The key was in its accustomed place. Walter seized it, thrust it into the hole in the detector, turned it, and proudly made his first record as a surfman. Then he retraced his way to the sands, still glistening in the moonlight, and slowly trudged back to the station. When at the close of his long watch, he wearily passed upstairs, and dropped into his warm bed, he went readily to sleep, but not into oblivion. He was busily dreaming, dreaming that he was a knight, and King Barney was dressing him in armor. Then he thought that armed with shield and spear and sword, he went out upon the beach to fight the perils of the sea. These took the form of a monster wriggling out of the surf; and as in the old Grecian fable, Perseus was moved to rescue the maiden Andromeda from a sea–horror, so he was striving to save May Elliott, bound like Andromeda to the rocks on the shore. The battle was a long one and it did not come off till toward morning. He was suddenly aroused by—was it an angry stroke from a claw of the sea–dragon? It seemed so to Walter; and looking up in a shivering horror, expecting to see the most diabolical face ever invented, wasn’t he delighted to see—Tom Walker’s shaggy head:
“Oh—h—Tom! That you! Well, if I ain’t glad to see you!”
Tom roared.
“Well, if I don’t call that a cordial greetin’! Ha—ha! Folks are apt to feel t’other way, when waked up. Glad to see me! Ha—ha! Well, I’m glad to see you. Come, breakfast’s ready. Cook Charlie’s taters will soon be cold as the heart of a mermaid, if you ever dream of sich things.”
Walter did not say whether he had been dreaming of such a character.
CHAPTER XIII.
UNDER FIRE.
Boardman Blake sat in his store, patiently holding his hands in his lap, and waiting for a customer. Indeed, there seemed to be nothing else that he could very well do. He was not needed in the barn, for Don Pedro was there, looking faithfully after oxen and cows; after “Old Jennie,” the mare, also. Boardman had just brought from the well all that Aunt Lydia needed in her department—“two heapin’ pails of water.” He was tired of looking at the few books on the shelves in the store, and he had gone through the County Bugle from its first note to its last one. As no customer arrived, his only occupation was to nurse his hands in his lap, and wait in hope. If Boardman had waited until an actual customer had arrived, there would have been a good deal of nursing. He supposed at first it was a customer, when he heard a footstep at the door, and then caught the tinkle of the watchful bell.