thames River and had a Fourth-of-July excursion up to Norwich between smiling green hills against which nestled comfortable white farmhouses. Nelson grew reminiscent and retold the story of the only Harvard and Yale boat race he had witnessed, pointing out the quarters of the rival crews as they passed along. They spent a couple of hours in Norwich and came back in the afternoon. After they had passed under the railroad bridge and left New London behind Dan had an idea.

“Say, fellows,” he said, “instead of keeping on let’s stop along the shore here somewhere and camp out for the night. We can cook dinner on the beach and rig up a tent with the awning. What do you say?”

They said yes, instantly and enthusiastically. And at five they found a place that suited them, ran the launch into a little shallow cove and set about disembarking. Three trips were made in the tender, and before the last was completed Bob had a stone fireplace set up and Tom had gathered enough fuel to last a week. By mutual consent Bob became chef pro tem.

The cove was skirted by a little pebbled beach and in one place a tumble-down stone wall ambled out of the woods nearby and fell to pieces in the water, affording a very handy landing place for the tender. There was only one mishap, and that occurred when Tom strove to relieve Dan of a load of frying pans and dishes, lost his footing on a slippery stone and went into two feet of water with his burden. Luckily nothing was broken and Tom, by standing in front of the fire and turning slowly around, was soon able to get dry again. They locked the cabin on the Vagabond and made everything shipshape for the night. Then, at a little after six they squatted around the fire and ate fried eggs and bacon, baked potatoes and smoky toast and washed the repast down with smoky tea. But they all declared that it was the best supper they had tasted for a long time.

“It’s sort of a relief,” said Nelson, “to have things seasoned with wood smoke for a change. I was getting a little tired of Tom’s kerosene flavor.”

“It isn’t my fault,” defended Tom. “Your old stove smokes like the dickens.”

After supper they set to work with the deck awning and, not without several failures and many tribulations, at last rigged it up into the semblance of a tent. Then they discovered that they had left bedding entirely out of their scheme, and Bob and Tom rowed back to the launch for blankets. By that time it was twilight and the river and the Sound, just below them, were golden in the afterglow.

“Mighty pretty, isn’t it?” asked Bob as he drew in his oars and got ready to lay hold of the launch.

“Yes,” Tom answered without enthusiasm, “but I think it would be a heap more comfortable to sleep on the boat where we have decent mattresses than to lie on the ground.”

“Tommy, you’re a sybarite,” said Bob, as he climbed onto the launch.

“I don’t know what that is,” grumbled Tom as he followed, “but if it’s something that likes a decent bed I’m it.”

They kept the fire going until bedtime and watched its flames leap and writhe in the purple darkness. Then the moon came up and dimmed the firelight and showed them the Vagabond floating quietly at anchor a little way off. Tom looked toward it longingly.

“Wish I was there,” he murmured. And, after a moment, “What’s a sybilite, Dan?” he asked. Bob laughed.

“A ‘sybilite,’ Tommy,” he said, “is a person who’d rather sleep on a launch than on the ground.”

“That’s me,” sighed Tom. “I thought, though, it was a fellow who told fortunes, or something like that.”

“Oh, no,” said Dan, “that’s a gypsyite.”

“Hope you choke,” muttered Tom. “I’m going to bed, although I don’t suppose I’ll be able to sleep any.”

“Only about twelve hours,” jeered Dan.

When they awoke in the morning it was to a gray, wet world. A fine mist was falling, everything outside the improvised tent was sopping and the other side of the river was shut from view.

“There’s no use trying to make a fire with this wood,” yawned Bob. “I vote we go on board.”

Dan and Nelson agreed. Tom was silent, for after one disgusted look at the outside world he had turned over and promptly gone to sleep again.

“Let’s leave him,” whispered Dan.

“But we need the awning,” Nelson demurred. Dan chuckled.

“Sure, and we’ll take it. He’ll never wake up.”

So very quietly they gathered the things together and bore them to the landing. Two trips of the tender were sufficient, and on the second one they took the awning. Back at the edge of the woods, with the mist falling gently on his upturned face, slept Tom.

Barry seemed to appreciate the change of quarters as much as anyone and was soon curled up in a corner of Bob’s bunk. The dampness had got into their bones and all were stiff and full of queer little aches when they stretched their muscles.

“What we need,” said Nelson, “is some hot coffee and lots of it.”

“And right away quick,” added Dan.

So Bob got busy at the stove while the others put the awning back over the cockpit. While they were doing it they cast many amused glances across at the shore where Tom still slumbered under his gray blanket.

“I tell you what,” said Dan presently. “Let’s go on down the river around that point. Then when Tom wakes up he’ll think we’ve gone off without him. What do you say?”

Nelson laughed and agreed. So they pulled up the anchor, started the engine, and went slowly downstream until a point of woods hid them from the cove. Here they let down the anchor again and had breakfast. They were intensely hungry and spent the better part of half an hour at table.

“We’ll keep something hot for Tommy,” said Bob. “I’d just like to see his face when he wakes up and finds us gone!”

“So would I!” said Dan with a chuckle. “Poor old Tommy! Won’t he be fine and damp?”

“Don’t suppose he will catch cold and have rheumatism, do you?” asked Nelson doubtfully.

“Tommy? Catch anything? He’d never move fast enough,” laughed Dan. “I wonder what he will do, though, when he finds the launch gone.”

“Hope he doesn’t go hunting upstream instead of down,” said Nelson.

“Thunder! That would be awkward,” said Dan. “I say, maybe we’d better go back, eh? He ought to be awake by this time, and looking for us. And if he gets it into his silly head that we’ve gone up the river instead of down——!”

“I don’t believe he’s awake yet,” said Bob. “If he was we’d have heard him yelling for us.”

“I don’t know about that,” answered Nelson. “We must have come a good third of a mile downstream.”

“Anyway,” insisted Dan uneasily, “I think we’d ought to go back.”

“All right,” said Nelson. “Come on and we’ll hoist anchor. It seems to me we don’t do anything else nowadays; I’m getting a crick in my back over it.”

They went across the engine room and stepped out into the cockpit. Then they stared about them in surprise. There was nothing to be seen. The fog had crept up since they had gone below and was now stealing silently past them, blown landward before a tiny southeast breeze. Nelson and Dan looked at each other inquiringly.

“Isn’t this the dickens?” asked Dan.

“It surely is,” was the reply. “O Bob! Come out here!”

Bob appeared. After a moment of surprise he asked:

“Where’s the shore?” Nelson pointed off to starboard.

“Sure?” asked Bob.

“Yes, pretty certain. The tide’s still running in and so we can’t have swung around.”

“Hang these old fogs, anyhow!” growled Dan. “What are we going to do now?”

“Go back for Tommy,” answered Nelson. Bob looked doubtful.

“Can we do it?” he asked. “Aren’t you afraid of running into something?”

“No, I guess not. We’ll keep the whistle going, you can take the wheel, I’ll stand at the engine, and Dan can keep a lookout from the bow. We don’t draw much water and there weren’t any shallows as far as I could see coming down here. Besides, we ought to be able to see the shore at least ten feet away. If Dan keeps a good lookout and yells quickly, and you pass the word on down to me we’ll manage all right, I guess. Let’s get the mud-hook up.”

That done, Bob took the wheel, Dan perched himself in the bow, and Nelson started the engine at the slowest speed. The Vagabond, with a shrill screech from her whistle that so surprised Dan that he nearly tumbled off the bow, pushed the fog aside and crept through the silence. All went well for a moment. Then came a quick warning from Dan.

“Back her!” he yelled. “Land dead ahead!”

“Back her!” called Bob, swirling the wheel around. There was a sudden commotion under the launch’s stern as the propeller was reversed and, at the same instant, a tiny jar as her bow settled on to the sandy bottom. Dan ran back and seized the boat hook.

“Tell Nel to keep her backing,” he called, “and I’ll see if I can’t shove her off.”

But it was a five minutes’ task, and had not the tide been coming in instead of running out it is likely that the Vagabond would have stayed where she was for a good twelve hours. But finally her bow was free once more and Dan shoved and panted over the boat hook until the launch was headed away and the dim line of shore was gone from sight again.

“All right now,” he called, and Nelson again threw the clutch forward. In the excitement of getting afloat they had forgotten the whistle, but now Nelson made up for lost time, and the launch poked her way gingerly along to an accompaniment of distressful shrieks.

“How are we going to know when we get back to where we left Tommy?” asked Bob down the companion way.

“We’ll just have to guess at it,” was the answer. “If we get where Tommy can hear the whistle we’ll be doing all right.”

Several minutes passed. Then came another caution from the bow.

“Land on the port bow,” called Dan. “Hold her off a bit more, Bob.”

“All right,” said Dan a moment later. “Can’t see anything now. Seems to me, though, we ought to be far enough.”

“I guess we are,” answered Bob dryly. “We’re out on the bar, I should say.”

“What do you mean?”

“Don’t you feel the swells? If we aren’t in the Sound we’re pretty near it.”

“But how can we be? We’ve been going up the river toward New London, haven’t we?”

“I thought we had, but we haven’t, I guess. Say, Nel, come up here a minute.”

Nelson appeared and agreed with Bob.

“Either we are somewhere around the mouth of the river or else we’re in a steamboat’s wake; and we haven’t heard any pass. Wait a bit.” He went down and stopped the engine. “Now,” he said as he came back, “let’s have that boat hook a minute.”

Dan passed it to him and he dropped it into the water, keeping hold of the end. The submerged portion floated back against the hull. Nelson pulled it up and tried again over the stern.

“We’re just about broadside to the current,” he announced. “And I’m blest if I know where we are. Best thing we can do is to drop anchor, I guess.”

“Not if we’re in the middle of the river,” said Bob. “Let’s keep on a bit farther. Dan saw land a moment ago over there. Suppose I head that way and we creep over until we find it again. Then we won’t be in danger of being run down by somebody.”

“That’s so,” answered Nelson. “Keep your eyes open, Dan.”

So the Vagabond took up her travels again, groping her way through the gray mist, with Dan peering anxiously from the bow. It was rather exciting while it lasted and the monotonous screech of the whistle breaking the silence lent an uncanny touch to the adventure. Then——

“Stop her!” called Dan, and Bob repeated the injunction to Nelson at the engine. The propeller stopped and the launch floated softly through the mist. “Star-board a little,” said Dan. Bob turned the wheel. “All right,” said Dan. “How’s this, Nel?”

Nelson had joined him and was peering perplexedly through the fog.

“I don’t see any land,” he said finally.

“Over there. I can’t see it myself now, though. Wait a bit and the fog will thin. There it is,” said Dan. “See that dark line?”

“Yes. Let’s put the anchor down. Stand by the cable, will you? It’s all snarled up.” There was a splash which sounded momentously loud in the stillness and the cable ran out for some ten feet. “We must be pretty well in toward shore,” said Nelson.

“Now what?” asked Bob, working his way forward over the slippery deck. They looked from one to another. Finally——

“Stay here until the fog lifts and we can find Tommy, I guess,” said Nelson.

“Hang Tommy, anyhow,” said Bob disgustedly. “He’s always getting lost in the fog.”

“Yes, it’s the easiest thing he does,” agreed Dan. “He ought to write a book about it when he gets home. ‘Fogs I Have Met, by Thomas Courtenay Ferris.’”

“Supposing we shoot off that revolver of yours a few times?” Nelson suggested.

“All right,” said Bob. “I’ll get it.”

“It was a dandy joke of yours, Dan,” said Nelson. Dan shrugged his shoulders and wiped the drops from his face against his sleeve.

“How the dickens was I to know this fool fog was coming up?” he asked. “Here, let me shoot that, Bob.”

“You run away,” answered Bob, as he filled the chamber of his revolver.

“But I feel that I am to blame in the matter,” said Dan earnestly, “and I ought to be allowed to do all I can to—er—remedy things.”

“Well, you can’t shoot my revolver,” answered Bob dryly. “But you can hold the cartridges.”

“Let me shoot once,” Dan begged. Bob relented and between them they banged away into the air until there was a good-sized hole in the contents of the cartridge box and Bob called a halt. Then they listened attentively.

“There!” whispered Dan.

“Steamboat whistle,” said Bob, and Nelson nodded concurrence.

“Let’s shout,” said Dan. They shouted. Then they stopped and listened again. There was not a sound to be heard save the faint lapping of the waves against the shore.

CHAPTER XVIII—IN WHICH TOM PUTS UP AT THE SEAMONT INN

“I suppose they’re waiting for me to yell out to them. Well, they probably won’t come until I do. So here goes: O Dan! O fellows!”

Silence.

“Vagabond ahoy!” shouted Tom. “Say, cut it out, will you? I want my breakfast!”

Silence.

“Oh, thunder!” muttered Tom, pulling the blanket up over his head to keep the fog from sifting down his neck. “Think you’re smart, don’t you?” At that moment the fog cleared for a tiny space and Tom stared in puzzled surprise. Then the mists shut down again as quickly as they had lifted, but not before Tom had seen that the Vagabond was no longer in sight. He sat down on the stone wall and tried to reason it out. Of course it had been Dan’s idea; no one but Dan would think of such a trick. They had gone off to the boat and had managed to get the tent down without disturbing him. But afterwards? Why had they gone off in the launch? Probably to make him think that they had left him for good. Very well, then he would follow. He recollected that below the cove the shore had jutted out into a wooded point; he had gathered wood along the edge of it yesterday afternoon. They had probably taken the launch around the point out of sight. So the best thing to do was to walk along the shore until he got to where they were. Then he’d tell them just what he thought of them!

So he set off through the fog, keeping the river’s edge dimly in sight. He began to feel rather soggy and very, very hungry. Also, it was none too warm that morning, although after he had been walking for a time his chilliness passed off. When he reached the woods he hesitated. To turn to the left and follow the shore would mean much harder walking and a much longer trip. So he decided to go through the wood and come out on the other side of the point. After five minutes he began to think that he had made a mistake. For there was no sign of a break in the trees, nor, when he paused and listened, could he hear the lap of the little waves along the shore. Probably he had borne too far inland. He changed his course to the left and started on again. But the trees grew near together, there was a good deal of underbrush and keeping a straight course was out of the question. By this time his only thought was to reach the shore again, and he kept bearing farther and farther to the left. Some ten minutes passed. Tom’s face began to grow anxious. He had visions of spending the day in those woods, breakfastless, luncheonless, dinnerless! He stopped and sat down on a fallen log to consider the situation calmly and to get some of his breath back.

“The next time I leave home in a fog you’ll know it!” he muttered, apparently addressing the nearest tree. “What good’s a fog, anyway?” Presently he realized that his thoughts had wandered away on the subject of fogs and that he hadn’t solved his dilemma. By this time he had lost all sense of direction and didn’t pretend to know where the river lay. The wood, he thought, couldn’t be very large and so if he kept on walking in a straight line he was certain to get out of it before long. Once out of it—Well, maybe he could find a house or a road. As for the Vagabond and Dan and Nelson and Bob they could choke for all he cared; what he wanted was breakfast, and lots of it!

So presently, having recovered his wind, he got up, fixed a direction firmly in his mind and trudged on again. The fog was thinner here in the woods than it had been along the shore; possibly, he reasoned, the farther inland he got the less fog there would be. Although if he could only find something to eat he wouldn’t bother about the weather. He had been walking for some five or six minutes when the trees suddenly disappeared and he found himself on the edge of a planted field. The fog seemed as thick as ever and it was impossible to see more than twenty or thirty feet away. But a planted field, especially one planted with vegetables, as this one was, argued a house near by. So he got between two rows of cauliflower and tramped on. Presently he found his way barred by a stone wall. On the other side of the wall was grass. Tom perched himself on top of the wall and speculated.

He cut a queer figure as he sat there with the red-bordered gray blanket over his head. One corner of the blanket had been dragging for the last ten minutes and was covered with mud. Here and there a wet leaf was pasted upon it. His shoes, the white canvas, rubber-soled “sneakers” worn on the launch, were sights to behold, and within them his feet were very wet and very cold. But what bothered him most of all was his stomach. That felt dreadfully empty, and now and then little “shooty” pains made themselves felt.

Probably he had mistaken the direction of the house belonging to the field, he told himself dispiritedly. He should have walked across the rows instead of along them. And the grass in front of him only meant a meadow with silly cows, and, maybe, a bull! He wondered what a bull would think of him if he saw him; nothing flattering, probably. On the whole, he decided that he would a little rather not run across a bull this morning. Then suddenly he heard, far away and indistinct, the Vagabond’s whistle. He knew it too well to mistake it.

“Go on and blow it,” he muttered. “Hope your arm gets tired. You won’t see me until I’ve had some breakfast, I can tell you that. That’s right, blow, blow! Who the dickens cares?”

From the direction of the sound it was evident to him that he had left the river almost directly behind him. But what bothered him at the present moment more than the location of the river and the Vagabond was the location of the house and something to satisfy the craving of his empty stomach. He strove to remember what he knew about farms. Usually, he thought, the vegetable fields were near the buildings and the meadows at a distance, although he didn’t suppose there was any hard and fast rule about it. Then it dawned on him that for a meadow this one was unusually well kept. The grass was short and thick and the field quite level. He wondered if it could be a lawn. He would explore it.

So, rather stiff by this time, he slipped off the wall and started straight ahead across the turf. Presently he came to a ridge some three feet high, rounded and turfed. He stopped and wondered. It disappeared on either side of him into the surrounding grayness. He climbed to the top of it and looked down. On the other side was a six-foot ditch of coarse sand. He was on a golf links and the ridge was a silly old bunker!

He slid down on the other side of it and rested there with his wet shoes in the sand. It was all very nice, he told himself, to know that you were on a golf course, but it didn’t help very much. A chap could be just as lost, just as wet and miserable and hungry on a golf course as anywhere else. Somewhere, of a certainty, there was a clubhouse, but if he knew where it stood and could find it it was more than probable that it would be closed up on a day like this. And, anyhow, they wouldn’t be serving breakfast there! The idea of sitting just where he was until some one came along suggested itself but didn’t appeal to him. Once he thought he heard a noise of some sort, but he wasn’t sure. However, he got up and headed in the direction from which it had seemed to come. After a minute or two he came to a green with a soggy red tin disk, numbered fourteen, sticking out of a hole.

“Glad it wasn’t thirteen,” said Tom to himself as he went on. “That might have been unlucky.”

Presently it seemed that the fog had lessened and that his range of vision had enlarged; he was quite sure that he could discern objects at a greater distance than before. But as there wasn’t at that moment anything particularly interesting to discern the discovery didn’t bring much encouragement. He was going up a steep hill now and when he had gained the summit and seated himself for a moment on the edge of the sand box, which stood there at the edge of a tee, he saw that the fog was thinner because he was higher up. Behind him the ground sloped away again, but not so abruptly as in front. As he sat there, struggling for breath after his climb, it seemed that he was the only person in existence. On all sides of him the hill lost itself in the enveloping mists. He was alone in an empty gray space in which there was neither food nor fire. He got quite discouraged about it and a little watery at the eyes until he shook himself together and told himself that he was a baby.

“There are houses and people all around you,” he said disgustedly, “only you can’t see them. All you’ve got to do is to brace up and keep on walking until you find them.”

But that was easier said than done, for he had been walking a long time, and for much of that time over hard ground, and his legs were tired out. But he went on presently, slowly and discouragedly, down a long slope and up another. He had begun to talk aloud to himself for very loneliness, and some of the things he said would have sounded quite ridiculous had there been anyone else to hear them.

At the summit of the slope he paused again to rest, and as he did so he suddenly lifted his head intently, straining his eyes before him into the fog. Of course it was all perfect tommyrot, but, just the same—well, it did sound like music! In fact, it was music, very faint and sometimes dying away altogether, but still music!

“Maybe,” said Tom aloud, “I’ve starved to death and got to heaven. But I don’t feel dead.” Then, with returning animation, he strode forward again. “Me for the music,” he said.