CHAPTER XXII.
Ham Morris did not linger long at the dinner-table, and Dab would have given more than ever for the privilege of going with him. Not that he felt so very charitable, but that he did not care to prolong his stay at Mrs. Foster's, whether as "cook" or otherwise. He had not lost his appetite, however, and after he had taken care of that, he slipped away "on an errand for his mother," and hurried toward the village. Nearly everybody he met had some question or other to ask him about the wreck, and it was not to have been expected that Jenny Walters would let her old acquaintance pass her without a word or so.
Dab answered as best he could, considering the disturbed state of his mind, but he wound up with:
"Jenny, I wish you'd come over to our house by and by."
"What for?"
"Oh, I've got something to show you. Something you never saw before."
"Do you mean your new baby,—the one you found on the bar?"
"Yes; but that baby, Jenny!"
"What's wonderful about it?"
"Why, it's only two years old and it can squall in two languages. That's more'n you can do."
"They say your friend, Miss Foster, speaks French," retorted Jenny. "Was she ever shipwrecked?"
"In French? May be so. But not in German."
"Well, Dabney, I don't propose to squall in anything. Are your folks going to burn any more of their barns this year?"
"Not unless Samantha gets married. Jenny, do you know what's the latest fashion in lobsters?"
"Changeable green, I suppose."
"No; I mean after they're boiled. It's to have 'em come on the table in cuffs and collars. Lace around their necks, you know."
"And gloves?"
"No, not any gloves. We had lobsters to-day at Mrs. Foster's, and you ought to have seen 'em."
"Dabney Kinzer, it's time you went to school again."
"I'm going in a few days."
"Going? Do you mean you're going away somewhere?"
"Ever so far. Dick Lee's going with me."
"I heard about him, but I didn't know he meant to take you along. That's very kind of Dick. I s'pose you wont speak to common people when you get back."
"Now, Jenny——"
"Good afternoon, Dabney. Perhaps I'll come over before you go, if it's only to see that shipwrecked baby."
A good many of Mrs. Kinzer's lady friends, young and old, deemed it their duty to come and do that very thing within the next few days. Then the Sewing Circle took the matter up, and both the baby and its mother were provided for as they never had been before. It would have taken more languages than two to have expressed the gratitude of the poor Alsatians. As for the rest of them, out there on the bar, they were speedily taken off and carried "to the city," none of them being much the worse for their sufferings, after all. Ham Morris declared that the family he had brought ashore "came just in time to help him out with his fall work, and he didn't see any charity in it."
Good for Ham! but Dab Kinzer thought otherwise when he saw how tired Miranda's husband was on his late return from his second trip across the bay. Real charity never cares to see itself too clearly. They were pretty tired, both of them; but the "Swallow" was carefully moored in her usual berth before they left her. Even then they had a good load of baskets and things to carry with them.
"Is everything out of the locker, Dab?" asked Ham Morris.
"All but the jug. I say, did you know it was half full? Would it do any hurt to leave it here?"
"The jug? No. Just pour out the rest of the apple-jack, over the side."
"Make the fish drunk."
"Well, it sha'n't bother anybody else if I can help it."
"Then, if it's good for water-soaked people, it wont hurt the fish."
"Empty it, Dab, and come on. The doctor wasn't so far wrong, and I was glad to have it with me; but medicine's medicine, and I only wish people'd remember it."
The condemned liquor was already gurgling from the mouth of the jug into the salt water, and neither fish nor eel came forward to get a share of it. When the cork was replaced, the demijohn was set down again in the "cabin," with no more danger in it for anybody.
Perhaps that was one reason—that and his weariness—why Ham Morris did not take the pains even to lock it up.
Dabney was so tired in mind if not in body, that he postponed until the morrow anything he may have had to say about the tramp. He was not at all sure whether the latter had recognized him, and at all events the matter would have to wait. So it came to pass that all the village and the shore was deserted and silent, an hour or so later, when a stoutly built "cat-boat" with her one sail lowered, was quietly sculled up the inlet. There were two men on board,—a tall one and a short one,—and they ran their boat right alongside the "Swallow," as if that were the very thing they had come to do.
"Burgin," remarked the tall man, "what ef we don't find anything arter all this sailin' and rowin'? Most likely he's kerried it to the house. In course he has."
The keenly watchful eyes of Burgin had followed the fortunes of that apple-jack from first to last. To tell the truth, he had more than half tried to work himself in as one of the "sufferers," but with no manner of success. He had not failed, however, to see the coveted treasure stowed away, at last, under the half-deck of the "Swallow." That had been all the inducement required to get Peter and his boat across the bay, and the old "wrecker" was as anxious about the result as the tramp himself could be. It was hard to say which of them was first on board the "Swallow."
A disappointed and angry pair they were when the empty jug was discovered; but Burgin's indignation was loudest and most abusive. Peter checked him, at last, with:
"Look a yer, my friend, is this 'ere your boat?"
"No, I didn't say it was, did I?"
"Is that there your jug? I don't know 'at I keer to hev one o' my neighbors abused all night jest bekase I've been an' let an entire stranger make a fool of me."
"Do you mean me?"
"Well, ef I didn't I wouldn't say it. Don't git mad, now. Jest let's take a turn 'round the village."
"You go and I'll wait for ye. 'Pears like I don't keer to walk about much."
"Well, then, mind you don't run away with my boat."
"If I want a boat, there's plenty here better'n your'n."
"That's so. I wont be gone a great while."
He was, however, whatever may have been his errand. Old Peter was not the man to be at any loss for one, even at that time of night, and his present business kept him away from the shore a full hour. When at last he returned he found his boat safe enough, and so, apparently were all the others; but he looked around in vain for any signs of his late companion. Not that he spent much time or took any great pains in looking, for he muttered to himself:
"Gone, has he? Well then, a good riddance to bad rubbidge. I aint no angel, but he's a long ways wuss than I am."
Whether or not old Peter was right in his estimate of himself or of Burgin, in a few moments more he was all alone in his cat-boat, and was sculling it rapidly up the crooked inlet.
His search had been indeed a careless one, for he had but glanced over the gunwale of the "Swallow." A second look would have shown him the form of the tramp, half covered by a loose flap of the sail, deeply and heavily sleeping at the bottom of the boat. It was every bit as comfortable a bed as he had been used to, and there he was still lying, long after the sun looked in upon him, next morning.
But other eyes were to look in upon Burgin's face before he awakened from that untimely and imprudent nap.
It was not so very early when Ham Morris and Dabney Kinzer were stirring again; but they had both arisen with a strong desire for a "talk," and Ham made an opportunity for one by saying:
"Come on, Dab; let's go down and have a look at the 'Swallow.'"
Ham had meant to talk about school and kindred matters; but Dabney's first words about the tramp cut off all other subjects.
"You ought to have told me," he said. "I'd have had him tied up in a minute."
Dabney explained as well as he could, but, before he had finished, Ham suddenly exclaimed:
"There's Dick Lee on board the 'Swallow.' What's he there for?"
"Dick!" shouted Dabney.
"Cap'n Dab, did yo' set dis yer boat to trap somebody?"
"No. Why?"
"Well den, you's gone an' cotched um. Jes you come an' see."
The sound of Dick Lee's voice, so near them, reached the dull ears of the slumbering tramp and, as Ham and Dabney sprang into a yawl and pushed alongside the yacht, his unpleasant face was slowly and sleepily lifted above the rail.
"It's the very man!" excitedly shouted Dabney.
"The tramp?"
"Yes, the tramp."
No one would have suspected Ham Morris of so much agility, although his broad and well-knit frame promised abundant strength, but he was on board the "Swallow" like a flash and Burgin was "pinned" by his iron grasp before he could guess what was coming.
It was too late, then, for any such thing as resistance, and he settled at once into a dogged, sullen silence, after the ordinary custom of his kind when they find themselves cornered. It is a species of brute, animal instinct, more than even cunning, seemingly, but not a word did Ham and Dabney obtain from their prisoner until they delivered him to the safe keeping of the village authorities. That done, they went home to breakfast, feeling as if they had made a good morning's work, but wondering what the end of it all would be.