CHAPTER VI—BRUCE CELEBRATES
MAMIE was sick. Hunch did not go to the house, but one night after supper, while he was changing his clothes to go to the Bartlett's, Bruce came in.
“Hello, Bruce. Sit down.”
“Can't stop but a minute. Where're you going?”
“Up to see Jess.”
“I ain't seen you to shake on that, have I, Hunch. Marne told me. She says Jess's tickled to death. When're you going to be married?”
“Dunno exactly. Guess not before spring.”
“Did you hear about Marne, Hunch?”
“Sick, you mean?”
“Yes, I s'posed you knew what was the matter. Thought mebbe Jess told you—but she couldn't though, could she? I'm awful worried. It's too soon, you know. You see that's what I come to see you about. I've been shaving it pretty close. Had to be up nights and it kind of knocked my work. And the doctor's sticking me like everything. I didn't know but—well, I'll tell you, Hunch, can you let me have fifty for a couple of weeks? I don't get my salary till the end of the month, and I've got to settle some things right away.”
“Sure,” said Hunch. “I've got a little put by.”
“I'm awful sorry, Hunch, but you see how it is——”
“That's all right, Bruce. Any time 'll do.”
“I'll give you my note. That's about all I can do.”
“Not much you won't. You just take it, and pay when you can, and don't you say nothing about it.”
For a few days there was gloom at Bruce's cottage. Once Hunch went around and was met at the door by Bruce, who looked worn. Hunch did not know how to ask about Mamie, but Bruce came out and drew the door to behind him.
“She's pretty bad, Hunch. I don't know what I'll do if anything happens. The doctor says we'll know one way or the other in a day or so.”
Hunch gripped his hand and went away.
That evening, when Hunch went around to see Jess, he was depressed. The thought of Mamie's suffering stood in his way whenever he tried to respond to Jess's sallies. As the evening went on, Hunch's mood grew worse. Jess went into a sulk later; when he dropped a careless remark that hurt her pride, she grew angry.
“What's the matter, Jess?” Hunch said at last.
“I guess you know.”
“I don't believe you want me here.”
“Oh, you can go if you want to.”
Hunch looked at her, vaguely conscious that he had been unkind; but he went away without kissing her good-night.
One morning, a day or two later, he was dressing, when Bruce came in, with disordered hair and excited eyes.
“It's all right, Hunch; it's all right! Doctor says it's wonderful how she come through it.”
Hunch sat on the bed without speaking, but with an almost painful expression of relief on his face.
“It's a girl,” said Bruce, and he laughed. “Come on over, Hunch. It's a fine little kid. Come along with me.”
“No,” said Hunch, slowly. “I don't believe I can just now.”
“What's the matter? Why can't you come?”
“I've got a lot of work to do to-day.”
“Don't talk to me about working. You're my best friend and I want you to come first.”
“No, I can't, Bruce.”
“You make me tired, Hunch. You might as well be decent about it.”
“There ain't no use of getting mad, Bruce. I'll get around before long.”
“That's what I call——”
“No, you don't, now, Bruce. You'd better go on back. I guess they need you anyhow.”
Bruce muttered as he went out. He did not know why Hunch refused to go, and Hunch was not sure that he knew himself.
All day Hunch alternated between a nervous buoyancy and a sense of depression. After supper he went to Bartlett's. Jess was watching at the window, and she hurried to open the door. He was wondering what to say, to show her that he was sorry for his unkindness, when she closed the door and flung her arms around his neck, and for a long time she cried on his shoulder. This was the end of their quarrel.
Finally, when they were in the parlor, Jess said, with lowered eyes: “Have you been down to Marne's, John?”
“No.” Hunch was embarrassed.
“I—I went over this afternoon.”
After a silence she went on. “Seems awful funny, don't it?”
Hunch nodded.
“She wants us to come down tonight. I didn't know whether you'd want to.”
“Sure.”
“She's awful proud about it. I—I can't get over thinking about it—about her and him. It's awfully little.”
They walked to Bruce's and sat for an hour in the living room. Mamie was too sick to see them, but Bruce opened the door into her room so that she could hear their voices. Bruce was bubbling over with happiness. When he finally brought out the baby, a sickly little thing, he was laughing out loud. Jess took it in her arms.
“My, ain't it light,” she said.
“Six pounds,” said Bruce.
“What's her name going to be?”
“Dunno yet. Marne wants to name it after her mother.”
“John,” said Jess, “take her just a minute. She's such a funny little thing.” Hunch moved away and shook his head. This made Bruce and Jess laugh. For the rest of the evening Hunch was thoughtful. His manner subdued Jess, and they walked home with little to say.
The following night, as Hunch was coming away from Bartlett's, he met Jess's brother on the street.
“Hello, Hunch,” said Jim. “Say, if you want to see a circus, you ought to go down to Herve's place.”
“Why, what's up?”
“Bruce Considine's celebrating.”
“What—drinking?”
“Yes, he's got a peach of a jag already.”
Hunch hurried down to the saloon. Bruce was sitting on one of the tables, treating the crowd.
“Hello, Hunch,” he said, waving his glass. “Have somethin' on me, ol' man. All my fren's got to have somethin' on me to-night. I'm a father, Hunch.”
Hunch took his arm and jerked him to his feet. Bruce leaned against Hunch, and a man laughed.
“Shut up, there!” said Hunch. Then he led Bruce away and took him to his own room. He needed to think. It was not such a simple matter as in the other days, when Bruce was one of his crew. He sat by the bed until the night was half gone. Bruce had gone to sleep. Hunch had been angry, but after awhile he began to think of Mamie and the baby, and his expression softened a little. Mamie was not in condition to bear a shock. The only thing to do was to sober Bruce and get him home, so he took off his coat and hammered him until he showed signs of consciousness. Finally he got him aroused, and then ducked his head in the washbowl, and scrubbed his face with soap and water.
It was two o'clock in the morning before Bruce was fit to go home. Then he sat on the bed and looked helplessly at Hunch.
“What'll I do, Hunch? I can't go home now.”
“You shut up and go along. Don't do any more talking about it.”
“I can't, Hunch. Think of it! There ain't a thing I can tell Marne. I went uptown to get some medicine and said I'd come right back.”
“You'll go back all the same, if I have to take you myself.”
“What can I tell her?”
Hunch walked up and down the floor.
“That's your business, Bruce. It ain't mine.”
“Don't throw me up now, Hunch. Oh—everything's going to smash. What'll
“What do you want to do, lie to her?”
“It ain't that, Hunch; it ain't lying. I do! I can't tell her how it was. It would kill her.”
“All right, if you want to lie to her, you tell her I was drunk and you brought me home. Now get out—go home, go somewhere, but get out of here.”
“I—I-don't you see, Hunch——”
“Go on now!”
Bruce went out talking to himself.
CHAPTER VII—A LIGHT GOES OUT
MAMIE grew slowly better, but the baby was kept alive only by constant attention. Hunch did not go to the house at all. Jess suggested it once or twice, but it made Hunch look so black that she began to avoid the subject. For the rest of the time Hunch was in better spirits than usual. After the night with Bruce, he had made up his mind to drop Bruce and his family from his mind. He had no right to interfere in Bruce's domestic matters. The decision brought relief, and Jess and he were happier than at any time since the beginning of their engagement. They spent their evenings going to entertainments, or sitting in the parlor, talking, with the lamp turned low.
One night Hunch came in a little earlier than usual, without knocking, and found Jess bending over a paper with some sort of colored illustrations. She slipped it into a drawer as he entered the room.
“What you reading?” he asked.
“Oh, nothing.”
“Yes, you was. I saw it.” He laughed and started to open the drawer, but she stood against it.
“Please don't look.”
“Don't you tell me all your secrets?”
“Oh, well, look if you want to.”
“I don't, unless you want me to, Jess.”
She opened the drawer and drew out the paper. It was illustrated with plans. “What's the matter with this?” he asked. “What you afraid of?”
“Nothing. Sometimes I think it's kind of fun to pick out the houses I'd like—just for fun, you know.”
“Which one do you like?”
“Oh, I don't know. I was just thinking that maybe some day we'd———”
She stopped and turned away. Hunch thought she was joking, and he took her shoulders and gently turned her around. She was crying.
“Why—what's the matter, Jess?”
She buried her face on his coat. Hunch could not follow her sudden changes. Now he looked down at her hair, puzzled, waiting for her to explain. Finally he said, “You've got to tell me what's the matter, Jess.”
“I was only thinking—one of the girls said—said you didn't love me, John, she said—-” Hunch tried to break in, but she went on, “you weren't going to—that we'd never get married. And you—you never said anything about getting married, John.” Hunch looked over her head at the wall. He could not tell her that he had not allowed himself to think about it, that he had been drifting steadily farther from the thought of it. “And I thought maybe you'd speak about it, and we'd talk about a house—and I wanted that—that one on the front page with the shingles on the front. It's a beautiful house, John.”
Hunch stood silent for a long time.
“Why don't you say something? Oh, John, it isn't true, is it? You do love me, John?”
“No,” said Hunch, “it ain't true. We'll be married just as soon as you're ready, Jess.”
She did not look up for a long time. When she did, her eyes were still wet.
“Don't you think it would be kind of fun, John, to talk about the house?”
They went over the plans, sitting on the sofa by the front window, and talked out every detail. Hunch agreed with nearly all of Jess's suggestions, even to the grate in the front room, an expensive feature.
When they were out in the entry, and Hunch was putting on his ulster, Jess stood before him with her back against the door.
“Say, do you want me to tell you something?”
“Course.”
“Oh, I—don't you laugh, John, it ain't funny. It's mean. It's what somebody said. She said if a man really loves a girl, he gives her something so folks 'll know—like a ring or something.” She laughed nervously. “And I just told her that I wasn't engaged on her account, and if she thought I ought to wear a ring she needn't look at me, that's all. She was awful mad.”
Hunch was silent.
“Now, don't you be cross. I don't want a ring, John, anyway, until—well, until we're married. It don't mean anything when two people love each other like you and me do. Good-night, you old boy. Now, don't go and be cross. And don't forget we're going to the dance to-morrow night.”
Hunch laughed a little and kissed her. Then he walked slowly down the street.
At noon on the following day, He went into the jewelry store near the post-office and looked at rings. There was one large ring with two diamonds set in a snake's head.
“How much is it?” Hunch asked.
“Ninety dollars. Best ring we've got. There ain't another like it this side of Grand Rapids.”
“That's the one I want then,” said Hunch. “Will you put it by for me?”
“Take it right along, Mr. Badeau. There's no hurry about the money.”
“No,” said Hunch, “I won't take it until I can pay for it.”
“All right, Mr. Badeau, we'll set it aside for you.”
By a second loan Hunch had let Bruce have nearly all his ready money, so that he lacked a large part of the ninety dollars, but he was determined to have the ring within a week or two. He was walking slowly down the street when he met Jim Bartlett.
“Hello, Hunch.”
“Hello, Jim.”
“Say, come into Herve's a minute. I want to see you.”
When they were seated at one of the round tables, Jim said, “I s'pose it ain't none of my business, Hunch; but when you've known a fellow all your life, you can't help being kind of interested. I knew you was sort of looking after Bruce Considine once in awhile. I know he used to work for you, and it seemed to me lately that he's getting a little off the track.”
“What's the matter? What's Bruce done?”
“Well, I hear about it from two or three places. You know Billy Riggs's folks live next door to Bruce, and this morning Billy came up to the lookout while I was on the watch, and told me a little about it. Billy's always known Marne Banks, you know. I think he used to be kind of stuck on her.”
“What about it?”
“Billy says Bruce is drinking right along not jagged, you know, but kind of ugly. And he says, his little sister says, she saw him hit Marne last night-'t weren't none of her business, of course. She heard 'em talking and was looking through the window. Going on down the street?”
“No,” said Hunch, after a silence, “I'll sit here awhile.”
“All right. So long, Hunch.”
Hunch did not work at all that afternoon. He went to the wharf and watched the men at work on the foundation of the new grain elevator. Once he started back uptown, thinking that he might find Bruce at Herve's saloon. He got as far as the planing mill, and stopped, wondering what he could say to Bruce if he should meet him. Then he went back to the wharf. After supper he walked rapidly out to the eastern limits of the town, where the pavement ends and the yellow sand begins. He had forgotten about Jess and the dance. He went back to Herve's and looked in at the door. Bruce was sitting at one of the rear tables playing poker with some of the elevator men. Hunch stepped back and stood outside on the corner. For the first time since he had known Bruce he felt like leaving him to go to the bad. He wanted to do something himself that would make Mamie's life easier.
He suddenly turned and walked out to Bruce's house. He was excited when he knocked on the door. He heard some one say, “Come in;” then he was inside the door with his hat in his hands. Mamie was sitting by the cradle rocking it with her foot.
“How d'ye do, Mis' Considine. Is Bruce home?”
“No, he's gone to the doctor's. Won't you sit down?”
“Thanks, I dunno. Bruce, he ain't been very well lately, has he?”
“Why, yes.”
“I heard he wasn't. I been kind of worried about him. Say, it ain't none of my business, but he was my man for a good while, and if he ain't doing the right thing by you, why, I want to know it, and I'll learn him he can't cut no monkey shines——”
Mamie had stopped rocking and was looking at him.
“Mebbe I ain't got much to say about him now—I dunno's I have anything to say, but—there's some things a man can't do, and——”
“What do you mean?”
“I dunno just what I mean—I know Bruce, and I've heard that he ain't doing the square thing.”
“I don't understand.”
“I hear he's hit you, and I just wanted you to know I ain't been your friend and his friend for nothing——” Hunch was talking fast and wildly, “and he's got to answer to me if he's doing anything like that.”
Mamie was on her feet now. Her eyes were flashing.
“Is this the way you talk about your friends? And a man who's been as kind to you as Bruce has?”
“Bruce——?”
“Why don't you come when he's here? Why don't you wait and talk to him?”
Hunch sat still, looking at her. He had nothing to say.
“Why don't you go away? What makes you talk like this? Don't you understand that he's my husband?”
Hunch moved toward the door.
“Yes,” he said, “he's your husband.” The meaning of that word seemed to be coming slowly into his mind.
“I'll tell you,” he said, with one hand on the door-knob, “I guess I made a mistake. I——”
“Yes, you have made a mistake.” She followed him toward the door. “Bruce has never said anything mean about you. But I know where he was the other night when he took care of you. And he wouldn't have told me if I hadn't almost made him. And now you——”
They stood at the door looking into each other's eyes—hers flashing, his stupid. A choking sound came from the cradle. Mamie stepped softly across the room and set the cradle rocking gently. Then she bent over it, patting the little blanket and whispering. Hunch stood watching her. She pressed her cheek to the face on the pillow, then suddenly stood up. Her face grew white. She looked at Hunch, and he tiptoed across the room and bent over the cradle. The baby's face was white. He touched the face with his finger. It was cold.
Mamie sank into a chair. She was still looking at him. He said awkwardly, “I'll get Bruce.”
His hat had dropped to the floor and he picked it up and tiptoed back to the door. He opened it and turned. Mamie had thrown herself across the cradle, and he went out without speaking.
He found Bruce in Herve's saloon and sent him home.
CHAPTER VIII—SETTING A DAY
HUNCH took charge of the funeral. After it was over, and while the man was closing the casket, he stepped to the front porch for a breath of air. Jess Bartlett had lingered after the service, and now stood alone on the steps. Hunch hesitated in the doorway. He had not thought of Jess during the last few days, and now he did not know what to say. But she was determined that he should speak first, so after an embarrassing silence he said, “Hello, Jess.”
She turned away.
“Ain't you going to speak to me, Jess.”
“I don't see as I ought to speak to you.”
Hunch looked at her helplessly, and when, after a minute, she turned and saw his expression, she partly relented.
“When are you coming to see me again?”
“You know why I ain't been 'round, Jess.”
“I waited for you the other night. You said you were coming.”
“I know it, Jess. I'm sorry. Can't I come to-night?”
“I s'pose you can if you want to.”
They could not say any more, for it was time to start the carriages. But early in the evening Hunch went to her house, and they walked to the lake? They found it hard to talk. Hunch finally blurted out, “I'm going to get the ring next week. It's a pretty one, I think.”
He felt her arm tremble, but she said nothing.
“I guess you're mad at me, ain't you?”
“No, I ain't mad.”
“Why don't you say something, Jess?”
She came closer to him as they walked.
“John, I wish—I wish we could get married. Somehow I don't feel as if you belonged to me. I know it's silly, but I can't help it.”
“How soon can you get ready?”
“I—I wasn't thinking of it just that way—I——”
“Is next month too soon?”
She looked up at him and laughed softly. Their eyes met and they understood each other better. They walked down the beach and looked out over the flat lake.
“I'm afraid we'll have to live kind of simple for a while,” Hunch said. “I ain't very rich, you know.”
“Do you think I care about that, John? Don't you know I love you because you're so strong and good, and you can do so much. Everybody knows you're going to be rich some day. Jim, he says there ain't another man in town that's got as much sand as you have, John.”
So they talked all through the long evening, telling each other their thoughts and plans and hopes; and her trust in him gave Hunch a sense of strength and responsibility. When he left her, very late, at the front steps, he had thought of a plan which he kept for the time to himself.
CHAPTER IX—THE STORM
IN the morning, directly after breakfast, Hunch went to see the foreman of the elevator gang. “Where're you getting your timber, Murphy?” he asked.
“Getting most of it up at Manistee.”
“Got it in yet?”
“More'n half of it. The rest of it's a late order.”
“How much is there to come?”
“About fifty thousand.”
“How's it delivered?”
“F. O. B. on the dock here. Why, you looking for a job?”
“Yes, wouldn't mind. I could get it down here cheaper'n the railroad, and pretty near as quick.”
“Navigation's closed, though. I don't know as the Manistee folks 'd want to risk it.”
“Yes, but look at that.” Hunch motioned toward the lake, which lay blue and sparkling beyond the Buttersville sandspit. “Quiet as August and it's a short run. There ain't hardly any ice either.”
“Well, you might talk to 'em up at Manistee, Hunch. Of course, they can deliver anyhow they like, but I can't run chances of delay.”
So Hunch went over to the telegraph office in the railroad station, and after a great deal of writing and rewriting made up the following message:
To Wm. F. Jackson, Esq.,
Pres't Manistee Timber Co.:
Will deliver the Liddington elevator bill of fifty thousand feet by Lake, One Hundred Dollars. If terms satisfactory, wire reply, so I can deliver while weather holds fair.
J. Badeau.
When this message reached Jackson, he was sitting at his desk, with the railroad rate figured out on a sheet of paper before him. He promptly laid the two offers side by side and looked from one to the other. There was no doubt that the lake route would be cheaper. But, on the other hand, it was now after the first of December, and navigation was nominally closed on the great lakes. Insurance he could get, if at all, only at a prohibitive rate.
It was a question of judgment, and before deciding it, Mr. Jackson got up and walked over to the window. The busy little city of Manistee shut off his view of Lake Michigan, but he knew it was flat as a mirror. Not many hours earlier he had stood by another window, in his big house on the bluff, and as he shaved he had looked out over miles and miles of blue water, as calm as in June. It was warm enough for mid-autumn; the barometer promised continued dear weather. Altogether, Badeau's offer had decidedly the best of it. So he sent a message to “J. Badeau, Liddington,” asking him to bring up his schooner at once.
Hunch, on receiving the message, went up to Herve's saloon, and while standing at the bar, let his eyes rove about the room until they settled on a lank, middle-aged man in the corner.
“Hello, Herm Peabody.”
“Hello, Hunch.”
“What you doing in these parts?”
“Come up to see my niece—Joe Cartier's wife.”
“Busy nowadays?”
“No, ain't picked up anything for the winter yet.”
“What would you think of taking a trip with me?”
“The Dean?”
“Yes.”
“A little late for schooners, ain't it?”
“Not in this weather, no. It's only a little trip-up to Manistee.”
“Well, this ain't been a very flush season, Hunch, and I s'pose I ought to take it.”
“Can you come right along? I'd like to overhaul her a little and run up there this afternoon. If they're reasonable quick about loading, we can get right back.”
A few hours later Hunch ran her out between the piers, with Peabody up forward, and pointed north-east-by-north to clear Big Point Sable. The breeze was light, and it was not until six o'clock that evening that the Dean ran into the harbor at Manistee. Hunch promptly looked up the lumberman.
“How are you, Badeau. You came right up.”
“Yes, I did.”
“We'll put that timber aboard the first thing in the morning.”
“You can't do it to-night, then?”
“Oh, hardly.” Mr. Jackson glanced out at the starlit sky. “You don't think there's any doubt about the weather, do you?”
“Maybe not. But if I could get it aboard now, I'd start right back. We know we're all right to-night.”
The lumberman's supper awaited him; his men had scattered to their homes. He glanced again at the sky, then said, “The morning 'll do, I guess.”
“Well, it's just this way, Mr. Jackson. I made you the offer to take this load down, but I don't feel like running any more risk than I have to.”
“If you see anything to worry you in that sky, Badeau, you can just let us run the risk.”
The thermometer dropped twenty-five degrees during the night. A film of ice formed in the harbor. The wind swung around to the northeast, and brought a bank of innocent looking clouds that spread slowly over the sky. Out on the lake front the shore ice grew higher and whiter as the waves beat tirelessly over it, and formed blocks and cones and miniature mountain ranges.
When Jackson met Hunch on the wharf, he seemed to have forgotten what he had said the evening before. “Well, Badeau, what do you make of it?”
“Of what?”
“The weather. Think you can make it?”
“Yes, I think so.”
“You ought to have gone out last night.”
To this Hunch made no reply; he kept one eye on the work of the timber shovers.
“Still,” added Jackson, “you can run down in two or three hours with this wind.”
A little later Hunch joined Peabody by the wheel. “Do you know of a good man here, Herm?”
“For the schooner, you mean?”
“Yes.”
“Why—I'll see if I can pick up Duke Buckingham.”
“Go ahead. Tell him we're short-handed.”
When the Dean finally fell away from the wharf, in tow of Jackson's tug, it was well on toward noon. And none of the three men on board was over-cheerful when he looked out at the lake and felt the keen wind of the open water. Even on shore it was a day for heavy jackets and gloves; out here it was bitter cold.
“Set the tops'ls, Herm,” said Badeau, from the wheel.
Peabody looked at Buckingham, and then, without a word, the two men set to work.
They ran nearly before the wind, that is, nearly southwest. Badeau kept her up a few points to the westward in order to avoid the surf-currents that bore down on Point Sable. The deck was piled so high with timber that the schooner was unwieldy; her scuppers were nearly awash, and the stem was down so low in the water that half the time the small boat, hanging from the after davits, was afloat. When all sail was spread, Hunch called his men aft and gave them a hand in hauling the boat aboard and forward.
Rapidly the piers and the bluffs of Manistee fell off astern. Steadily the sky thickened, and fine, hard flakes of snow began to blow about their ears. Badeau alone did not mind the cold; his coat was open, his hands bare.
“What do you think o' this business, Herm?” asked Buckingham.
“Oh—well, it ain't but three hours in this wind.”
“I don't like them tops'ls.”
Peabody had no reply to this.
“What the devil's he runnin' way out here for?”
Peabody turned toward Point Sable; and then they both looked in silence. They could see the white line of the surf, due south. On the bluff the trees were tossing and bending.
Buckingham was the first to turn away. “Look there!” he exclaimed, gripping Peabody's arm. “Hi there, Hunch!” A black squall was sweeping down from the north, as sharply defined on the water as if laid out with a rule. Before the line were the leaden billows, behind it a black, wrinkled surface, dotted with whitecaps. “Hi there, Hunch!”
But Hunch's eyes had been long trained to take in a full circle at a glance. “Ready about!” he was bellowing, “Ready about!”
The wheel spun around, the jibs flapped, the schooner reeled as she swung lazily up. The three men watched the squall. Slowly—slowly—creaking angrily—Will she make it?—No—Yes—No——
“Struck, by——! Hold fast, boys! Hold fast!”
Over she went, till the booms dipped and the waters of Lake Michigan ran from stem to stem along the rail. Hunch left the wheel and sprang forward for the main sheet. Before he had it in his hand he was drenched through. Cursing like a Northern Peninsula lumberman, he hauled away. Peabody and Buckingham were together at the foresheet, with white faces and blue lips. Over again! They got up to the weather-rail—it was like climbing a gable roof—and still hauled away. For thirty endless seconds they fought, then her bowsprit, scooping deep into every wave, swung around and pointed into the wind. Hunch, shaking the water from his eyes, looked up and about; both topsails were gone, and a thousand feet or so of timber.
They could breathe now. But only for a moment, for the storm was beating them back toward the point. Another battle, and mainsail and foresail were double reefed and the Dean was slowly working up into the wind. There was no thought now of rounding the point; it was a question of getting sea room. Once Badeau thought of anchoring, but his judgment warned him not to try. One fact was encouraging, they made a little headway. By three o'clock in the afternoon they were back off the Manistee piers, and three miles out.
“What's that comin' down the harbor,” shouted Buckingham, “a tug?”
“Looks like it. Yes, that's what it is.”
“See there, she's whistlin'.” They could see the steam, though no sound reached them.
“She can't make it—hold fast, there!” The Dean nosed deep into a curling wave, struggled to rise, plunged on through, and the wave rushed over them. When they could see again, a few more thousand feet of lumber had disappeared.
“That was a soaker. Hunch all right, Henn?”
“Sure. See, she's putting back. Looks like the Cecilia Smith.”
“That's what she is. I never did think much o' Bill Peters.”
“Maybe he's right. He couldn't ever tow us in through that surf—say, the boat's gone!”
“The——-it is!”
“Look for yourself.”
“Lord, you're right! Kind o' rough on Hunch. He'll be lucky to come through this without losin' a wad. There's sixty or eighty dollars worth o' timber gone a'ready.”
“Maybe he won't have to stand for that.”
“Somebody'll have to. You can't get insurance now, you know.”
“Look out, Duke—here comes another!”
When this wave had passed, Peabody missed his companion, and looked around for him. At length he saw him, wedged in between the foremast and the timbers, grinning sheepishly; and stepping back he hauled him out. “What's the matter with you, man? Didn't you see it.”
“Oh, I saw it all right.”
“You'd better get hold here. What's the matter with your hands?”
“I dunno, sort o' numb, I guess.”
“Makes me think o' the time Ryerson's house burned—just such a day as this. Three or four of us got there early and pitched in to help the firemen.” He had to shout to make himself heard. “I was up on the ladder, next under the nozzleman, holding up the slack of the hose. Well, sir, do you know the water kept dribbling down from the nozzle around my fingers until they were just about froze stiff. Finally, they let go—I couldn't help it, my fingers just straightened out. Then the slack of the hose fell and jerked the nozzle right out of the nozzleman's hands. Well, sir, I didn't hardly know what I was doing, it come so quick; but when that nozzle was tumbling down by me, and the stream swinging all around, I made a grab for it and caught it by the handles. And there I stood, holding on for all there was in me, and the crowd yelling. All to once it struck me the nozzleman was yelling too, and I looked up, and there I was squirting a four-inch stream up under his rubber coat, and he was hanging on to the ladder for life. Getting colder, ain't it?” Buckingham, with lips bluer than ever, made no reply; he looked down at his hands. Peabody's eyes roved shoreward. The lines in his face deepened as he looked; for he saw that the Dean was making no headway. Half an hour later Badeau beckoned him aft. When he returned he took Buckingham by the shoulder, and shook him a little. “Here, Duke, what you thinking of! Brace up! Hunch says we'll throw off the deck load. He can't manage her at all this way. Come along—it's just what you need.”
Through the afternoon, through the night, the storm sported with the Dean. It swept down from the north and forced her nearer and nearer to the breakers on Point Sable; it veered to the northeast, and blew her, with a scurry of black water, out past the point and on—on, as if to hurl her on the Wisconsin shore; it brought snow and sleet to blind the tireless wheelman, whose hands never left the spokes; it ripped the sails and set the shreds to flapping derisively; and still Badeau kept the wheel, and still his crew held their places forward. There was no talking now. There were no more yams of sea or shore; the two men up forward were holding grimly to life, with fingers too stiffened to grip firmly—with spirits that shivered and threatened to let go.