Now, if you have idled your time in reading my “Launch Boys” stories, you will recall this lad, Mike Murphy by name, for they gave a pretty full record of his adventures on the Kennebec and along its shores. In order to make clear the incidents that follow I must add a few words of explanation.
Mike, as you may recall, was gifted with a voice of marvelous purity and sweetness. His singing of several Irish songs on the steamer crossing the Atlantic enthralled the listeners and so roused the admiration of a famous prima donna that she offered to prepare him for the operatic stage, but there was nothing attractive in such a career to the modest lad. He preferred the simple life with its invigorating ozone and freedom. During the winter months he was one of the most regular attendants at the school in Boothbay Harbor, where, under the skilful tutelage of Professor Herbert E. Bowman, he made rapid progress in his studies. So with warm thanks to the distinguished songstress, he passed up the proposition.
Mike’s father was caretaker for the millionaire capitalist, Gideon Landon, of New York, who had built a fine bungalow on the southern end of Southport Island, where the Irishman, his wife and the son Mike dwelt in a cottage near the large structure. A little way to the south was the home of Chester Haynes in a bungalow less pretentious than the other. Alvin Landon and Chester Haynes were chums, the former being the owner of a splendid launch, the Deerfoot, in which the three boys met with more than one stirring adventure. Although Mike knew nothing about the management of a boat, Alvin made him his first mate, and thus opened the way for the experiences that have been related elsewhere.
Hardly had the summer’s sport begun for the three boys with their motor boat, when the machinery broke down disastrously. It was plain that the craft would have to go to the repair shops in Portland before it could be of any further use to them. Accordingly, it was towed to that city, with the natural request that work should be rushed. The reply came back that there was such a congestion in the shops that it would require two or three weeks to complete the job. You know what that always means. The time is sure to be much longer than named, and it may be said the boys knew such would be the fact. It was a keen disappointment to them, but there was no help for it and they accepted the situation like true philosophers.
This incident, trifling of itself, brought consequences to our young friends of which none of them dreamed. Alvin and Chester while at home had become interested in the admirable Boy Scout organization, and had joined the Blazing Arrow Patrol, of which their old friend “Bert Hall” was Scout Master. He was arranging for an outing in the Adirondacks with the Stag and Eagle Patrols, when the plan was changed for reasons that will soon be explained. Their destination became Gosling Lake in southern Maine, a few miles back in the woods from the Kennebec River.
Alvin and Chester decided to bear them company as tenderfeet. They provided themselves with natty uniforms, and, knowing the size required for Mike, sent a suit by express to him with the request that he should join them in the hike to the cool twilight of the pine woods.
“It would never do to go without him,” said Alvin; “he will be the life of the camp and will make a model Boy Scout.”
“The hardest task will be to cure him of his love for fighting,” added Chester; “he can get up a first class shindy in ten minutes, no matter where he is placed.”
“There won’t be anything of the kind with the Scouts, for it is impossible; they are taught to detest fighting and Mike is always so chivalrous that he is never the aggressor. I prophesy there won’t be a more peaceable boy in camp than he.”
“It is to be hoped so,” commented Chester with a dubious shake of his head.