CHAPTER XI.
THE MASTER-CARPENTER DISPOSES OF HIS PRISONER.
Oscar Chester had been on Garden Island over two hours, and had had time enough to cool off. It was plain that he did not like the looks of Mr. Brookbine, who was a stalwart Vermonter, over six feet in height. He had gone on shore with one of the men from the estate, who acted as a deck-hand, to bring off the rebel.
Oscar said nothing when he went on board of the steamer, and the other boys were not inclined to make any talk with him. He walked from one end of the Sylph to the other, taking a hasty survey of the steam-yacht. He did not appear to be looking for any thing in particular.
When he was on the forward deck he discovered Dory in the pilot-house. He did not even bestow a second glance upon him, and went aft in a few minutes. He looked sullen and obstinate, and it was clear that he was disgusted with his experience on the lake.
“No use, Oscar,” said Williston Orwell, as the rebel approached him at the stern of the boat. “You haven’t made out any thing, and I don’t believe you will.”
“The end of the world hasn’t come yet,” replied Oscar with a heavy sneer. “There is time enough yet, and you know I never back down.”
“But you might as well. You began too soon,” added Will Orwell.
“I didn’t begin at all: I was civil enough to Dory till he began to put on airs. He talked to me just as though I were a little child, and he were the Grand Mogul. I told him I wanted to steer the boat, and he told me to sit down. He insulted me.”
“I don’t think he did, Oscar. None of us were ever in a sailboat before; and I think he did just right in not letting you steer, for it wouldn’t have taken much to upset that boat with so many in her.”