“Here we are!”
“Where’s the bungalow?”
“Me for that motor boat of Cora’s!” cried Jack.
“No, you don’t!” exclaimed his sister. “Not till I try her first.”
They had alighted at the station, and there was the confusion that always follows engaging a carriage and seeing that the baggage has safely arrived. Cora found time to slip off for a minute and whisper words of cheer to Freda. Then she rejoined her chums, and made ready for the trip to the bungalow.
The boys, with a fine disregard of housekeeping responsibilities, were already making plans to go fishing that afternoon, having spied a man who took out parties in his launch.
But finally order came out of chaos. The girls found themselves at their bungalow, surrounded by their belongings. The boys, after seeing that their possessions were piled in the tent, slipped on their oldest garments and began overhauling their fishing tackle.
“Aren’t you going to do anything toward getting a meal?” asked Cora of Jack, as she went over to the tent to borrow a corkscrew with which to open some olives.
“We thought maybe you’d ask us over,” he answered, craftily, as he adjusted a reel on his rod.
“Oh, Jack!” she cried. “We can’t! We’ve got so much to unpack. Besides, we’re only going to have a light lunch now.”
“A light lunch! Excuse me. I know—crackers, pickles and olives. Never! We’ll go to the town delicatessen, sister mine!”
“Thank goodness there is one,” murmured Cora.
She hastened back to the bungalow. And then began a series of strenuous happenings.
Somehow trunks and suitcases were unpacked; somehow rooms were picked out, rejected, taken again, and finally settled on. Then, between the nibblings at the crackers and pickles Jack had despised, the girls settled down, and at last had time to admire the place they had selected for their Summer stay.
A woman had been engaged to open the bungalow for them, and she had provided most of the necessaries of life, aside from those the girls brought with them. Cora and her chums had been satisfied to have her attend to everything from buying food to providing an oil stove on which to cook it.
There were a number of conveniences at Crystal Bay. Stores were not out of reach, and supplies could be procured with little trouble. A trip across the bay brought one to the shores of a real village, with school house, post-office and other accessories of civilization. A trip down the bay opened into eel pots in August, bluefishing in September and deep sea fishing later on, when the Summer colonists had departed.
Very early in the morning after the arrival of the motor girls at Crystal Bay, house, tent and bungalow were deserted—it was all a matter of motor boat. Moored to the brand new dock, at Tangle Turn, a brand new motor craft heaved with the incoming waves and tugged at its ropes whenever a sufficiently strong motion of the water gave it excuse to attempt an escape.
This was the Chelton, the “up-to-datest” little-big motor boat possible to own or acquire, according to the verdict of the young men from Chelton who had just now passed judgment, and the wise decision of Cora and her girl friends who had actually bought the boat, after having taken a post-graduate course in catalogs and hardware periodicals, to say nothing of the countless interviews they had found it necessary to hold with salesmen and yacht agents.
They were all there, even Freda, who declared she ought to be busy with other matters, but that the call of the colony was too strong for her that one morning, at least.
“Of course we know how to run her,” insisted Cora to Ed, the latter having expressed doubt as to the girls’ ability to manage so important a craft. “Didn’t we run the Pet?”
“Oh, yes, but this—this is a deep-sea boat,” Ed explained, “and you might run yourselves away to other shores.”
“And land on a desert island? What sport!” exclaimed Lottie, to whom motor boating was an entirely new experience. “I hope we make it Holland. I have always longed to see a real, live Holland boy. The kind who are all clothes and wooden shoes.”
“We might make one up for you,” suggested Belle. “I think Wallie would look too cute for anything in skirty trousers and polonaise shirts. Just let his locks grow a little—Look out there, Bess! That’s water around the boat. It only looks like an oil painting. It’s real—wet!”
Bess was climbing over the dock edge, and of course the boys could not allow her that much exercise without pretending that she was in danger of going overboard. After Belle unhooked the hem of her sister’s skirt from an iron bolt, thereby giving Bess a sudden drop to the deck of the Chelton, however, Bess declared she knew water when she saw it, and also the difference between a water color and an oil painting.
“What did you call her Chelton for?” asked Walter. “I thought you decided to take the name from the first remark the first stranger should make about her.”
“Yes, and what do you think that was?” laughed Belle.
“‘Push’!” promptly answered Freda. “An old fisherman came along as Jack was arranging the painter, and he just said ‘push’!”
“That would be a handy little name,” commented Walter.
“Next some boys, out clamming, saw her,” said Jack, “and they said ‘peach.’”
“Either of which would have done nicely,” declared Ed. “Peach would have been the very name—after the girls——”
“Chelton is dignified and appropriate,” interposed Cora; “besides, if we should stray off to Holland they would know along the Dikes that we belonged in Chelton.”
“Now don’t forget that the wheel is a sea wheel and turns opposite to the direction you want to go,” cautioned Jack.
“How is that?” inquired Lottie, who had joined the other in examining the boat.
She was shown with patience. The boys were plainly glad that one of the girls, at least, did not know all about running a motor boat.
“And oh, what is that?” gasped Marita. “That cunning little playhouse!”
“Playhouse!” repeated Cora. “That’s our living room—our cabin. Those fixtures are to cook with, eat with, live with and do all our housekeeping with.”
“Also die with,” added Walter. “I think that electric toaster might be all right for fudge, but for real bread—Now say, Cora, can you really cook pork and beans on that?”
“These are the very latest, most improved and most expensive electric attachments on the market,” answered Cora, with a show of dignity, “and when you boys take a meal here, if we ever invite you to, I think we can easily prove the advantage of electrical attachments over campfire iron pots.”
The cooking apparatus was examined with interest. A motor boat cabin fitted up with such a “kitchenette” was indeed a novelty.
“You see,” explained Cora, “we have two ways of getting power. We can take it from the storage battery, or from the little dynamo attached to the motor.”
“Lovely!” exclaimed Lottie, to whom a “current” meant little, but who wanted to seem interested.
“That is to provide for the various kinds of cooking,” Jack said, jokingly. “Now eggs are weak, they cook by storage; but a Welsh rabbit is done by the dynamo.”
“It means something else,” Captain Cora remarked, “namely, if we have company for supper, and the storage current gives out, we will not have to make it a progressive meal, extending into the next day. The course can be continued from the extra current.”
“For the love of Malachi!” exclaimed Walter. “What’s this?”
“Our boiler,” said Bess, who knew something about the boat’s fitting up. “We have that for dishwater.”
“Dishwater!” repeated Ed. “You’ve got this down to domestic science all right. That rubber hose runs off the hot water from the cylinder jacket, and——”
“Oh, never!” cried Jack. “They will be making tea with it.”
“Isn’t it salty?” innocently asked Marita.
“Likely,” said Belle, for the girls had all taken an interest in the housework-made-easy-plan, and had arranged to use the boiling water as it came from the motor after cooling the cylinder. “But it won’t hurt dishes.”
“Now I call that neat,” commented Ed, “and to think that mere girls should have thought of it.”
Freda gave Cora a meaning glance. “Girls ought to think of the housework,” she laughed with a wink at Belle. “Just look at the linen chest.”
She opened a small box and exhibited a goodly supply of suitable linen. No table cloths; just small pieces, doilies and plenty of neat, pretty towels.
“Let’s board here,” suggested Walter. “Our food was really rude this morning.”
“Do we go out for a sail?” asked Ed, attempting to turn on the gasoline.
“Oh, no indeed!” Cora answered quickly. “Not a box is unpacked in our place yet, and perhaps, if you boys are all to rights, you wouldn’t mind giving us a hand.”
“Oh, of course we’re all to rights,” replied Jack. “I had a bolt of mosquito netting for my blanket last night and Wallie’s bathrobe for my pillow.”
“And I made friends with a pretty, little, soft ground mole, Jack,” put in Ed, “and if the rest of our boxes do not arrive and unpack themselves in time for your slumber this eve, that mole has agreed to cuddle up under your left ear. I believe you sleep on your left.”
“Thanks,” Jack said, “but I see no reason why mere household truck should keep us from a cruise. I am aching to try the Chelton, Cora.”
Cora and Freda were talking in whispers in the other end of the boat. It was no “mere household truck” surely that brought the serious expression to their faces.
“It isn’t far,” Freda was heard to say, “and he promised to wait for us this morning.”
“And I do want to be with you,” Cora answered. “But I won’t let them take the boat out the first time without me. It cost too much to run the risk of damaging it by sky-larking.”
“Now what are you two up to?” demanded Jack. “Just because Drayton Ward has not arrived, we are held up for his coming. I tell you, Sis, that chap may not put in an appearance at all, here. He knows—sweller places.”
“Oh, don’t you mind him, Cora,” Ed interrupted. “Dray is sure to come. He had his canoe shipped two days ago, besides sending to the cove for his motor boat. I expect some tall times when he gets here. Our own innocent little Lassie won’t know how to skip over the waves at all—she’ll be that flustered when the swell, gold-railed, mahogany-bound, carpet-floored Dixie gets here.”
“It would take more than a mere Dixie to knock out our Lassie,” declared Walter, “but I should like to know why she is not on the scene yet. Didn’t we plainly say Tuesday?”
“We did, plainly and emphatically. But a boat builder, letter or seller has a right to make his own day in delivering the goods. We’ll be lucky if we get the barge at all without taking the sheriff up to that shipyard.”
“Meanwhile we have the Chelton,” said Ed, tugging at Cora’s sleeve.
“And we must get back to the bungalow,” she observed. “Freda and I have an important appointment for eleven, and if you all promise not to follow us or attempt to go out in the Chelton, perhaps we will have some interesting news for you this evening.”
The boys strolled away, talking about the motor boat they had hired. Money, for some reason, was not plentiful that Summer with Jack and his chums, and they had to be content with a second-hand craft, that had been patched and re-patched until there was little of the original left. They were not even sure the Lassie would run, but they were anxious to try her.
“This way, Cora. The sand is so heavy out there it is better to keep near the edge,” said Freda, as the two girls tramped along in the deep sand of the seashore that banded Crystal Bay.
“But isn’t it perfectly beautiful along here?” exclaimed Cora, in rapt delight. “I had no idea the little place could be so charming.”
“Oh, yes,” returned Freda, with a suspicion of a sigh. “Over there, just in that splendid green stretch is, or was, grandfather’s place. It runs all along to the island, and on the other side there is a stream that has been used for a mill race.”
“Over there!” Cora repeated. “Why, that looks like the very best part of the bay. And that house on the hill?”
“Grandfather’s own home and—mother’s,” finished Freda.
“Is it rented now?”
“Yes, we have rented it for three years, and it has brought us quite a little income,” said Freda.
“But you see that is cut off now. I am sure I do not know who collects the rents.”
“What a shame!” cried Cora. “And all because there is some technical proof of ownership missing. I should think that when your family had undisputed possession for years it ought to be sufficient to establish your rights.”
“Yes, we never dreamed we could lose it,” Freda explained. “Mother and I have lived there in the Winter since father died, and we have rented it in Summer, as I said. Of course the Summer is the desirable time here. And we had some of the loveliest old furniture. But when we had to break up we sold most of it.”
“Look out! There’s a hole there,” Cora warned just in time, for in the heavy sand little rivulets were creeping from some rollers tossed in by a passing boat. The bay was dotted with many craft, and the picture it presented gave Cora keen delight, for it forecasted a merry Summer for the motor girls.
“We only have a little farther to go,” Freda said. “I hope old Denny has kept his word and stayed in. He is the queerest old fellow—you will be amused at him, I am sure. But he was always such a staunch friend of grandfather.”
“I am anxious to meet him,” rejoined Cora. “Somehow I feel we girls ought to get at the bottom of this. Wouldn’t it be fine if we could?”
“More than fine, it would be glorious!” Freda replied. “If we lose it all now, I will have to look for work. Not that I mind that,” she added, “but I intend to take a course in nursing. I have always longed to be a nurse.”
“And that would be a splendid profession for you,” Cora agreed. “I do hope you will not have to go to work in some office.”
“Oh, there’s Denny! Denny!” called Freda, leaving Cora without further ceremony, and hurrying ahead as fast as the soft sand would allow. “See, there he is! Just going out in his fishing boat.”
Cora ran after her, and soon they overtook the old fisherman, who was deaf. Freda didn’t mind getting her shoes wet in order to approach the water’s edge.
“Good morning, Denny,” she called, “come in here. We want to talk to you.”
He took his pipe from his mouth, in order that his mind should not be distracted. Then he pushed his cap back, and dropped an oar.
“Freddie, is that you?” he asked. “Sure I thought you was comin’ up to the shack, and I’ve bin waitin’ for you.”
“We are on our way up there now. You are not going out, are you?” pleaded Freda.
“No, Freddie,” (he always called her Freddie), “I’ll come right in. I was only goin’ acrost to get a few little things; but they can wait.”
Cora now had a chance to see this quaint old fellow. He was Irish, with many fine humorous wrinkles about his eyes and mouth. He seemed to breathe through his pipe, so constantly did he inhale it, and just how he kept his sailor’s blouse so clean, and his worn clothes so neat, was a trick he had learned in his younger days in the navy.
“Isn’t this a fine day?” he commented, with a nod to Cora.
“Simply perfect,” she answered, seeing there was no need for a formal introduction. “I have been telling Freda how surprised I was at the beauty of this place.”
“Surprised, is it? Sure, there ain’t another spot this side of Cape Cod with as many fine points to it. I wouldn’t leave this little bay for a berth on any ocean liner.”
“My friend, Cora Kimball, is from Chelton, Uncle Denny. Do you know where that is?” asked Freda.
“Chelton? Chelton? Sure, I do. I went through there once in a parade wagon. We were out with the G. A. R. and I guess the parade got lost, for I remember at Chelton we had to put up for the night in an old church they were using for a fire house. But we had a fine time,” and he chuckled at the recollection. “And next day we finished up without the need of a wagon. It was like camp days to scatter ourselves about the big ramshackle place.”
“Oh, yes, that’s out in the East End,” Cora said. “We have quite an up-to-date fire house in Chelton Center.”
“Well, that was good enough for me,” he asserted. “But come along and I’ll show you my shack. Freddie will be surprised at my new decorations.”
Up the little board walk to a path through the woods the three tramped. Denny Shane was popular with young folks; even the mischievous boys who would occasionally untie his boat before a storm had no reason to fear his wrath, for such pranks were quickly forgotten.
“And the mother, Freddie?” he asked. “How’s she gettin’ on?”
“Well, she worries a good deal,” the girl replied. “But I keep telling her it must come right in time.”
“Sure it will. The rascals that would do wrong to a widder couldn’t prosper. ’Taint lucky. But they’re foxy. Did you hear anything new?”
“Yes, but not much that is substantial. My friend and I want to see you to find out all that you may know about it. Perhaps there is some clue we have been overlooking, that you could give us.”
“Well, you’re welcome to all I know. But here we are. No need to unlock my door,” he said as he saw Cora smile at his unceremonious entrance to the shack. “Them that has nothin’ has nothin’ to fear.”
A surprising little place, indeed, the girls were shown into. Neat and orderly, yet convenient and practical, was Denny Shane’s home. There was a stove and a mantel, a table, two chairs and a long bench. Pieces of rag carpet indicated the most favored spots—those to be lived on.
“And now, Freddie,” began Denny, drawing out two chairs, “what do you think of my housekeeping?”
“Why, you are just as comfortable and neat as possible,” she replied. “But I notice one thing has not lost its place—your red oar.”
“No—indeed!” he said almost solemnly. “That oar will stay with me while Denny Shane has eyes to see it. It has a story, Freddie, and I often promised to tell it to you. This is as good a time as another.”
He put his pipe down, brought a big chair up to the window, opened a back door to allow the salt air to sweep in; then, while Cora looked with quickening interest at the old red oar, that hung over the fireplace, Denny shook his head reflectively and started with his story.
“That oar,” he said, “seems like a link between me and Leonard Lewis—your grandpa, Freddie. And, too, it is a reminder of the night when I nearly went over the other sea, and would have, but for Leonard Lewis and his strong red oar.”
A light flashed into the old eyes. Plainly the recollections brought up by his story were sacred. He left his chair and went over to the mantel, climbed up on a box and touched the oar that had sagged a little from its position.
“The wind rocks this shanty so,” he explained, “the oar thinks it’s out on the waves again, I guess. I don’t like to spoil it with nails or strings.”
“It looks very artistic,” Cora declared; “but how curious that an oar should be painted red.”
“Yes, there was only one pair of them, that I know of. One went with the wreck, and this one Len Lewis held on to. Now I’ll tell you about it.”
Again he seated himself and this time started off briskly with the tale.
“It was a raw January night—in fact, it seemed as if it had been night all day for all the chance the sun had to get out. A howling wind whistled and fairly shrieked at everything that didn’t fly fast enough to suit it. Len and me had been puttin’ in a lot of time together at his house, just chinnin’—there wasn’t much else to do but to keep warm. Well, along about five o’clock, we heard a rocket! The wind died away for a minute or so, and we dashed out to the beach to get the lay of that distress signal. Talk about big city fires!” he digressed. “A fire on land ain’t what it is on sea. It always seems like as if death has a double power with the fire and the deep and nothing but the sky above to fan the flame.
“We soon saw the smoke. It was from a point just over the turn, where the clouds dip down and touch the waves. A little tail of smoke crawled up and hung black and dirty, not gettin’ any bigger nor spreadin’ much. When we sighted her, we went to work in the way men of the sea have of working together and never sayin’ a word. Up the beach we chased, and dragged out the boat we called our ‘Lifer.’ It was a good, strong fishin’ boat, and we kept her ready in the rough weather.
“‘Wait!’ yelled Len to me, just as I was pushin’ off. ‘I’ve got a lucky pair of oars. They’re bigger and heavier than ours, and I’ll toss ’em in. We might need ’em.’
“Little I thought of the need we would have! And I always laughed at Len’s idea of luck—and me an Irishman, too.”
“Mother always said grandfather was queer about such things,” Freda remarked. “I remember we had an old jug that he found on one of his birthdays. He would never allow that jug to be thrown out; he said it meant a jug full of good luck.”
“And it, of course, was an empty jug,” Cora said, with a smile. “Perhaps that is, after all, the luckiest kind.”
Denny chuckled over that remark, and added he had not much use for jugs of any kind.
“But I’m gettin’ away from my yarn,” he said, presently. “We took the big thick oars and pulled out against the wind. By this time the hail was comin’ down in chunks that would cut the face off you. Sometimes there are a lot of stragglers around here, but when we need a man, of course, there is not one in sight. But we rowed away and somehow managed to get close to the wreck. It was a little steamer, not much bigger than a tug, and it was burning faster than the smoke told us.
“‘You throw the rope and I’ll stick to the oars!’ shouted Len, his voice sounding like a wheeze in the wind. There were three men on the steamer and they were just about tuckered out. They were clingin’ to the rail, their hands blisterin’ from the flames that were sweepin’ up close to them even as they touched the water’s edge.
“It’s an awful thing to see sufferin’ like that,” he put in. “I won’t ever forget how those fellows tumbled into our boat. They just rolled in like dead men. But my rope got caught in the rudder of the steamer, and I tugged and tugged, but it looked as if we would have to let her burn off before we could free ourselves. Just when I decided to make a big haul at it I came near my end. I stood up, gave the rope a yank, and with that—rip! She let go! And I went with it over into the water!”
“Goodness!” Cora exclaimed. “It was bad enough to have to rescue the other men, but for you to go into that roaring ocean!”
“It was bad, Miss,” agreed the narrator. “And the feel of that water as I struck it! It was like a bath of sword-points. Well, that’s where the oar comes in! Bless the bit of wood it was cut from, it sure was a good, strong stick.
“When I flopped into the water, like a fish dumped out of a net, your grandpop, Freddie, took nary a chance at reachin’ me with the rope. He dropped the regular oars and took one of the pair he called lucky.
“‘Here,’ he yelled, ‘grab to that!’
“I can see the red flash now as it nearly hit me on the head, but though I did make a stab at it the water was that cold and the ice so thick on me hands that I couldn’t hold on.
“It’s pretty bad to be floppin’ around like that, I can tell you. But Len kept shoutin’ and when one of the other fellows got enough breath to stand up with, he took a hand at the rescuin’.
“It was him who dropped the mate to that oar overboard. Mad! I could hear Len yell through the thick of it all. But he held the last red oar.
“With the effort to keep up me blood heated some, and the next time I saw the flash of red I grabbed it good an’ proper. It took three of them to haul me up, but I clung to the red oar and that’s how I’m here this minute. Likewise, it’s why the oar is here with me.”
There was a long pause. The girls had been thrilled with the simple recital, so void of anything like conceit in the part that Denny himself had played in the work of rescue.
“And the red oar won out,” Cora remarked, looking at the old relic with something akin to reverence. “Perhaps, after all, there is something in luck.”
“Looked like it,” agreed Denny. “And after we got back Len couldn’t pay any attention to the half-frozen men, or to me, that had been pretty well chilled—all he could do was talk about the luck of that oar.”
“I don’t blame him,” Freda put in. “Your rope had nearly burned, your light oar broke, one of the heavy pair went overboard and this one did most of the work getting back, I suppose.”
“Right,” said Denny, “for while we had another pair to work with, they were slim, and weak, but that fellow, it sure was tough then; but lately when I take it down it seems to have shrunk, for it’s gettin’ lighter, somehow.”
“And how did you come to get it?” asked Cora.
“That’s the end of my story,” said Denny. “When Len was taken very sick, of course I used to stay with me friend as much as I could.”
Freda unconsciously pushed her chair nearer the old man. Surely to hear of the last days of her good grandfather’s life was a matter too important to pass over lightly.
“Your father was livin’ then, Freddie,” Denny went on, “and a fine healthy young man, too.”
“Father died so suddenly,” said Freda, “mother hardly ever speaks of his death. She always seems overcome after talking of it.”
“That was a sad thing,” Denny digressed. “To go off in the morning, a-whistlin’ and happy, and to be brought home without a word in him. Freddie, dear, I oughtn’t to talk of it.”
Freda brushed aside a tear. Her father’s death had been caused by apoplexy, when she was but a mite of a child.
“But the queer part of it was that your grandfather seemed to think I would outlive his son, and John such a strappin’-lookin’ fellow,” resumed Denny. “Len called me to him, and him sick and miserable, and he says: ‘Denny, John’s not as strong as he looks, and I want you to do all you can to help Louisa,’ (your mother of course, Freddie), ‘for she has the child to raise,’ he said. Well, he wouldn’t let me interrupt him when I tried to speak of John. He would have it that I should keep an eye to things. Your grandfather Lewis left me no papers, however—I supposed John had them—but he left me the old red oar. He had fairly been playin’ with it for years, always polishin’ it or shapin’ it off here or there. I often look at the marks of his knife on it, and wonder why he seemed fond of it.”
“I am sure,” said Freda, earnestly, “you have kept your promise, Uncle Denny. Mother often speaks of how good you were when I was small. Father never had any papers about grandfather’s land; all he had related to family keepsakes. The strange part of it all is to me that a man of grandfather’s intelligence should be so remiss about his property claims.”
“But, Freddie, you don’t understand. There seemed no need for deeds and mortgage papers then about here. Everybody knew everyone else, and things seemed to be solid forever. But now them plagued land fellows—well, they’ve got a good cheek, is all I can say.” And he emptied an unsmoked pipe of tobacco in his indignation.
“But we are going to get after them,” Cora declared. “We want to go slowly, and, if possible, find out what their intentions are. Find what sort of company they claim to have, in the first place, and if they are an honorable set of men they ought to make open claims, instead of sneaking around, and trying to find out things that might cause a flaw in the title. I am suspicious, for one,” she finished significantly.
“Well, good luck to your spunk,” said Denny, “and I never knew the like of it to fail. But say, tell me about the boat. What did the lads think of the fixin’s?”
“Oh, it was the greatest fun,” Freda replied. “They could not imagine how we ever thought of using the cylinder water for a dishwater supply. I never gave it away that you suggested it to Cora’s mechanic.”
“And I want to thank you, Mr. Shane——”
“Mr. Shane!” Denny interrupted. “Say, if you call me that I’ll think I’m reading me own death notice in the Beacon.”
Cora laughed at this, and agreed he should be “Uncle Denny” to her as well as to the others of the neighborhood.
“But it was splendid of you to have the boat all ready for us when we came. I did not suppose Freda had a chance to get down to it before we loomed up.”
“You don’t know the risin’ hour for us folks at the Bay,” returned Denny, with a sly wink. “Freddie couldn’t stay abed when the sun is beckonin’ on the waves; could you, Freddie?”
“Oh, the early Summer mornings are beautiful,” replied Freda, “and I am sorry I had to lose so many of them. Who’s that? The girls, looking for us! There’s Bess puffing, and Belle—fluffing. I do think they are the most attractive pair.”
Cora smiled, for her own devotion to the Robinson twins was only paralleled by the twins’ devotion to Cora.
“Cora! Freda!” called youthful voices from the path. “Where are you?”
“Come in—do!” answered Denny, who always had a spare chair for visitors.
“Oh, we can’t,” replied Belle. “Cora, the boys are threatening to take out the Chelton. And oh! I’m completely out of breath. It’s dreadful to try to hurry through the sand.”
“Indeed they shall not take the Chelton out without my permission,” Cora declared. “When we make our initial trip I intend to command it. For one thing, Uncle Denny is to come along; for another—well, that’s to be a little surprise. This afternoon at two exactly—will you come, Uncle Denny?”
“I will that,” the old sailor replied. “I think it would be a good thing to have a little weight, like my old head, in her when she starts out. Them laddies are always up to pranks.”
“Oh, we are just crazy to get out on the water,” Bess put in, “and what do you think? That vain little Lottie went all the way to town to get the exact nautical cap. I wonder if she thinks folks in motor boats run slowly enough to see little white caps on little light girls?”
“When we get going I think all that will be seen will be splash, and all that will be heard will be chug,” Cora remarked. “But come on. Let’s hurry along. I promised Rita to help her with something.”
“What?” asked Bess, curiously.
“Now, Bessie, that would be telling,” replied Cora, stopping just long enough to empty the sand from her tennis shoe. Denny was trudging along after them—he could not resist an excuse to go down to the shore.
“Well, I’ll say good-bye,” said Freda. “I have to run back to mother. She will think I am lost.”
“But you are coming this afternoon?” Cora insisted.
“Oh, I really can’t, Cora, thank you,” answered the other. “I have something so important to look after.”
“What are you girls up to?” demanded Belle. “You have been acting mysteriously ever since you met on the train. Freda, it is really unpardonable not to take the initial trip with us, but if you really cannot——”
“I really cannot,” returned Freda, decisively, and somehow the girls realized that Freda’s business was urgent.
“Now, I’ll show you a short cut,” said Denny. “Take that path there—don’t be afraid of the sign that the owner put up—he has no right to the beach front; then when you get to the Lonely Willow—do you know where that is?”
Not one of them knew, but they were anxious to find out.
“You can’t miss the Lonely Willow, for it stands all alone and looks as forlorn as the mast of a sunken steamer,” said Denny. “It’s in the deep hollow by the watercress patch. Turn around that tree to your left and you’ll see another path. But wait a minute,” he broke off, “maybe it’s a bit lonely.”
“Oh, there are enough of us to shout if we see bears,” Cora laughed. “We have to hurry, and we will be glad to explore.”
“Well, good-bye then, and good luck. I’ll be at the dock ahead of you.”
“Isn’t he the quaintest old man?” asked Belle as the little party hurried along. Then she added: “You and Freda made quite a visit. We began to think you were kidnapped.”
“We did make a stay,” agreed Cora, “but Denny is a very old friend of Freda’s family, and, to tell you the truth, we could hardly break away when he started in to tell sea-yarns. Ouch! The mud is deep. I guess we must be near the Lonely Willow.”
“There it is!” exclaimed Belle, who was somewhat in advance of the others. “Indeed, it does stand all alone.”
“Isn’t it scary here!” whispered Bess. “See those two men under the Willow.”
All eyes were turned to the big tree. Two men were seated on a branch that made a comfortable seat. As the girls approached one of the men wrapped some papers up and thrust them into his pocket. But the movement was not lost on the girls.
No word was spoken for a few moments. Belle dropped back a little as if to allow the others to face the strangers first. Of course Cora, always being the leader, boldly made her way along.
They had to pass almost under the tree to reach the path, but there was no halting once the girls started out.
Finally they had passed in perfect safety, but as they were almost out of earshot one of the men said:
“I thought she’d be with him—that old Denny!”
The rest of the remark was lost, but this fragment served to put Cora on her guard.
“Oh, isn’t it exciting?” cried Marita, who had managed to have Jack help her over the dunes on the way to the dock.
“You’re right!” replied Jack, surveying her “nautical” outfit. “Couldn’t beat it.”
“Silly! I mean going for the cruise.”
“Oh, I thought you meant that rig you’re wearing. It is most becoming, but I hope it won’t get wet.”
“Oh, the water won’t hurt it. I got it on that account. I think the girls’ maroon sweaters look dandy—they can be seen for such a distance.”
“Yes, I suppose togs have something to do with a good time, although I must say Cora doesn’t seem to give much time to hers. Look at Marita in white. She looks like a French doll.”
“Oh, she is the cutest thing!” replied Lottie, in her gushing way. “But Cora is simply stunning! Just see how she stands out in the crowd.”
Lottie and Jack strolled through the moss-padded path that led to the white sands of Tangle Turn, talking in this vein as they went. It was indeed a merry crowd, and well worth noticing, as was evinced by the number of curious spectators already assembled on the dock to which the Chelton was tied.
“Who’s the man?” asked Jack, espying a striking figure in the throng.
“Oh, that’s Uncle Denny; don’t you know him? He is the dearest——”
“Now, Lottie, I can see his bald head under his cap at this distance without marine glasses, and it’s a rule of the club that ‘dears’ have special advantages in the matter of healthy heads of hair. But, of course, if you wish to call him ‘dear’——”
“Jack, you are the greatest tease,” she pouted.
Bess, Belle and Cora had already reached the motor boat. Denny was proudly “looking her over,” pipe in mouth and hands in pockets. The girls were bustling about, all enthusiasm, while the boys, assuming an air of importance, found many points to investigate.
“Now take seats,” called Cora, “we are ready to push off. Lottie, don’t lean overboard.”
“Oh, I am watching the cutest little fish. See, Bess,” she exclaimed.
Ed was on the dock with the rope loose from the cleat. Cora was at the steering wheel, while Denny insisted on turning the fly wheel, as that seemed about the most difficult thing to do. The gasoline was turned on, Jack attending to that, and as Denny gave the fly wheel a vigorous turn, Ed pushed off and jumped into the boat. The “push” sent the Chelton out in the water, but the motor failed to do its duty. Again Denny tried, but still no response. As this is not unusual with any motor, whether new or old, all hands waited patiently.
“Oh, there’s the Dixie!” called Lottie, jumping up and waving to an approaching boat.
At that instant the Chelton started with a jerk, and there was a chorus of screams.
“Lottie’s overboard!” cried the girls.
“Overboard!” repeated the boys.
“Quick!” begged Cora. “She may sink!”
To bring the boat to a sudden stop was not an easy matter, and there were some moments of suspense before the Chelton passed safely to the other side of the spot where Lottie was struggling.
The water was not so deep but that she was able to scramble to her feet, but the wash of the boat forced her to work violently to keep her head above water.
“The rope!” called Cora, who had dashed from her position at the steering wheel to the side of the boat where the mooring rope had been dropped. In the excitement, of course, all crowded to one side of the small craft, which caused it to careen alarmingly.
“There! There!” shouted Ed. “Lottie, grab the rope!”
“Oh, I can’t,” came the rather weak and shaky reply. “I can’t reach it.”
By this time the Dixie, the innocent cause of the accident, was alongside. Drayton Ward, the wealthy young fellow who could boast of a motor boat that would have aroused comment even at Newport, leaned over the side and grasped the arm of the girl in the water. The rest was a simple matter, for soon Lottie was assisted over the rail of the Dixie, and was in the finest boat on Crystal Bay.
“What do you think of that?” gasped Bess into Cora’s ear.
“Clever!” replied Cora, simply.
“But the togs?” queried Jack, to whom the accident had seemed something of a joke.
“What a pity,” returned Belle, “and she did look so sweet!”
All this time the drenched girl was being most carefully looked after by the gallant captain of the Dixie. He was seeing to it that she did not suffer from a chill, for a big coat had been wrapped around her and her pretty white cap that had merrily floated off was now replaced by one marked “Dixie.” Altogether, for a mere Summer dip, Lottie was having a magnificent time, as Ed took pains to observe.
“Oh, I can’t go with you now!” called Lottie. “Mr. Ward has kindly offered to take me home.”
There was a pause after that remark. If Lottie went back to the bungalow it seemed only reasonable that someone should go with her. But who? Everyone wanted to take the trip on the Chelton.
“Let us take you up to the point,” called Cora, “and we can wait for you to change and come back. Our trip would be spoiled with one of the party missing.”
“Let’s shift,” suggested Drayton, with a gracious smile at Cora. “Mine is probably the faster boat. You get in here with us, Miss Cora, and we will run up and down the bay while your friends are working off the oil smoke. That’s a neat little boat you have, a perfect little model,” he finished, coming as close as possible to the Chelton.
“Yours is all right, too, Dray,” replied Jack, “but it looks too good to be true. Doesn’t shoot up on land for a change, does it? I have heard of Dixies doing that stunt.”
“Oh, dear!” exclaimed Lottie. “I am freezing to death. I guess I’ll go change my dress.”
“Good idea,” agreed Cora, who was ready to leave her boat and go back to the bungalow with Lottie. “Come on,” and she jumped to the dock to which her boat had drifted. “I’ll run along with you.”
“Nice way to treat a fellow,” complained Drayton. “Well, fellows, I’ll race you while we are waiting for the ladies to return. What do you say, Jack?”
“I’m willing, as long as Cora has finally condescended to let me touch the wheel. Everybody sit down this time.”
Without a word all hands, keen for a race as soon as one was suggested, took seats, and the two boats veered out into the bay and “lined up” for the start. Denny was the proudest engineer imaginable, and constantly looked over the fine mechanism.
“Ready!” shouted Ed, and at the word both throttles were thrown wide open and the boats shot up the bay, emitting clouds of smoke from their newly oiled works, and “chugging” so rapidly that the sounds were drowned in a roar. It was a pretty sight, for in the girls’ boat a line of colored sweaters and waving caps lent life to the gray of the waters, while Drayton, in his glistening, highly-polished Dixie, only needed the glint that the sun lent to complete the picture afforded by his fine craft.
“Oh, isn’t this glorious!” exclaimed Marita. “I thought I should be frightened, but this is—lovely.”
“Frightened!” repeated Belle. “I used to be so afraid of the water I couldn’t see anything but the bottom every time I came out; but now I just love it.”
“Hey there, Dray!” shouted Ed. “You’re out of the course. Get in from shore!”
“He’s keeping his eye on those girls on the beach,” laughed Walter. “Those are the lassies who have the white canoe.” So saying he waved his own cap and a flutter of handkerchiefs from the beach came back in recognition.
“Turn at the island,” ordered Denny.
Here a white flag fluttered, the stake left from some recent sailing races. Gracefully the Chelton rounded the stake first. Drayton had lost time in running too close to shore. Only a minute later the Dixie swayed after the Chelton, then the final stretch was taken up in earnest. Spectators on the bank might wave now, but the motorists had no eyes for them. A slight miss in the Chelton’s explosion brought Denny and Ed to their feet—there should be no break in the rhythm of that chug.
“She’s all right,” Ed called to the old sailor, “only too much oil.”
Denny shook his head lest a word might interfere with the boat’s motion. Dray stood up and did something that caused the bow of his boat to shoot up, while the stern seemed to bury itself in the waves.
“His is a racer,” Walter told Bess, who was as intent as any of the watchers on the result of the trial of speed.
“Maybe ours will turn out to be a winner,” Bess responded. “We keep pretty close.”
Jack never took his hand off the steering wheel, Denny was watching the engine, and the others were peering down the straight course ahead.
“Oh, I’m getting all wet,” exclaimed Marita, for the spray was dashing in on all sides.
“Get down in the bottom,” advised Walter, “we can’t slacken up now. Or go in the cabin if you like and close the ports.”
This was a signal for all three girls to slip down to the floor of the boat and while they lost the good view afforded from the seats, they evidently enjoyed the change, and craned their necks to see over the sides.
“Of course Dray will win,” complained Belle. “We couldn’t expect to beat the Dixie.”
“We might,” encouraged Bess. “Cora said this boat had remarkable speed for its size.”
“Gee, whiz!” shouted Walter, “look at that spray deluge Dray!”
“And she’s missing,” added Ed, for the sounds from the Dixie were distinctly out of time.
Suddenly Dray’s boat slowed down, and the Chelton shot so far ahead that it was plain something had happened to the Dixie.
Jack stood up and looked back. “Something is wrong,” he said. “We had better not get too far ahead. Dray is fussing with the carbureter.”
The race was over. The girls stood up from their hiding place and Jack turned the boat about. By this time Dray had turned off the gasoline and the Dixie merely heaved up and down on the swells.
“What’s the matter, Dray?” called Walter. “Something given way?”
“I don’t know,” answered Dray, “she simply won’t ‘mote.’”
“Let me take a look at her,” suggested Denny, ever eager for a new adventure.
“Oh, there are Cora and Lottie!” exclaimed Belle. “Can’t we go in for them, and look after Dray’s boat afterward?”
“That would be a nice way to treat a ship in distress,” said Denny, “but excuse me,” and he showed regret at his remark. “I shouldn’t be thinkin’ of a lad when the young girls are needin’ help.”
“Oh, the girls are all right,” Jack assured the old seaman; “but say, Dray,” he called, “what’s the matter, anyhow?”
“Just give me a line and tow me in, then we will hold a post mortem,” replied Dray, good humoredly. “I don’t fancy taking her apart out here.”
“Good!” exclaimed Marita, “then we can go for Cora and Lottie.”
Promptly the brand new rope of the Chelton was tossed to the disabled boat and fastened, then the two boats started for shore.
Cora and Lottie were waiting. The latter had shed her wet “garments of vanity,” as Belle described them, for a simple brown linen frock.
“What happened?” called Cora, as the boats neared shore.
“Mis-happened,” answered Dray. “It was just fate. We couldn’t expect to beat the motor girls.”
“Nice of you,” acknowledged Cora, “but I am sorry if there is anything wrong with your beautiful boat.”
“It’s the boat and not the boy,” remarked Ed. “Well, we’ll do as much for you some day, Cora. Wait until we get our little Lassie out. She, being a mere girl, may have a show.”
“What’s the matter, Lottie?” asked Bess, as they landed and the girls noted that Lottie was remarkably quiet, and even a trifle pale.
“Not a thing,” Cora hurriedly answered, while she crushed her fingers on Lottie’s arm. “We were detained at the bungalow, that’s all. We’ll tell you all about it later on.”
The girls gathered around Cora and Lottie at this remark. But Cora, by some mysterious signal system, had warned Lottie not to say anything, and she soon joined the boys, who had already boarded the Dixie to overhaul her.
They looked at the engine, at the spark plugs, at the cylinder, but Cora, who happened to have more room at the point where the carbureter was situated, suddenly exclaimed:
“I’ve got it! Water in the carbureter!”
“Right-o!” confirmed Dray, in another moment. “The spray mixed with the gas—dashed over into the air in-take valve. Moral, go slow, for water sometimes is fatal, even in a good cause!”
“Shame to spoil the race,” said Ed; “we were just warming up.”
“It’s all right,” commented Denny, “and a good lesson. I never knew myself that too much speed would do the like of that. Well, I must be off doin’ some chores. I’ve been a-galavantin’ most of the day, and the fishes of Crystal Bay are not educated to come up to me door yet. Thank you for the sport. It was fine,” he concluded, genially.
“Indeed you must come along again,” Cora urged. “This was only a baby-trial. We will want to be going out on the deep soon; then you must come along.”
“Thank you, very kindly,” Denny called, as he started off. “The deep is a bad place for young ’uns, I can tell you. Better stick around shore.”
“Tell us what is the matter, Lottie,” demanded Bess, for Lottie had not yet recovered her self-possession.
“Oh, I guess I had a chill,” she evaded, glancing at Cora.
“And the mere sight of a couple of strange men startled her,” Cora added. “I have warned her there may be lots of strange men around Crystal Bay.”
“But not the same strange men every time,” Lottie put in. This gave a clue to her fright. The men who had secluded themselves under the Lonely Willow that morning had appeared again, this time in the vicinity of the girls’ bungalow, now known as the “Motely Mote.”