Go-Ahead; Or, The Fisher-Boy's Motto

by Harry Castlemon

Mr. Graves had never been more astonished in his life. He looked at his customer as if he could hardly believe that he had told him the truth, and finally inquired—

"What kind of a boy are you, anyhow?"

"O, I'm the most unlucky boy in the whole world! That's the kind of a boy I am!" drawled Tom. "I never can do any thing like other fellows, for something is always happening to bother me."

"I think you can do a good many things that other fellows can't do!" returned Mr. Graves. "There is not another boy in the village who would have the impudence to do as you have done."

As the boat-builder said this, he turned on his heel and left Tom to think the matter over at his leisure. He gave a few orders in a low tone to the man at the wheel, and then walked forward and descended into the galley. Presently he came out again, gave some instructions to his crew, and Tom saw the sloop slowly come about until her bow pointed toward the village. The sails which Captain Newcombe had ordered spread, were taken in again, and then Mr. Graves began to pace thoughtfully up and down the deck.

Tom watched all these movements as well as he could through eyes filled with tears of vexation and disappointment, and they told him, in language too plain to be misunderstood, that his new plan, which, at first, had promised to succeed even beyond his expectations, had failed like all the rest of his glorious ideas. He felt like yelling; and, perhaps he would thus have given vent to his troubled feelings if the presence of Mr. Graves and his crew had not restrained him. He wanted to hide his emotion from them, so he leaned over the rail and looked down into the water. He would have gone into the cabin, but the boat-builder evidently intended to keep him out of there, for he had locked the door and put the key into his pocket.

Poor Tom was in a terrible predicament. Aside from the troubles occasioned by the non-receipt of his twenty-five hundred dollars, and the failure of his new plan to obtain possession of the yacht—both of which were very severe blows to him—he had the satisfaction of knowing that the very dignified manner in which he had conducted himself in the morning, when he believed himself to be the owner of the Storm King, had made him a great many enemies among the village boys, who, when they learned all the particulars of his business transaction with Mr. Graves, would never allow him to hear the last of it. He knew just what was in store for him, for he had already had some very bitter experience in that line. When the secrets of the "Gentlemen's Club" were revealed to the world, Tom had been tormented almost beyond the bounds of endurance; for every "Spooney" who met him on the street would raise his hat and politely make inquiries concerning the health of the President, and the prosperity of his society. Now, if such a thing was possible, matters would be tenfold worse. He would be known throughout the village as Captain Newcombe, and every one of his acquaintances, especially Johnny Harding, the boy with whom Tom was particularly desirous to "get even," would want to know something about his fine yacht. They would be very anxious to learn how she sailed, and would write notes to him requesting the privilege of accompanying him on some of his excursions. The affair would soon be known by every man, woman, and child in the village—he could see no way to prevent it—and every body would laugh at him, and wonder why he did not ask his father's permission before he ordered the yacht, and where he intended to get the money to pay for her. In short, Tom was afraid that during the next six or eight months, Newport would be a very unpleasant place to live, and he forthwith set his wits at work to conjure up some plan to get out of it.

While he was thinking the matter over, the sloop was rapidly approaching the village, and presently Tom looked up and found that she was entering the harbor. Almost the first man he saw was his father, who stood on the wharf, behind his office, regarding the little vessel as if he was greatly interested in her. Something told Tom that the merchant had already learned that his son was the supposed owner of the sloop, and he felt like crying again when he thought of what was yet to come. Mr. Newcombe, of course, would want to know all about it; and Tom, as usual, would have been very glad indeed to have been able to avoid the interview.

The men on the wharves waved their hats as the sloop passed along, but neither Tom nor Mr. Graves returned the salutation. They were both too busy with their own thoughts to notice what was going on around them. In a quarter of an hour the Storm King reached the ship-yard, and the boat-builder, after giving his crew orders to see that every thing was snug on board before they left, stepped into a yawl, which one of his men brought out to take him ashore, and motioned to Tom to follow him. Since learning that his customer was unable to pay for the sloop, he had not spoken a word to him. While he believed that Tom had four hundred dollars in his pocket, he had been very polite to him, and showed him every attention in his power. He had allowed him to take command of the yacht, had appointed himself first-mate, and condescended to obey his orders, and had even instructed the cook to prepare a dinner which he had provided at his own expense. But when the facts of the case were revealed to him, Tom suddenly fell very low in his estimation. He speedily relieved him of the captaincy without one word of excuse or apology, countermanded his orders concerning the dinner, and then left Tom to take care of himself; believing, no doubt, that a boy whose pockets were empty was not worth noticing. Tom was not so blind as to allow these slights to escape his attention, and they cut him to the quick. He determined, from that day forward, to treat Mr. Graves with the contempt he deserved; and to show him that his failure to pay for the yacht had not lessened his claims to respect. Drawing himself up very stiffly, he leisurely climbed down into the yawl, and taking his stand upon one of the thwarts, he looked straight toward the shore, utterly ignoring the presence of the boat-builder, who, in the hope of learning something of the plans Tom had in view for raising the four hundred dollars, made several attempts to enter into conversation with him. The moment the yawl touched the beach Tom sprang out and walked rapidly toward the gate, where, to his astonishment and vexation, he suddenly found himself surrounded by the same boys who had seen him start on his voyage in the morning. They appeared to be intensely delighted about something, and Tom was afraid that his secret was already known.

"How are you, captain!" cried Johnny Harding. "That's a splendid little craft of yours!"