And Dan went off with his lobsters, in a wrath almost fiery enough to boil them alive. Pay!—pay for that wild plunge into watery depths—the doubt, the fear, the icy terror of hungry monsters around him! Dud Fielding was offering him pay for this, very much as he might fling pay to him for blacking his boots. Ah, it was a fierce, bad moment for Dan! His beacon light vanished; murky clouds of passion were blackening dream and vision; he felt he could cheerfully pitch Dud back to the sharks again. And then, as still hot and furious, he strode back with his lobsters to old Ned, Freddy, who was remorsefully following him—remorseful at having stirred up a row,—piped up in sudden excitement:
“O Dan, look—look what’s coming here to Killykinick! Dan, just look!”
Dan turned at the cry. Past Numskull Nob, making her cautious, graceful way through rocks and shoals, was a beautiful white-winged yacht, her mast gay with pennants. One, fluttering wide to the breeze, showed her name, “The Polly.”
XVI.—A New Experience
Dan stood staring in blank amazement, while Freddy’s voice rose into shriller triumph:
“Jim, Dud, Brother Bart, look,—look what is coming here!”
She was coming indeed, this white-winged stranger, swaying to the right and left under skilful guidance as she made her way to the Killykinick wharf; for her rugged old Captain knew the perils of the shore. And under the gay awnings that shaded the deck was a merry group of young people, waving their handkerchiefs to the rocky island they were approaching; while Polly’s big handsome “dad,” in white linen yachting togs, pointed out the ship house and the wharf, the tower and garden patch,—all the improvements that queer old Great-uncle Joe had made on these once barren rocks. Polly’s dad had known about the old captain and his oddities all his life. Indeed, once in his very early years as he now told his young listeners, he had made a boyish foray in Great-uncle Joe’s domain, and had been repelled by the old sailor with a vigor never to be forgotten.
“I never had such a scientific thrashing in my life,” laughed dad, as if he rather enjoyed the remembrance. “We were playing pirate that summer. I had a new boat that we christened the ‘Red Rover,’ after Cooper’s story; and we rigged her up with a pirate flag, and proceeded to harry the coast and do all the mischief that naughty twelve-year-olds can do. Finally, I proposed, as a crowning adventure, a descent upon Killykinick, pulling down old Joey Kane’s masthead and smashing his lantern. Well, we caught a Tartar there, I can tell you! The old captain never had any use for boys. And to think of the place being full of them now!”
“Oh, no, dad! There are only four,” said Polly,—“four real nice boys from St. Andrew’s College, and just the right size to come to my party. O Nell, Gracie, look! There they come!”
And the handkerchiefs fluttered again gleefully as “The Polly” made up to the wharf, and the whole population of Killykinick turned out to greet her,—even to Brother Bart, who had been reading his well-worn “Imitation” on the beach; and Neb, who, with the bag of potatoes he had just dug up, stood staring dumbly in the distance.