COUSIN OLY'S ACCIDENT

Carolyn May had no intention of eavesdropping. She was not that sort of little girl. If she listened on occasion to what her elders were saying, she had perfect confidence in her right to do so; for Mamma and Papa Cameron never indulged in those regrettable half-speeches and hints which so often serve to impress little folk with the very things that they are expected not to hear.

If Carolyn's mother and father had anything private to discuss, they discussed it privately.

In addition, if Carolyn May chanced to report what she might hear, it was done in no spirit of tale bearing. Even in the matter of telling her friend that she had seen his motor-car at the Corners, Carolyn had been perfectly innocent of guile.

Here was the man she so disliked—not to say feared—and the chauffeur, again. She kept Prince quiet. After his long run behind the pony the dog was quite willing to go to sleep in the sand. Carolyn was tempted to go back by the path to the road, and so follow Barzilla Ball and Beppo around to the shore where the pound fishermen brought in the fish from the nets.

The two men below her were talking. René said:

"But I get nothing, Boss! I only run the risk of giving M'sieu offence and losing my job."

"Get nothing?" ejaculated the dark man in evident anger. "I saw Calvin Cummings hand you a hundred dollars in crisp twenties when he and his friends left us at Sunrise Cove. What do you mean—get nothing?"

"Ha! A hundred dol'?" cried the French Canadian excitedly. "And what is that compare' with what you make in that deal of the paper-pulp mills, Boss? Think you I do not understand what you are about? Ha! Cal Cummings and his crowd let you in on it on the ground floor, eh? You make the big money while me, René Miett, have to satisfy myself with the tip—is it not?"

He talked so queerly and so excitedly, that the little girl's interest was held closely and she remained where she was. But of course she did not understand all that the two were talking about.

"I have to take risks, too—greater than yours, René," the dark man said, by his tone evidently wearied of the chauffeur's complaints.

"I lose my job, maybe."

"And so may I. Especially if the old man finds out who sold him out to the Cummings crowd in that matter of the pulp-mills," and the speaker laughed shortly. "He's in no pleasant mood just now. He is keeping me here at the hotel muddling over accounts like any junior clerk, while his secret agents I am sure are going through my office accounts, if not my private papers. He is suspicious."

"Ah!"

"He trusts nobody—you know that—since—Well, since the time we both have reason to remember, René."

"Sure. I 'member," growled the other sourly. "Who does not? And there you won a fortune, while I—"

The dark man sprang up angrily. He used words that showed his wrath but that made no lasting impression on Carolyn May's innocent mind.

"And you had five hundred that time for merely keeping your mouth shut," he finished. "Ungrateful dog!"

"While you got ten thousand dollars, eh?" snarled René. "I believe it! I haf always believe' it. The money came from the bank, and M'sieu was most particular about it. Then we go a second time for ten thousand—Oh, yes! I am convince' you got that first ten thousand dol', Boss. I cannot believe the young one, he take it. No!"

"What if I did?" demanded the other. "Do you think ten thousand dollars lasts forever?"

"Not when a man lives as you do, Boss. If M'sieu knew—"

"If he knew the truth about that ten thousand dollars we would both lose our jobs," growled the dark man. "And he hates to lose even ten cents—let alone ten thousand dollars."

"Who would not shrink from losing that sum? Ah!" groaned René, as they walked away.

Carolyn May had heard the sum of "ten thousand dollars" repeated so often that she was not likely to forget it at once, nor the circumstances under which she had heard it. It was clear in her mind, too, that in some way her friend who lived at the Orowoc House had lost the sum of money in question.

She waited until the chauffeur and the saturnine man had walked some distance away before she ran down to the beach and around the foot of the hill to the cabin.

The two wooden-legged men were hard at work splitting and salting the dory load of pollock they had obtained the day before. There was a big tub of salt water by the cabin door into which the fish were thrown as fast as Captain Littlefield gutted and split them. Mr. Oly Littlefield was salting the split fish, fresh from the tub, and stacking them under the lean-to, in tiers. In a few days the fish would be spread on the drying racks for more complete curing.

"Here's the leetle gal and the dog," said Captain Littlefield jovially. "How fare ye?"

"Oh, I am very well, I thank you, Mr. Cap'n Littlefield," she said. "I hope you are well—and your Cousin Oly?"

"I'm purt' pert," said the other wooden-legged man very graciously for him. "Thank ye."

Prince went and snuffed at the cockatoo man's wooden leg, and he made no objection to the dog's familiarity. Carolyn May thought he must be quite changed from what he used to be! Perhaps his having been buried in the sand had served a good purpose.

The remainder of the fish were soon split and salted and stacked. The vicinity was redolent enough of fishy odours; but Carolyn May had become pretty well used to such smells since she had begun her sojourn on Block Island.

The cousins dragged the skids of offal down to the outgoing tide and dumped it into the water. Then they washed out the tubs and cleaned up about the cabin, making all "shipshape," as Captain Ozias said.

"Sailors make purt' good housekeepers, they tell me," said the captain. "Of course, Oly don't count. He never was no sailor. Most sailin' he ever done was goin' out in that Snatch It of Barzilla's. 'Twas Enos Ball, Barzilla's father, sailed the Snatch It in them days. Oly was by way of bein' a swordfisher till his accident."

"What accident?" asked Carolyn eagerly. "When he lost his leg?"

"Yep. When he lost one of 'em," returned Captain Littlefield placidly.

"Oh, Mister Cap'n Littlefield! he hasn't got two wooden legs."

"Who said he had? Oh, I see! This here accident wasn't the cause of Oly wearing that timber-toe of his'n. Nossir!" chuckled the captain. "'Twarn't no accident that cost Oly his left laig."

"Oh!" murmured Carolyn, in much disappointment. She had thought she was on the verge of learning just how Cousin Oly, at least, came to be a cripple. But Captain Littlefield's reminiscence seemed to take him right away from that subject.

"Ye see, Oly had an accident, and he ain't never been swordfishin' since." The cockatoo man had stubbed off with a pail to a neighbour's for milk, while the captain peeled onions and potatoes for the chowder. "Fact is, he ain't no gre't love for salt water noways. One of the few Littlefields that ain't got more salt water than blood in their veins, I do assure ye! Wal, he was lucky to have a leetle prop'ty left him, Oly was, an' Sue-Betsey that he married had some cash-in-bank. So he's purt' well fixed.

"Some folks is that way," said the philosophical captain; "while some is like me—hafter work right along, fair weather or foul. Reckon if I'd lost both laigs an' my arms inter the bargain, I'd had to work for my pollock an' p'taters, jest the same."

Captain Littlefield said it cheerfully and went on before Carolyn could interpose a single question.

"Yep. Oly used to go out in the Snatch It. He never was no good in the pulpit—natcherly—'cause of his wooden laig."

"In the pulpit, Mr. Cap'n Littlefield?" queried Carolyn in surprise. "Do you mean preaching? Like Elder Knox at the Free Baptist Church?"

"My soul and small fish hooks! No!" chuckled the captain. "Pulpit's the thing Barzilla leans up against when he harpoons a fish."

"Oh! I know," said Carolyn May, nodding. "I've seen Barzilla's boat. You mean that stalky thing up in front."

"Exactly," agreed Captain Ozias. "Oly's wooden laig wouldn't let him balance out on the sprit that-a-way. But he can pull a dory as well as the next man. He'd set himself out with a harpoon an' line and a pair of oars, and he made his sheer and keep, with Enos Ball.

"Then one time Oly seen a swordfish an' Cap'n Enos seen another from the crosstrees. Enos headed for his critter; but nothin' would do but Oly had to slip overboard in his dory an' row t'other way. Ye know how con-tra-ry he is.

"Wal, Oly pulled up close on his fish—an' no denyin' a dory is fur quieter than a sailin' boat to make the kill from. Swordfishes have got the sharpest ears.

"Oly stood up, balanced his harpoon, braced his old timber-toe ag'in the thwart, an' jest before the boat nosed that swordfish's flipper, Oly made his cast. 'Twas a purty one, an' the harpoon held for fair.

"He dropped back onto the thwart and grabbed his oars. Them swordfishes is lively critters, leetle gal. They sure be," pursued the captain. "They don't sulk none when ye strike on. They fling themselves about like a whale in its death-flurry."

"The poor thing!" murmured Carolyn.

"You better save your sympathy for Oly," chuckled the story-teller. "Wait till I tell ye. That fish sounded. A swordfish with an iron in him is a mighty onsartain critter. Oly pulled hard, but he didn't know where the swordfish was. Jest the same the fish had spotted that dory."

"Oh, Mr. Cap'n Littlefield! what happened to the swordfish?" asked Carolyn, excitedly.

Captain Littlefield chuckled once more. "Still more worried about that critter than ye be about Oly, eh? Well, he done purt' well, the swordfish did. He come right up underneath that dory and drove his sword smash through her bottom-boards like 'twas a see-gar box. Oly had his feet braced an' was pullin' like all kildee. Up come that sword an' spears bottom-boards an' Oly's laig, jest like ye'd spear a pickle on a fork."

"Oh!"

"An' there the sword stuck fast," pursued the captain. "The fish, he wriggled an' tried to pull out again, shakin' the dory like a dog playin' with a dishcloth. An' Oly was hung fast to the sword—couldn't think o' nothin' to do but to hang onto the sides of the dory an' yell blue murder!"

"Oh, Mr. Cap'n Littlefield! was it his good leg that got stabbed by the swordfish's sword?"

"No, no! 'Twas his wooden laig, I tell ye. Held the critter's sword jammed through the thick of the timber. He made such a hullabaloo that Enos and the crew seen what was up an' they left the critter they was stalkin' an' made sail for Oly's dory. But there's no knowin' what a swordfish'll do when he gets to lashin' around permisc'ous like.

"This one Oly had struck onto was a big feller. Oly's got the sword to home now—two foot, four inches and a ha'f. That's somethin' of a sword. An' 'twas jammed tight through the bottom of the dory and Oly's laig.

"'Cast loose, Oly!' yelled Cap'n Enos when the Snatch It comes near. But Oly was rattled. All he seemed able to do was to grab the oars again and pull hard's he could.

"An' him pullin' one way and the swordfish jerkin' t'other, somethin' was bound to give, fin'ly. An' what give fust, was the straps of Oly's laig."

"Oh, my!" gasped the little girl.

"Yep. He was cast loose for fair. He went over back'ard in the dory, his good laig and the stump of t'other one an' the oars, kicking up in the air. The swordfish twitched that dory crosswise of the seas. 'Nother minute an' she was swamped an' Oly Littlefield was overboard."

"Oh, Mr. Cap'n Littlefield!"

"That's right. That's what happened. And the water was mighty wet, too," chuckled the narrator of the tale. "Ye know how a one-laiged man swims—without his laig on him? Jest as graceful as a flat-bottomed scow goin' through a tide-rip.

"And the dory was sinkin' and fair drownin' of that swordfish," he went on. "While ev'ry time Oly came bobbin' up an' got his head out o' water, he bawled to Cap'n Enos and the crew to save his oars and the dory. Nev' mind the swordfish an' him."

"Dear me! And were they drowned after all?" queried the little girl.

"Wal, Oly warn't. And they saved his oars an' most of his gear. But they had to grapple the dory with a kedge anchor and tore it purt' near to pieces floatin' it. The swordfish tore himself loose from both harpoon and his sword, and so got away."

"My, my!" gasped Carolyn May. "Wasn't that exciting?"

"I sh'd say 'twas. 'Twas too much for Oly. He never did go swordfishin' again after that accident. It cost him a new laig, ye see."

"But—but that wasn't how he came to lose his real leg," observed the little girl.

"Who? Oly? I sh'd say not," agreed Captain Littlefield. "No, no! He'd long had a wooden laig when he got mixed up with that swordfish."

"But how did he lose his leg?" cried Carolyn May, with desperation.

"Why, I declare!" exclaimed the captain, but with a twinkle in his eyes that she did not see. "He never said a word about it to me, for a fac'. One time I come home from sea on shore leave from the old Sandusky, and here Oly was hoppin' 'round on one laig. I dunno as I ever axed him what he done with his good laig."