When Bobby did sober down sufficiently to talk understandingly, Tim learned that, owing to his friend’s pleading and tales of how he had been abused, Mr. Tucker had promised that he would induce Captain Pratt to let the boy come ashore at Minchin’s Island, where he should have a home for a time at least.
Relying on that promise, Bobby had gathered all the boys of the town together to give Tim a proper welcome, and all had been hidden behind the shed when the steamer came in, so that the surprise should be as great as possible. By what means Mr. Tucker had persuaded Captain Pratt to part with the cabin-boy he was “breaking in” no one knew, and no one seemed to care, since it had been so successfully accomplished.
When Bobby looked around for his father, to introduce to him the boy for whom he had done so much, he was nowhere to be seen, and Bobby said, in apology:
“I s’pose he thought we would want to talk a good deal, an’ so he went off; but we’ll see him when we get home.”
“But am I really goin’ to live with you?” asked Tim, hardly able to believe the good-fortune that had come to him so suddenly.
“You’re goin’ to live with me a good while, anyhow, an’ I guess for all the time; but father didn’t say.” Then, as the boys started up the wharf, he added, eagerly, “We’re goin’ over to Bill Thompson’s father’s vessel now. We’ve got some chowder, an’ Bill’s father said we could go over there an’ have supper; so we’re goin’ to show you one of the best times you ever had.”
The countenance of all the boys told that some big time was near, and more especially was that the case with Bill Thompson. By his very manner he showed that he considered himself of the greatest importance in that party, and walked on in advance, almost unable to contain himself because of his excessive dignity. Instead of going up into the little town, Bill led the way around the shore; and as the boys reached the headland where Tip had first touched the land of Minchin’s Island, Bobby pointed to a small fishing schooner that lay at anchor a short distance from the shore.
Then the other boys began to tell about the supper and the good time generally, until it was impossible to distinguish one word; but Bill Thompson walked on in silence, looking neither to the right nor the left. It was enough for him that he was the one on whom the pleasure depended, since it was to take place on his father’s vessel, and he could not lower his dignity by talking.
A dory hauled up on the beach served to convey the party to the schooner, and once there, Bill Thompson led the way to the cabin, where every preparation had been made for the feast of welcome.
The table, formed by letting down a shelf from the side of the cabin, was large enough to accommodate half of the party, and was laid with every variety of crockery and cutlery such as would be likely to be found on board a fishing vessel. The only food on the table was crackers; but a huge pot, which was bubbling and steaming in a contented sort of way on the stove, told that there was enough to satisfy the wants of the hungriest boy there.