The door thrust the table back, a dark form showed in the rays of the moon that peered from the edge of scattering clouds, and Chick, with a great sense of relief, recognized that his newest companion was Toby Tew, who operated a small motion picture “palace” in Winter and eked out a meager living by renting dories to crabbing parties in the Summer.
“Show a light!” he ordered Chick. “What made you blow out the lantern?”
“I didn’t. It went out.” Chick clutched the arm of the big man in his heavy oilskins as he thrilled to the touch of human contact. “Mr. Tew, did you see anything—hear anything?”
The other laughed.
“Sort of spooky, hey? No. I guess I was part of the ghost, and your excitement furnished the balance. I saw a light when I started down channel to see to my dories after the blow. ‘A light!’ thinks I, ‘that’s a how-dy-do!’ So I pushed the door open, and got out of range, case it was some bootlegger run in out o’ the blow. I heard you coming out so I dodged across and got behind a spile. Thinks I, ‘I don’t want any bootlegger to bore me. If he wants to shelter in my boathouse, let him,’ thinks I, ‘but I won’t try collecting rent—not in the kind of lead the bootleggers uses to pay their taxes!’”
“I’m glad it was you,” Chick said, and on Toby’s earnest question as to his reason for being there, Chick spoke in fullest confidence.
He knew Toby Tew, as did all the youths of Port Washington and its vicinity, knew him for a kindly, good-humored, open-handed man. No parent was ever visited because prankish youths “borrowed” dories and returned them with am oar missing. No party of boys lacking funds had to forego crabbing expeditions as long as Toby had spare dories not in demand for pay. Any Winter evening there were plenty of spare seats at the picture theatre for young men who wanted amusement but were out of pocket money—and they always paid when they could!
“Um! Gosh-a-mighty!” exclaimed the boatman-picture exhibitor, when Chick had related the suggestions of Scott, the ensuing flight, the coming of the mail ’plane, the spectre visitation and its vanishment, and the events that had followed, “in the name of all—possessed! You don’t say! Doc!—why, Doc never stole in his life!”
“Somebody had to bring those designs here,” Chick maintained. “Doc was here when I came,” he gestured toward the bottle and the upset condition of the hut, revealed by the refilled lantern; Toby, who had made a foray on his reserve can of kerosine for the lantern, set the utensil in its place.
“Doc never done that! Gosh-a-mighty! I’ve known that fellow for a lifetime, almost! In the name of all-possessed, though, who would of come up through my trap door with oilskins and green rubber gloves and a bathing cap on? And what for? And Doc did say he saw the same——”