No. 8 displayed himself in all his finery; Fluff performed his tricks in the most approved fashion; the keeper and the surfmen told stories which were not all concerning wrecks and loss of life; the cook made a lobster salad as his portion of the merrymaking, and the evening which had bade fair to be such a gloomy one, was, as all declared, the most enjoyable that had been spent in the station for many a month.
Then, promising to report by telephone whenever he should have gained any information, the visitor took his departure, and it was time for Sam Hardy and No. 8 to do their share of patrol work.
“Come, lad,” the surfman said cheerily. “I had counted on your stayin’ under cover to-night; but seein’ ’s how you’re likely to hold on here, for I believe Mr. Bradford will fix things accordin’ to our likin’, you may just as well continue to toughen up.”
Then the two went out into the night, and it would be difficult to say which carried the lighter heart in his bosom.
[CHAPTER XIX.]
THE DECISION.
Although Mr. Bradford’s advice and willingness to take charge of Benny’s business had given great relief of mind to all concerned, the fears of the crew concerning the future were by no means dispelled.
When the gentleman had stated so positively that several weeks must necessarily elapse before the question could properly be settled, even Benny felt as if a great load of care had suddenly been removed; but on the following morning, after the men had had time to view the matter from every point, there appeared much in it which was not pleasing.
“It’s just like this,” Sam Hardy said to Joe Cushing when the two met behind the engine-house for a private conversation on the morning following Mr. Bradford’s visit. “It’s just like this: If Andrew Foster turns out to be some crusty old curmudgeon who’s bound to have his own way, he’ll insist on Benny’s goin’ to him the very minute he finds out we want to keep the lad, therefore it stands us in hand to keep mighty quiet as to our wishes.”