Transcriber’s Note:

Horatio Alger is to boys what Charles Dickens is to grown-ups. His work is just as popular to-day as it was years ago. The books have a quality, the value of which is beyond computation.

There are legions of boys of foreign parents who are being helped along the road to true Americanism by reading these books which are so peculiarly American in tone that the reader cannot fail to absorb some of the spirit of fair play and clean living which is so characteristically American.

In this list will be included certain books by Edward Stratemeyer, Oliver Optic, and other authors who wrote the Alger type of stories, which are equal in interest and wholesomeness with those written by the famous author after which this great line of books for boys is named.

ALL TITLES ALWAYS IN PRINT

1—Driven From Home	By Horatio Alger, Jr.
2—A Cousin’s Conspiracy	By Horatio Alger, Jr.
3—Ned Newton	By Horatio Alger, Jr.
4—Andy Gordon	By Horatio Alger, Jr.
5—Tony, the Tramp	By Horatio Alger, Jr.
6—The Five Hundred Dollar Check	By Horatio Alger, Jr.
7—Helping Himself	By Horatio Alger, Jr.
8—Making His Way	By Horatio Alger, Jr.
9—Try and Trust	By Horatio Alger, Jr.
10—Only an Irish Boy	By Horatio Alger, Jr.
11—Jed, the Poorhouse Boy	By Horatio Alger, Jr.
12—Chester Rand	By Horatio Alger, Jr.
13—Grit, the Young Boatman of Pine Point	By Horatio Alger, Jr.
14—Joe’s Luck	By Horatio Alger, Jr.
15—From Farm Boy to Senator	By Horatio Alger, Jr.
16—The Young Outlaw	By Horatio Alger, Jr.
17—Jack’s Ward	By Horatio Alger, Jr.
18—Dean Dunham	By Horatio Alger, Jr.
19—In a New World	By Horatio Alger, Jr.
20—Both Sides of the Continent	By Horatio Alger, Jr.
21—The Store Boy	By Horatio Alger, Jr.
22—Brave and Bold	By Horatio Alger, Jr.
23—A New York Boy	By Horatio Alger, Jr.
24—Bob Burton	By Horatio Alger, Jr.
25—The Young Adventurer	By Horatio Alger, Jr.
26—Julius, the Street Boy	By Horatio Alger, Jr.
27—Adrift in New York	By Horatio Alger, Jr.
28—Tom Brace	By Horatio Alger, Jr.
29—Struggling Upward	By Horatio Alger, Jr.
30—The Adventures of a New York Telegraph Boy	By Horatio Alger, Jr.
31—Tom Tracy	By Horatio Alger, Jr.
32—The Young Acrobat	By Horatio Alger, Jr.
33—Bound to Rise	By Horatio Alger, Jr.
34—Hector’s Inheritance	By Horatio Alger, Jr.
35—Do and Dare	By Horatio Alger, Jr.
36—The Tin Box	By Horatio Alger, Jr.
37—Tom, the Bootblack	By Horatio Alger, Jr.
38—Risen from the Ranks	By Horatio Alger, Jr.
39—Shifting for Himself	By Horatio Alger, Jr.
40—Wait and Hope	By Horatio Alger, Jr.
41—Sam’s Chance	By Horatio Alger, Jr.
42—Striving for Fortune	By Horatio Alger, Jr.
43—Phil, the Fiddler	By Horatio Alger, Jr.
44—Slow and Sure	By Horatio Alger, Jr.
45—Walter Sherwood’s Probation	By Horatio Alger, Jr.
46—The Trials and Triumphs of Mark Mason	By Horatio Alger, Jr.
47—The Young Salesman	By Horatio Alger, Jr.
48—Andy Grant’s Pluck	By Horatio Alger, Jr.
49—Facing the World	By Horatio Alger, Jr.
50—Luke Walton	By Horatio Alger, Jr.
51—Strive and Succeed	By Horatio Alger, Jr.
52—From Canal Boy to President	By Horatio Alger, Jr.
53—The Erie Train Boy	By Horatio Alger, Jr.
54—Paul, the Peddler	By Horatio Alger, Jr.
55—The Young Miner	By Horatio Alger, Jr.
56—Charlie Codman’s Cruise	By Horatio Alger, Jr.
57—A Debt of Honor	By Horatio Alger, Jr.
58—The Young Explorer	By Horatio Alger, Jr.
59—Ben’s Nugget	By Horatio Alger, Jr.
60—The Errand Boy	By Horatio Alger, Jr.
61—Frank and Fearless	By Horatio Alger, Jr.
62—Frank Hunter’s Peril	By Horatio Alger, Jr.
63—Adrift in the City	By Horatio Alger, Jr.
64—Tom Thatcher’s Fortune	By Horatio Alger, Jr.
65—Tom Turner’s Legacy	By Horatio Alger, Jr.
66—Dan, the Newsboy	By Horatio Alger, Jr.
67—Digging for Gold	By Horatio Alger, Jr.
68—Lester’s Luck	By Horatio Alger, Jr.
69—In Search of Treasure	By Horatio Alger, Jr.
70—Frank’s Campaign	By Horatio Alger, Jr.
71—Bernard Brook’s Adventures	By Horatio Alger, Jr.
72—Robert Coverdale’s Struggles	By Horatio Alger, Jr.
73—Paul Prescott’s Charge	By Horatio Alger, Jr.
74—Mark Manning’s Mission	By Horatio Alger, Jr.
75—Rupert’s Ambition	By Horatio Alger, Jr.
76—Sink or Swim	By Horatio Alger, Jr.
77—The Backwoods Boy	By Horatio Alger, Jr.
78—Tom Temple’s Career	By Horatio Alger, Jr.
79—Ben Bruce	By Horatio Alger, Jr.
80—The Young Musician	By Horatio Alger, Jr.
81—The Telegraph Boy	By Horatio Alger, Jr.
82—Work and Win	By Horatio Alger, Jr.
83—The Train Boy	By Horatio Alger, Jr.
84—The Cash Boy	By Horatio Alger, Jr.
85—Herbert Carter’s Legacy	By Horatio Alger, Jr.
86—Strong and Steady	By Horatio Alger, Jr.
87—Lost at Sea	By Horatio Alger, Jr.
88—From Farm to Fortune	By Horatio Alger, Jr.
89—Young Captain Jack	By Horatio Alger, Jr.
90—Joe, the Hotel Boy	By Horatio Alger, Jr.
91—Out for Business	By Horatio Alger, Jr.
92—Falling in With Fortune	By Horatio Alger, Jr.

ON TIME
OR,
BOUND TO GET THERE

BY
OLIVER OPTIC
Author of many books for boys which will never grow old.

STREET & SMITH CORPORATION
PUBLISHERS
79-89 Seventh Avenue, New York

Renewal Granted to
Alice Adams Russell, 1897

On Time

(Printed in the United States of America)

ON TIME.

CHAPTER I.
A NEW PROJECT.

“You don’t want that boat, Wolf, any more than the lake wants water,” said my father, after I had read an advertisement, in the Ruoara Clarion, of the effects of a bankrupt which were to be sold at auction the next day.

“I don’t think the lake would amount to much without water; in fact, to no more than I do without business,” I replied. “I want something to do, and if I can buy this boat at a low price, I am sure I can make something out of her.”

“What can you do with her? She is a very pretty plaything; but you and I can’t afford such luxuries,” added my father.

“I don’t want her for a plaything, father,” I persisted. “I want to make some money out of her.”

“You are an enterprising boy, Wolf; but I really don’t see any money in a boat like that.”

“I think there is, though of course I may be mistaken. Since Major Toppleton has been running his steamers across the lake to Centreport so many times a day, the ferry would not pay, and the owner has gone up to Ruoara with his boat. Now, there are many people who wish to cross between the steamers’ trips.”

“I don’t think that would pay,” said my father, shaking his head.

“There is hardly a boat to let, either in Middleport or Centreport. I think a boat kept for parties of pleasure would pay well. There are plenty of people who want to go up the lake fishing; and there would be a great many more if a decent boat were to be had.”

“Well, Wolf, you have made your own money, and you are smart enough to take care of it yourself. If you want to go into a speculation on your own account, I haven’t a word to say. But what will this boat cost?”

“Of course I don’t mean to pay anything like her value. If she can be bought at a low figure, I can do something with her, even if I have to sell her.”

“They say she cost five or six hundred dollars.”

“I should say she could not be built and fitted up for anything less than six hundred. I am willing to go one hundred on her. If I can buy her for that, I can turn her again so as to double my money,” I continued confidently.

“I don’t know. A boat is either the best or the worst property in the world.”

“I know that. It is October now, and the boating-season is about over, though there is considerable fishing done up the lake. Not many people want to buy a boat in the fall, and for that reason she won’t bring much.”

“Here is the hundred dollars. If you can buy her for that, I think you will be safe enough,” added my father, as he took the bills from the bureau drawer.

I was very fond of boating, and would rather have made my living in that way than any other; but while I could get two, or even one dollar a day for running an engine, I could not afford to risk my chances with a boat. I was out of business now. I had been contemptuously discharged from the Lake Shore Railroad, and, not a little to my chagrin, Colonel Wimpleton, who had made me liberal offers to serve in his new steamer, did not repeat them. My father also was out of employ, and, though we were not likely to suffer at present for the want of work, we could ill afford to be idle.

I had taken it into my head that I could make something with a good sailboat. The people of the two towns, as well as many strangers who came to them, were fond of fishing, and six or seven dollars a day for such a boat as I proposed to buy would not be an extravagant price, including, as it would, my own services as skipper. Twenty days’ work would refund my capital, and I could reasonably hope to obtain this amount of business during the next two months. The next summer she would be a small fortune to me, for boats were in constant demand.

The next day I crossed the lake, and went up to Ruoara in Colonel Wimpleton’s new steamer, the Ucayga. This was the first time I had sailed in her, and I could not help seeing that she was “a big thing.” It seemed almost incredible to me that I had been offered the situation of captain of this boat, and even more incredible that I had refused it; but both of these statements were true. I had come to the conclusion that the colonel had repented of his splendid offer.

Just now the Lake Shore Railroad was in the ascendant, and the Ucayga was under a shadow. She had very few passengers, while the train which had just left Middleport had been crowded. It was a busy season among travelers, and I heard that the colonel was terribly galled by the ill-success of his line. Major Toppleton had ordered the captains of the two boats which ran up the lake to be regularly ten minutes behind time, so that the steamer was unable to leave Centreport in season to connect with the trains at Ucayga. This delay entirely defeated the colonel’s plans, and the Ucayga was generally obliged to leave without any of the through passengers, which comprised more than half. Without them the boat would not pay.

It did not make much difference to Colonel Wimpleton whether the steamer made or lost money for him, if he could only get ahead of the railroad. The Ucayga had failed to connect with the railroads at the foot of the lake two or three times a week; and this had given her a very bad reputation. It was true that the Lightning Express, on which I had formerly run as engineer, had been similarly unfortunate quite a number of times; but as the major’s plan was fully understood by the people up the lake, the train was regarded as the surer of the two modes of conveyance.

Lewis Holgate, the son of the man who had robbed my father, was still the engineer of the Lightning Express. He was under the powerful protection of Tommy Toppleton, who ruled all Middleport by ruling his father, the magnate of the town. Lewis was a treacherous wretch. He had labored to ruin me, under the direction of his young master; but I tried to think as kindly of him as I could. I was daily in fear that, through his unskilful management of the locomotive, an accident would occur on the road. I am almost sure that Colonel Wimpleton would have hailed such a catastrophe with satisfaction, so deep and bitter was his hatred of Major Toppleton, and so great was his opposition to the road. As the matter stood, neither the train nor the steamer was entirely reliable. A little more shrewdness, skill, and enterprise would have turned the scale in favor of either.

The Ucayga started this morning without waiting for the arrival of the up-lake steamer. As soon as she left the wharf, I began to walk about her decks and cabins on an exploring-tour. I was delighted with her appointments; and, while I tried to be impartial between the steamer and the railroad, my admiration of the beautiful craft inclined me to believe that she ought to win. In the course of my wanderings about the boat, I came to the forward deck. About the first person I encountered here was Mr. Waddie Wimpleton. He sat on the capstan, smoking a cigar, for the young scion of the Wimpleton house was bent on being as “big” as anybody else.

“What are you doing on our boat, Wolf Penniman?” demanded he, leaping down from his high seat the moment he saw me.

“I’m going down to Ruoara on her; that’s all I’m doing just now,” I replied.

“Did you come to count the passengers?” said he bitterly.

“I did not, though, for that matter, it would not be a difficult task to count them.”

“None of your impudence, Wolf Penniman!”

“What’s the matter, Waddie?” I asked, laughing. “I suppose you know I’m not the engineer of the railroad now, and you need not waste any hard words upon me.”

“I don’t want to see you on this boat, or on our side of the lake,” he added, restoring the cigar to his mouth, and looking as magnificent as a little magnate could look.

“I won’t hurt you, or the boat.”

“I’ll bet you won’t!”

“This is a splendid boat,” I continued, in a conciliatory tone.

“Splendid enough.”

“But I don’t think you are smart to let the major get ahead of you, as he does.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“If I were running this boat, I should have my share of the through passengers,” I replied, with all the good-nature I possessed.

“You would do big things!” sneered he.

“I should try to.”

“You can’t come it over me, as you did over my father.”

“I haven’t the least desire to come it over you. I expect to go into business on my own account pretty soon,” I replied.

“If it hadn’t been for me, you would have been captain of this boat,” said he, intending to throw his heaviest shot by this remark.

“Well, I suppose you did what you thought was best for the line; and if you are satisfied, I ought to be.”

“You didn’t make much when you ran away from Centreport.”

“Neither did I lose much. If we are both satisfied about that, we need not quarrel.”

“I shall always quarrel with you, Wolf Penniman, as long as I live,” he added spitefully. “I hate you!”

“Well, I hope you will have a good time. For my part, I don’t hate you, Waddie; and if I had a chance to do you a good turn, I would do it now as quick as ever I would.”

“You needn’t snuffle to me. I don’t ask any favors of you. I am president of the steamboat company, and I suppose you would like to have me get down on my knees and beg you to take command of this boat.”

“Not much,” I replied, laughing.

“You think you are a great man!”

“No, I’m only a boy, like yourself.”

“If I had seen you before the boat started, you should not have gone in her.”

“That game was tried on the other side of the lake. It don’t work well.”

“Don’t you come on board of this boat again; if you do, we will try it on.”

Both of the little magnates down upon me, and I was forbidden to ride in either steamer or cars! Waddie puffed up his cigar and walked away, evidently with the feeling that he was not making much out of me. The Ucayga touched at the wharf, and I went on shore. So did the little magnate of Centreport.

CHAPTER II.
THE AUCTION AT RUOARA.

It was not yet time for the auction, and I waited on the wharf to see the steamer start. She was still a novelty in Ruoara, and many people came down to the shore to observe her beautiful proportions, and the speed with which she cut through the waters. Hundreds of them made the trip to Ucayga and back for the sole purpose of seeing the boat. After the old steamers were taken off, and before the Ucayga was put on the route, the inhabitants of this town had been obliged to cross the ferry to Grass Springs, and take the trains of the Lake Shore Railroad when they wished to go in either direction. The advent of this palatial steamer was therefore a new era to them, and they regarded her with pride and pleasure.

Ruoara was situated nearly opposite Grass Springs; but the four islands lay off the former town, and a little below. The South Shoe was due west from the wharf where the boat touched, and she was obliged to back, and go over a mile out of her course, to avoid the island and the shoal water which lay near it. The South Shoe, therefore, was a nuisance in its relation to the steamboat navigation of Ruoara. The five minutes which this circuit required had doubtless caused the Ucayga to miss her connection more than once.

I have been told that I am a machinist by nature. I do not know how this may be, but I am sure that I never see a difficulty without attempting to study out the means to remedy it. As I stood on the wharf, watching the winding course of the splendid steamer, I could not help grappling with the problem of saving this loss of time on the trip. These five minutes might sometimes enable the boat to win the day in the competition with the railroad.

As I have hinted before, I knew every foot of bottom in this part of the lake. I had sailed hundreds of miles among these islands, and, while I was thinking over the matter, the key to the problem flashed upon my mind. I do not mean to say that it was a very brilliant idea; but, simple as it was, it had evidently not occurred to the captain of the steamer, who was a Hitaca man, and knew only the ordinary channels of the lake, used by the steamers. I had an idea; but I deemed it wise to keep my own counsel in the matter, for a suggestion from me would probably have been deemed impertinent.

When the Ucayga disappeared behind the South Shoe, I turned my attention to the business which had brought me to Ruoara. A short distance down the lake, and on its bank, was a beautiful and very elaborate cottage, which had evidently been intended as a copy of that occupied by Colonel Wimpleton. Off the lake-wall lay the boat which I hoped to purchase. The owner had made an immense “spread,” and failed out clean in the height of his glory. People who could afford to purchase such rich and gaudy trappings as those with which the bankrupt owner fitted up his mansion, did not care to buy them at second-hand. Everybody expected that the ornamental appendages of the establishment would be sold for a tithe of their cost; and so they were.

To most of the people on the lake, any boat beyond a skiff for actual service was regarded as a luxury, especially such a craft as that which floated off the wall. Taking hold of the painter, I hauled her in, and stepped on board. She was a very rakish-looking boat, sloop-rigged, with a cabin forward containing two berths, and the smallest stove it is possible to imagine. She was about twenty-four feet long, and as well appointed in every respect as though she had been fitted up to cross the ocean. The owner had certainly lavished money upon her, which he could afford to do, at the expense of his creditors.

While I was examining her I saw the crowd of purchasers moving about the house as the sale proceeded. It was a hopeful sign that no one seemed to care a straw about the boat. Men and women were examining everything else about the establishment, but the Belle—for that was the name I found upon her stern—was wholly neglected. I continued my examination without the notice of any one for some time. I took the trap off the well, and got at the bottom. I found that she was built in the most thorough manner. I was sure she had cost all of six hundred dollars.

“What are you doing in that boat, Wolf Penniman?”

I raised my head from the diligent search I was making in the bottom of the boat, and discovered Mr. Waddie on the wall.

“I am looking at her,” I replied.

“What are you looking at her for?”

“Because I want to see her.”

“What do you want to see her for?”

“I take an interest in boats,” I answered, not caring to be very communicative with the scion of the Wimpletons.

It immediately occurred to me that Waddie’s business at Ruoara was the same as my own, and my heart sank within me, for I could not hope to bid against one who had so much money at his command. But I could not think, for the life of me, why Waddie should want the boat, for he had one of about the same size, which was his own private property. Probably he had taken a fancy to her, as I had.

“Are you going to buy her, Wolf?” asked he, with more interest than he was accustomed to manifest in anything.

“That will depend upon circumstances.”

“Who told you that I was going to buy this boat?” demanded he sharply.

“No one.”

“You came up to bid against me!”

“I didn’t know you were coming till I saw you here.”

“If you bid against me, Wolf Penniman, I’ll be the death of you.”

“I think not,” I replied, laughing at this rash threat.

“I will! You will find me an uglier customer to deal with than you did Tom Toppleton. Do you think I’m going to have you dogging my steps wherever I go?”

I could only laugh.

“No one about here wants the boat but me,” he added.

“I want her.”

“Yes, and you want her only because I do,” snarled he.

“It’s an open thing, I suppose. This is a public auction; and if you are willing to give more than I can, of course you will have her,” I replied.

“If you don’t bid against me, she will be knocked off at the first offer.”

“We won’t quarrel, Waddie.”

“Yes, we will, if you bid against me. The auctioneer is coming. You mind what I say. If you bid against me, you will repent it as long as you live.”

Such language from an ordinary boy would have been very remarkable; from Waddie it was not at all so. It was his usual style of bullying. It seemed very strange that the young gentleman should attempt to bully me into silence when he could outbid me; but I ascertained afterward that his father objected to buying the boat, and even refused to furnish the money, so that Waddie could only bid to the extent of the funds then in his possession. However weak and indulgent the colonel was, he had not sunk into the condition of subserviency to his son into which the major had fallen.

The auctioneer, followed by only a small portion of the crowd from the house, approached the spot where Waddie stood. I jumped ashore, and secured a place on the wall. The auctioneer took his stand on the stern of the Belle; but none of the attendants upon the sale felt interest enough to go on board, or even to examine the craft. It was plain enough that the competition lay between Waddie and myself alone. I had made up my mind to lose the boat, and I felt badly about it. I could not expect to bid successfully against the son of the rich man. However, I meant to try, and I only hoped that Waddie would keep his temper. He had certainly given me fair warning; but perhaps it was my misfortune that I did not happen to be afraid of him.

While I stood there, I could not help thinking that I was spoiling all my chances of a situation in the future on board of the Ucayga, if the colonel should again be disposed to repeat his munificent offers. But I had a dream of doing even a better thing with the Belle than I could on board of the steamer or on the Lake Shore Railroad, and without being subject to the caprices of either of the young gentlemen who were so potent in both.

The auctioneer gave us a grandiloquent description of the “fairy pleasure barge” which was before us. He was not a nautical man, and sadly bungled in his terms. She was the fastest sailer on the lake; was a good sea-boat. She was right and tight in every respect.

“For, gentlemen,” he added facetiously, “a boat, unlike a man, is a good deal better when she is tight than when she is not tight”—a witticism at which the auctioneer laughed much more heartily than the auditors. “She is copper-fastened, besides being fastened to the wall. Like myself, and some of you, gentlemen, she is very sharp. And now, how much am I offered for this magnificent yacht, the finest, without exception, on the lake. What shall I have for her?”

“Twenty-five dollars,” said Waddie Wimpleton, who could not conceal his interest and anxiety in the result.

“Did you say twenty-five dollars, Mr. Wimpleton?” said the auctioneer, with a look which was intended to manifest his astonishment at the smallness of the bid. “Why, she cost over six hundred dollars! You can’t mean that, Mr. Wimpleton.”

“Yes, I do mean it!” said Waddie smartly.

“Twenty-five dollars is bid for this splendid yacht, sharp as a Yankee pedler, and copper-fastened, besides being fastened to the wall. Who says a hundred?”

No one said a hundred. No one said anything for a few moments, during which time the auctioneer dwelt upon the beautiful proportions of the craft, and repeated his jokes for a third time.

“Only twenty-five dollars is bid for the Belle! Why, gentlemen, that would not pay for one of her sails.”

“Thirty dollars,” I added.

“Thirty dollars!” repeated the auctioneer, glancing curiously at me. “Perhaps I ought to say that the conditions of this sale are cash on delivery. Thirty dollars! Shall I have a hundred?”

Waddie glanced furiously at me, and I saw that his fists were clenched.

“Thirty-five,” said he.

“Forty.”

“Forty-five,” snapped he.

“Fifty,” I added quietly.

I had hardly uttered the word before Waddie’s fist was planted squarely on the end of my nose, and the blood spurted from it. He was about to follow it up with another, when I deemed it necessary to do something. I parried his stroke, and hit him so fairly in the eye that he reeled, lost his balance, and went over backwards into the lake with a fearful splash.

CHAPTER III.
ON BOARD THE “BELLE.”

Somehow, when we resort to violence, we often do much more than we intend. I did not desire to do anything more than defend myself; but Waddie stood between me and the water, and when I hit him, he went over. I have never claimed to be saint or angel. I was human enough to “get mad” when the young gentleman flattened my nose and made it bleed. I simply defended myself by the only means within my power, though I did not intend to throw Waddie into the lake.

The water was not more than three or four feet deep near the wall; but Waddie might have been drowned in it, if he had not been promptly assisted by the auctioneer and others. But if the water was not deep, it was cold, and hydropathy is an excellent remedy for overheated blood.

“That’s the way Wolf fights,” said Waddie, as he shook the water from his clothes.

“He served you right,” replied the auctioneer, who, I believe, did not belong to Ruoara—certainly not to Centreport.

“Do you call this fair play?” demanded Waddie, with chattering teeth.

“To be sure I do. You turned on him, and hit him without any warning,” retorted the auctioneer. “He hit you back, and paid you in your own coin. You went over into the lake, but that was not his fault. Fifty dollars is bid for this beautiful boat, that cost over six hundred.”

“I told him I would be the death of him if he bid against me,” replied Waddie; but there was not much life in his words.

“O, ho! you did—did you? Well, I’m glad he knocked you into the lake; and if I had known what you told him, you might have staid in the lake for all me,” added the auctioneer indignantly, for the greatest sin in his estimation was a conspiracy to suppress bidding at an auction. “Fifty dollars! Shall I have sixty?”

Waddie lingered on the wall, shivering with the cold; but, to my astonishment, he did not make any additional bid. I could not understand it. The auctioneer again called the attention of the audience to the many virtues of the Belle, and then observed, in piteous tones, that only fifty dollars was bid for the beautiful craft.

“I haven’t done with you yet, Wolf Penniman,” said Waddie, creeping up to me.

“Well, I hope you will finish with me as soon as possible,” I replied, stepping back from the wall so as not to afford him any temptation to push me into the lake.

“I’ll keep my word with you.”

“Fifty dollars!” stormed the auctioneer, justly indignant at the sacrifice of the boat.

“When must it be paid for?” demanded Waddie.

“Cash on delivery,” replied the auctioneer sharply.

“Can it be delivered to-morrow?”

“No; the sale must be closed to-day. Fifty dollars!”

“Sixty,” said Waddie, with an ugly glance at me, after one of the bystanders had whispered a word to him, to the effect, I suppose, that he would lend him ten dollars.

“Sixty-five,” I added quietly.

“Sixty-five!” repeated the auctioneer, more hopefully.

Waddie was beginning to warm up again, and had actually ceased to shiver. He spoke to the bystander with whom he was acquainted, and then bid seventy dollars. I immediately advanced to seventy-five.

“Seventy-five!” shouted the auctioneer. “Gentlemen, this is a shameful sacrifice of valuable property.”

I saw Waddie’s friend shake his head, as though he was not willing to risk more than twenty dollars on the speculation; but while the young gentleman was arguing the point with him, the Belle was struck off to me. The scion of the house of Wimpleton swore like a bad boy when this result was reached. He shook his fist at me, and raised a laugh among the bystanders, not all of whom appeared to reverence the idol which had been set up in Centreport. My purchase included the small boat which served as a tender to the Belle, the mooring-buoy, and other appurtenances.

The auctioneer’s clerk gave me a bill of sale of the boat, and I paid the cash on the spot. I was the happiest young man on the shore of the lake. Waddie had disappeared as soon as the sale was completed, and I was subjected to no further annoyance from him. Having finished my business in Ruoara, I was ready to sail for home, and astonish the Middleporters with the sight of my purchase.

“That’s a fine boat you have bought,” said one of the half-dozen persons who stood on the wall watching my movements.

I looked up and saw that the speaker was Dick Bayard, a Wimpletonian, and the senior captain in the Centreport Battalion. He was a leading spirit among the students on his side of the lake. He had been the actual, though not the nominal, leader in the war on the Horse Shoe, and had distinguished himself by his energy and enterprise in that memorable conflict. His father lived in Ruoara, which accounted for his appearance there when the institute was in session. I had a great deal of respect for him, after I saw how well he bore himself in the silly war, though he had always been a strong and unreasonable supporter of Waddie, and had aided him in persecuting me before I was driven out of Centreport.

“Yes, she is a first-rate boat,” I replied; for speaking well of my boat was even better than speaking well of my dog.

“Are you going down to Middleport now?”

“Yes; right off.”

“Will you take a passenger?” he asked, rather diffidently.

“Who?”

“Myself.”

“I will, with pleasure.”

“Thank you, Wolf.”

I pushed the tender up to the wall, and he stepped into it.

“Some of the fellows say you are not a bit like other boys, Wolf; and I begin to think they are more than half-right,” said Dick Bayard, as he came on board of the Belle.

“Well, I don’t know. I don’t suppose I’m very different from other fellows,” I replied, with becoming modesty.

“You don’t seem to have a grudge against any one. If a fellow abuses you, you treat him as well as ever. You knock him over in self-defense, and then behave toward him just as though nothing had happened.”

“I think I can afford to do so.”

“I didn’t think you would let me sail up the lake with you,” laughed he.

“Why not?”

“Like a good many other fellows, I have toadied to Waddie Wimpleton, and helped him hunt you down.”

“I don’t care anything about that now.”

“I see you don’t. Can I help you?” he asked, as I began to hoist the mainsail.

“You may take the peak-halyard, if you please.”

We hoisted the jib and mainsail, and stood up the lake with a gentle breeze. I took the elaborately carved tiller in my hand, and if ever a young man was proud of his boat, his name was Wolfert Penniman. The Belle fully realized all even of the auctioneer’s enthusiastic description.

“Don’t you belong to the institute now, Dick?” I asked, after we had said all that it was necessary to say in praise of the Belle, and after my companion had related to me more of her history than I knew before.

“Not much,” said he, laughing; “my name is still on the books, and I am still captain of Company A, Wimpleton Battalion; but I don’t go to school half the time.”

“Why not?” I asked curiously.

“I don’t want to. Since the steamboat company was formed, Waddie has put on so many airs that some of us can’t stand it. In fact, our president does not treat us much better than he did you.”

“That is unfortunate for you, and still more so for him.”

“They say the Toppletonians are down upon Tommy; but I am inclined to think the feeling is worse on our side than on yours. Waddie is the most unpopular fellow on our side of the lake.”

“I have often wondered how you fellows, whose fathers are rich men, could let Waddie lord it over you as he does. My father is a poor man, but I can’t stand it.”

“They won’t stand it much longer,” replied Dick, shaking his head. “Our fellows have had about enough of it.”

“What are you going to do?” I inquired.

“Well, I don’t exactly know, and, if I did, I suppose it would not be prudent to tell you,” laughed Dick. “They are going to turn him out of office, for one thing.”

“I think that would do him good. That same thing will happen to Tommy Toppleton at the next election.”

“Waddie got into a row the other day with a lot of fellows that don’t belong to the institute. He undertook to drive them off the ground where they were playing, near the town school. They wouldn’t go, and one of them, a plucky little fellow, spoke his mind pretty freely to him. Waddie and one of his cronies caught him the next day and gave him a cowhiding. The town fellows mean to pay him off, and I know they will.”

“They will only get into trouble. Waddie’s father will stand by him,” I added.

“I don’t know what they mean to do.”

“What did Waddie want to drive the town fellows off the ground for?” I inquired.

“They were playing ball, and Waddie wanted the ground to have a game with his friends.”

“Whose ground was it?”

“It was the piece of land called the school pasture, and belongs to the town. You know where it is.”

“I know the place.”

“One party had just as good a right to the ground as the other; but you know how Waddie does things. If he wants anything he takes it, and makes a row if everybody don’t yield to him.”

“That’s his style.”

“But don’t say anything about what I’ve said, please. If anything happens to Waddie, it will be laid to these fellows.”

“They ought to have been smart enough to keep still themselves,” I replied.

“One of them told me about it in confidence. I shouldn’t have said anything to you, if you lived on our side now.”

“I won’t say anything.”

I was not likely to think anything more about it, and still less to meddle with the affair.

“We are tired of this thing on our side of the lake,” continued Dick. “If we had twenty fellows that would serve Waddie as you did to-day, when he pitched into you, we might make a decent fellow of him after a while. For my own part, I don’t mean to take a word of lip from him. If he insults me, I shall give him as good as he sends. Indeed, I have done so once or twice, and he hates me like poison for it.”

“I don’t think you make anything by using hard words.”

“What do you do, Wolf?”

“I don’t think that abusive language does me any harm, and I mean to be good-natured, whatever happens; though, when it comes to hitting me in the face, and giving me a bloody nose, I can’t quite stand that, and I defend myself as vigorously as I know how. I think a fellow can be a gentleman without putting his neck under anybody’s heel.”

I landed Dick Bayard at Centreport, and stood over to the other side of the lake. I moored the Belle in a little bay not far from my father’s house, and went home to report my good fortune.

CHAPTER IV.
IN THE PICNIC GROVE.

Of course I thought of but little except my boat after she came into my possession, and before the day closed I had exhibited her to all who felt an interest in such matters. My father was delighted with her, and congratulated me on the bargain I had made. Tom Walton declared that the Belle was the finest craft on the lake. Before night, so thoroughly had my boat been talked up in Middleport, I had a party engaged for the next day, to visit the fishing-grounds.

After seeing the boat, and discussing the matter with my father, I had the conscience to fix the price of her at seven dollars a day, which included my own services. When a gentleman spoke of engaging her for a week or more, I told him he should have her for five dollars a day for any longer period than three days.

The weather was very warm and pleasant for October, and my first trip to the fishing-grounds was a great success. My party were delighted with the boat, and I did all I could to make them comfortable. The gentlemen had a good time, and spoke so favorably of the Belle and of me, that the person who proposed to go for a week closed the bargain with me, and I was engaged to start on Monday morning. I was in a fair way to get back, before the season closed, what I had paid for the boat.

On Saturday I had no engagement; but I found it quite impossible to keep out of the Belle. I intended to go on an exploring expedition up the lake, in order to find some good landing-places. I went after Tom Walton, to give him an invitation to accompany me; but I found he was at work for a day or two in one of the stores. The wind blew quite fresh from the northwest, and the lake was tolerably rough, which made me the more desirous of testing the qualities of the Belle.

While I was reefing down the mainsail, I saw the Highflyer pass the Narrows, headed up the lake. This was Waddie Wimpleton’s boat. She was about the size of the Belle, and I could not see why the young gentleman wanted the latter. The Highflyer would certainly have satisfied me, though in the course of the day I was better informed in regard to his motives. Waddie had reefed his mainsail, and was going at a rapid rate up the lake.

I had no wish to come into collision with him, though I was rather anxious to know which boat could make the best time. He was alone; indeed, I had often noticed that he sailed without any company; and, as neither of the institutes was in session on Saturdays, I had often seen him bound up the lake on that day. He had the reputation of being a good boatman, and certainly he had had experience enough to qualify him to act in that capacity.

I cast off the moorings of the Belle, and stood out into the lake, where I could get the full benefit of the wind. Waddie was some distance ahead of me; but I soon saw that his eye was upon me. I intended to keep well over on the west side of the lake, so as to avoid him. I needed not the express declaration he had made to assure me that he hated me, and that he would use all possible means to annoy and punish me. Although I was not afraid of him, I did not wish to afford him any opportunity to gratify his malignity upon me.

He sailed the Highflyer very well. Every minute he glanced at the Belle, to ascertain what progress she was making. Probably he supposed that I had put off for the sole purpose of racing with him, which, however, was not true, though I was very glad of a chance to measure paces with him. Neither of us was obliged to wait long for a decided result, for in half an hour from the time I started, the two boats were abreast of each other, though still half a mile apart. Then the reason why he wished to purchase the Belle was apparent. She was faster than the Highflyer; and Waddie did not enjoy being beaten by any boat on the lake.

Though I was not near enough to observe the effect upon him, I had no doubt he was foaming and fuming with wrath at the audacity of a poor boy like me, who ventured to beat him. While I was walking by him with perfect ease, he threw his boat up into the wind, and turned out the reef in the mainsail. The wind was freshening every hour, and I regarded this as a very imprudent step on his part. In fact, I began to feel that I might, in some way, be held responsible for any disaster which should happen to him, if by racing with him I goaded him on to any rashness. I therefore came about, and began to beat down the lake, to assure him that I was not inclined to race under whole sail in such a blow.

When he had shaken out his reef, however, he gave chase to me. The Highflyer labored heavily in the rough waves, and I was not sure that the duty of rescuing her rash skipper from a watery grave would not soon devolve upon me. He followed, and having all sail on his boat, he gained upon me on the wind. At this rate he would soon be crowing over me, and, the reputation of the Belle would be injured. I was averse to being beaten, even under a reefed mainsail. I let out my sheet, and stood over toward the eastern shore. Waddie followed me, and as I could not now decline the race on his terms, I soon headed the Belle up the lake.

By the time I had laid my course, the Highflyer was abreast of me. Now both of us had the wind on the quarter. A boat on the wind, with all sail set, can be better handled than when going before it. I saw the Highflyer plunging down deep into the waves; but I suppose Waddie had not learned that a boat overpressed in a blow does not make any better time than one carrying just sail enough to make her go comfortably, without wasting her headway in dives and plunges. On this tack he no longer gained upon me. On the contrary, it was soon evident that the Belle was running away from him. My boat was good for at least one more mile in five than the Highflyer.

I ran away from Waddie, and went up the lake as far as Gulfport. I soon lost sight of him, and I concluded that he had made a landing somewhere on the shore. It was too rough to explore the coast, for the wind was driving the waves upon the rocks and beaches with savage power, and it was not prudent to go too near the land. I put the Belle about, and commenced beating down the lake. I thought no more of Waddie, my mind being wholly taken up in sailing my boat, and in the pleasant anticipation of making a profitable thing of her.

On the eastern shore of the lake, between Centreport and Gulfport, there was a wood, covering, perhaps, a square mile of land. It was much used by picnic parties in the summer, and had a cook-house for frying fish and making chowders. A rude landing-place had been prepared for steamers, for the deep water extended quite up to the shore. In the process of beating the Belle down the lake, I ran her close up to the pier off the grove. As I was coming about, I heard a cry which seemed to indicate great distress. I was startled by the sound; but, as there were neither Indians nor wild beasts in the vicinity, I concluded that I had mistaken the nature of the call.

I was proceeding on my course when the cry was repeated. It was certainly the sound of mingled anger and distress. I threw the Belle up into the wind, and listened. The cry was repeated, and I stood in toward the shore. Passing the pier, I saw Waddie’s boat secured to the logs. Just above the wharf there was a little land-locked bay, into which I ran the Belle. The cry of distress was not again repeated; but my curiosity was fully aroused. I concluded that Waddie had found some boy or girl, smaller and weaker than himself, and was exercising the evil propensities of his nature upon his victim.

I lowered my sails, and secured them. Fastening the painter of the Belle to a tree, I walked toward the cook-house, with the small boat-hook, not bigger than a broom-handle, in my hand. I must say that I dreaded a conflict of any description with Mr. Waddie. There was no more reason in him than in a stone wall, and he really delighted in torturing a victim. If any one interfered to repress his cruelty, he took the act as a personal insult, and regarded himself as oppressed by not being allowed to exercise his malice upon the weak.

I walked cautiously toward the spot from which the cry had come, for I wished to obtain a view of the situation before I was seen myself. The trees were large, and afforded me abundant concealment. Every few moments I stopped to listen; and I soon heard several voices, some of them peculiarly gruff and unnatural. It was plain that Waddie and his victim were not the only actors in the scene. Placing myself behind a tree, I took a careful observation, and discovered smoke rising among the branches; but I could not yet see who the speakers were. Something was going on; but whether it was a comedy or a tragedy I could not determine.

I continued cautiously to approach the spot, and soon gained a position where I could obtain a full view of the scene. I had expected to find Waddie persecuting some poor wretch. The “boot was on the other leg.” The scion of the house of Wimpleton was the victim, and not the oppressor. The world seemed to be turned upside down. Waddie, divested of all his clothing but his shirt and pants, was tied to a tree. Near him a fire was snapping and crackling, while over it hung a kettle. Although I was at the windward of the fire, the odor which pervaded the woods assured me that the kettle was filled with tar.

Around the fire were four stout boys, rigged out in fantastic garments, their faces covered with masks and other devices to conceal their identity. Near the fire lay a couple of bolsters, which, no doubt, were filled with feathers. One of these fellows was stirring the contents of the kettle, and another was replenishing the fire, while the other two looked on. Who they were I could form no idea, for their strange uniforms completely disguised them.

Waddie looked like the very picture of hopeless misery. I had never seen such an aspect of utter despair on his face. He was as pale as death, and I could even see the tremors of his frame as he trembled with terror.

CHAPTER V.
THE BATTLE WITH WORDS.

I was not quite willing to believe that the four stout fellows in the vicinity of the kettle really intended to “tar and feather” Waddie Wimpleton. In the first place, it was astounding that any one on the Centreport side of the lake should have the audacity to conceive such an outrage upon the sacred person of the magnate’s only son. Why, the people generally held the great man in about the same reverence as the people of England hold their queen. The idea of committing any indignity upon his person, or upon the persons of any of his family, seemed too monstrous to be entertained.

I judged that the scene before me was the sequel to the incident of which Dick Bayard had told me. But the actors were Centreporters, and it was amazing to think that even four boys in the whole town could actually undertake to revenge themselves upon Mr. Waddie. All that I had done in my quarrel with him was in self-defense, and the scene transpiring before me was quite incomprehensible.

Perhaps what Dick Bayard had told me in some measure explained the situation. It was a fact that the students of the Wimpleton Institute were in a state of rebellion so far as Waddie was concerned, and the influence of this spirit had doubtless extended beyond the borders of the academy. If the Wimpletonians were audacious enough to think of mutiny against the young lordling, it was not strange that others, not immediately associated with him, should even outdo their own intentions.

The particular school where Waddie had driven the boys from their ball-grounds was near the outskirts of the village, and was attended by the sons of some of the farmers living far enough from the center of influence to be in a measure beyond its sphere. After all, perhaps it is really more singular that any American boys could be found who would submit to the tyranny and domineering of Waddie, than that a few should be found who were willing to resist it to the last extremity.

Strange as the phenomenon seemed to be to one who for years had witnessed the homage paid to Waddie Wimpleton and Tommy Toppleton, the fact was undeniable. The little magnate of Centreport was there, bound fast to a tree. The young ruffians, who were so intent upon retaliating for the injury inflicted upon them, had probably lain in wait at this unfrequented place, perhaps for several weeks. I had heard the screams of their victim when they captured him, and I was sure that he had not yielded without a rugged resistance.

The fire blazed under the tar-kettle, and the preparations were rapidly progressing. I kept in my hiding-place, and watched with breathless interest the proceedings. So completely were the actors disguised that I could not recognize a single one of them. So far as Waddie was concerned, I could not be supposed to have any deep interest in his fate. Perhaps the humiliating and disgusting operation which the ruffians intended to perform would do him good.

I ought to say here that the newspapers, at about this time, were filled with the details of such an indignity inflicted upon an obnoxious person in another part of the country. Probably some of these boys had read the account, and it had suggested to them a suitable punishment for Waddie. I had seen the narrative myself, but only with contempt for the persecutors, and sympathy for their victim.

Certainly these boys had no right to inflict such an outrage upon Waddie. Though he had been no friend of mine, and though, on the contrary, he gloried in being my enemy, I pitied him. If I did anything for him, it would be just like him to kick me the next day for my pains. I had stumbled upon the scene by accident, but it seemed to me that I had a duty to perform—a duty from which my unpleasant relations with the victim did not absolve me.

Should I interfere to prevent this indignity? My mother was not present, but it seemed to me that I could hear her voice saying to me, in the gentlest of tones, “Love your enemies.” I saw her before me, reading from the New Testament the divine message. Then she seemed to look up from the book, and say to me, “Wolfert, if Christ could forgive and bless even those who sought to slay Him, can you not lift one of your fingers to help one who has wronged you?”

The duty seemed to be very plain, though I could not help thinking that Waddie would insult me the next moment after I had served him, just as Tommy Toppleton had done when I rescued him from his captors on the lake. No matter! I must do my duty, whether he did his or not. I was responsible for my own actions, not for his.

This conclusion was happily reached; but then it was not so easy to act upon its behests. Four stout fellows were before me, either of whom was a full match for me. What could I do against the whole of them? Perhaps nothing; perhaps I could not save Waddie from his fate; but it was none the less my duty to try, even at the expense of some hard knocks. I had the little boat-hook in my hand. It was an insignificant weapon with which to fight four times my own force. But somehow I felt that I was in the right; I felt the inspiration of a desire to do a good deed, and I had a vague assurance that help would in some manner come to me, though from what direction I could not imagine, for at this season of the year few people ever visited the picnic grove.

Leaving the shadow of the tree, which had concealed me from the young ruffians, I walked boldly toward them. The tramp of my feet on the crackling sticks instantly attracted their attention. To my great satisfaction they suddenly retreated into a little thicket near the tar-kettle.

“Save me, Wolf! Save me!” cried Waddie, in tones of the most abject despondency. “Save me, and I will be your best friend.”

I did not believe in any promises he could make; but I directed my steps toward him, with the intention of releasing him.

“Stop!” shouted one of the boys, in a singularly gruff voice, which afforded me no clue to the owner’s identity.

I halted and looked toward the thicket.

“It’s only Wolf Penniman,” said one of the party, who spoke behind the mask that covered his face. “It’s all right. He’ll help us do it.”

“What are you going to do?” I demanded, pretty sharply.

“We are only paying off Waddie. Will you help us, Wolf?” replied one of the conspirators.

“No, certainly not. You have no right to meddle with him.”

“Well, we are going to do it, whether we have any right or not. We will tar and feather him, as sure as he lives.”

“Who are you?” I asked innocently.

“No matter who we are. Has Waddie any right to insult us? Has he any right to cowhide a fellow smaller than he is, within an inch of his life?”

“No; but two wrongs don’t make a right, anyhow you can fix it. Don’t you think it is mean for four great fellows like you to set upon one, and abuse him?” I asked.

“It isn’t any meaner than what Waddie did, anyhow. We mean to teach him that he can’t trample upon us fellows, and drive us around like slaves. We have stood this thing long enough, and we mean to show him that the knife cuts both ways,” replied the fellow with the gruffest voice.

“I don’t see it. I haven’t any doubt Waddie has imposed upon you; but I think he has used me as badly as he ever did any other fellow. I don’t believe in this sort of thing.”

“I never will do it again, Wolf, if you will save me this time,” pleaded poor Waddie, in piteous tones.

“Well, it’s none of your business, Wolf Penniman, and you can leave,” added the speaker.

“I think you had better let Waddie go this time. I’ll go bail for him, if you will,” I continued good-naturedly, for I was not disposed to provoke a conflict with the ruffians.

“Not if we know it! We have watched too long to catch him to let him go now,” replied the gruff-toned ruffian, emerging from the bushes, followed by his companions.

They halted between Waddie and me, and I tried to make out who they were; but they were so effectually disguised that all my scrutiny was baffled. I have since come to the conclusion that I had never been acquainted with them, and so far as I know, no one ever found out who they were. I resorted to the most persuasive rhetoric in my power to induce the boys to forego their purpose; but they were obdurate and inflexible. I tried to give them a Sunday-school lesson, and they laughed at me. I endeavored to point out to them the consequences of the act, assuring them that Colonel Wimpleton would leave no measure untried to discover and punish them.

“We’ll risk all that,” replied the leading ruffian impatiently. “Now, dry up, Wolf Penniman. We don’t wish any harm to you; but you shall not spoil this game. Come, fellows, bring up the tar-kettle.”

The wretch went up to Waddie, whose hands were tied behind him, and began to pull off his shirt. The unhappy victim uttered the most piercing screams, and struggled like a madman to break away from the tree.

“This thing has gone far enough,” I interposed indignantly, as a couple of the rascals took the tar-kettle from the fire, and began to carry it towards the tree.

“What are you going to do about it?” blustered the chief of the party.

“I am going to stop it,” I replied smartly.

“I guess not! If you don’t take yourself off, we’ll give you a coat of the same color.”

I rushed up to the two boys who were carrying the kettle, and began to demonstrate pretty freely with the boat-hook. They placed their burden on the ground, and stood by to defend it. I hooked into it with my weapon, and upset it.

CHAPTER VI.
THE BATTLE WITH BLOWS.

The gruff-voiced conspirator rushed furiously toward me, and I retreated a few paces. The two in charge of the tar-kettle picked it up, and saved a portion of its contents. My heavy assailant was roused to a high pitch of anger by the opposition I made to his plans, and seemed to be disposed to proceed to extremities. He had picked up a club, and continued to advance. Once or twice he made a pass at me with his weapon, but I dodged the blow.

I was not angry, and I was cool. I saw that my foe was clumsy, if he was stout. As he threw his heavy cow-hide boots about, he reminded me of an elephant dancing a hornpipe. I saw two or three chances to hit him, but I refrained from doing so, for I did not want a broken head upon my conscience.

Transcriber’s Note:

ON TIMEOR,BOUND TO GET THERE

CHAPTER I.A NEW PROJECT.

CHAPTER II.THE AUCTION AT RUOARA.

CHAPTER III.ON BOARD THE “BELLE.”

CHAPTER IV.IN THE PICNIC GROVE.

CHAPTER V.THE BATTLE WITH WORDS.