“I’m not worrying over that, are you?” said Dan, philosophically. “You look as if you had a grouch on about something.”
“I have,” blurted out Dud fiercely. “I hate this horrid Killykinick and everything on it; and I’m not going to be mixed up before decent people with roughs and toughs that are fit only to black my boots—like you, Dan Dolan!”
XV.—A Rescue.
For a moment Dan’s blue eyes flashed, his strong arm quivered. Every hardy nerve was tingling to strike out at the insolent speaker who lost no opportunity to fling a scornful word. But this beautiful day had left holy as well as happy memories. Dan had knelt at Brother Bart’s side before the altar light, that through all his hard rough young life had been Aunt Winnie’s boy’s beacon,—a beacon that had grown clearer and brighter with his advancing years, until it seemed to rise above earth into the dazzling radiance of the stars. Its steady light fell upon his rising passion now, and his fury broke as the swelling surf breaks upon the beacon rock—into foam and spray.
“It is a sort of mix up, I must say,” he answered. “But I’m out of the bootblack business for good and all; so what are you going to do about it?”
“Cut the whole lot,” said Dud, “just as soon as I can get money enough to do it.”
“Well, I won’t cry after you, I’m sure,” retorted Dan, good-humoredly; though there was a spark in his eye that told the fire was smoldering still, as even under the beacon light such fires sometimes do.
But a stentorian shout from Captain Jeb put an end to the altercation.
“Wind’s a-veering! Swing round that ar boom, matey Dan! Duck, the rest of you boys,—duck—quick!”
Freddy was asleep, with his head pillowed safely on Brother Bart’s knee. Jim was dozing in the stern, out of harm’s reach; but on Dud, seated at the edge of the boat and fuming with rage and pride, the warning fell unheeded. As the sail swung round there was s splash, a shriek.