"Sounds like a pretty good instrument?" suggested Darry to the would-be performer.
"They tell me that, boy; but you see I ain't much of a judge. P'raps in time I may get on to the racket, that is if the boys don't fire me and the fiddle out before-hand," replied the surfman, grinning, for his clumsy hands were really never intended by Nature to handle a violin bow.
"Would you mind letting me try it? I used to play a little."
At the first sound of that bow crossing the strings, after Darry had properly tuned the instrument every man sat up and took notice; and as the boy bent down and lovingly drew the sweetest chords from the violin that they had ever heard, they actually held their breath.
After that he was kept busy; indeed they would hardly let him have any rest, and that was why those rough men looked forward eagerly to the expected coming of Abner Peake's new boy.
It seemed as though he must know everything there was, and the music would turn from riotous ragtime to the most tender chords, capable of drawing tears from those eyes so unused to weeping.
It was a rare treat to Darry, too, for he dearly loved music, and the absence of his fiddle had made a gap in his life.
The month was now passing, and closer drew the stormy period when, with the advent of grim November, the duties of the beach patrol naturally grow more and more laborious, since there are greater possibilities of wrecks, with the strong winds and the fogs that bewilder mariners, and allow them to run upon the reefs when they believe they are scores of miles away from the danger zone.
The boom of guns could now be heard all day, and frequently Darry saw Northern sportsmen in the village; though as a rule they kept on board their yachts or else stayed at the various private clubs up or down the sound.
Jim Dilks and his gang still lay low. They awaited a favorable opportunity to carry out some evil scheme, whereby the boy they had come to fear, as well as hate, might be injured.