Kitabı oku: «Wyn's Camping Days: or, The Outing of the Go-Ahead Club», sayfa 3
CHAPTER V
BESSIE LAVINE
Suddenly a gay voice hailed Wyn.
“Hi, Captain of the Go-Aheads! What are you doing, mooning here?”
“Why, Bess!” returned Wyn, turning to greet Bessie Lavine. “I didn’t see you coming along.”
“No; but I saw you, my noble captain.”
“Going shopping?”
“Aye, aye, Captain!” cried the other member of the Go-Ahead club. “But who was that I saw you with? Didn’t I see you talking to that girl who just crossed Benefit Street?”
“Oh, yes.”
“Who was she?”
“Polly Jarley. She is daughter of a boatman up at the lake. And wasn’t it fortunate that I met her? She can find us a camping place and get everything fixed up there for our coming.”
“What’s her name?” asked Bess, sharply.
“Polly Jarley.”
“And she lives up there by the lake?”
“So she says.”
“Her father is John Jarley, of course?” queried Bessie, looking down at Wyn, darkly.
“Yes. That is her father’s name,” said Wyn, beginning to wonder at her friend’s manner.
“Well! I guess you don’t know those Jarleys very well; do you?”
“Why–I – ”
Wyn hesitated to tell Bessie that she had only just now met the unfortunate boatman’s daughter. She remembered Polly’s story, and what she had overheard Mr. Erad say in the drygoods store.
“You surely can’t know what and who they are, and still be friendly with that girl?” repeated Bessie, her eyes flashing with anger.
“Why, my dear,” said Wyn, soothingly. “Don’t speak that way. Sit down and tell me what you mean. I certainly have not known Polly long; and I never met her father – ”
“Oh, they left this town a long time ago.”
“So she told me. And she said something about her father having been accused of dishonesty – ”
“I should say so!” gasped Bessie. “Why, John Jarley almost ruined my father. He was a traitor to him. They were in a deal together–it was when my father first tried to get into the real estate business here in Denton–and this John Jarley sold him out. Why, everybody knows it! It crippled father for a long time, and what Jarley got out of playing traitor never did him any good, I guess, for they were soon as poor as Job’s turkey, and they went to live in the woods there. He’s a poor, miserable wretch. Father says he’s never had a stroke of luck since he played him such a mean trick–and serves him right!”
Wyn stared at her in amazement, for Bessie had gone on quite breathlessly and had spoken with much heat. Finally Wyn observed:
“Well, dear, your father has done well since those days. They say he is one of our richest citizens. Surely you can forgive what poor John Jarley did, for he and his daughter are now very miserable.”
“I don’t see why we should forgive them,” cried Bessie, hotly.
“Why, Bess! This poor girl had nothing to do with her father wronging your father – ”
“I don’t care. She’s his daughter. It’s in the blood. I wouldn’t trust her a single bit. I wouldn’t speak to her. And no girl can be her friend and mine, too!”
“Why, Bess! don’t say that,” urged Wyn. “You and I have been friends for years and years. We wouldn’t want to have a falling out.”
“I see no need for us to fall out,” exclaimed Bessie, her eyes still flashing. “But I just won’t associate with girls who associate with those low people–there now!”
“Now do you feel better, Bess?” asked Wyn, laughing.
That was the worst of Wyn Mallory! All the girls said so. One couldn’t “fight” with her. For, you see, it takes two at least to keep a quarrel alive, although but one to start it.
“Well, you don’t know how mean that man, Jarley, was to my father. And years ago they were the very best of friends. Why! they went to school together, and were chums–just as thick as you and I are, Wynnie–just as thick. And for him to be a traitor – ”
“If he was, don’t you think he has been paying for it?” asked Wyn, sensibly. “According to what I hear he is poor, and ill, and unfortunate – ”
“I don’t know whether he is or not. It was only a few weeks ago we heard of his stealing a motor boat up there at the lake and some other valuables, and selling them – ”
“He wouldn’t be poor if he had done that; would he?” interrupted Wyn. “For I know for a fact that he is very, very poor.”
She did not want to tell Bessie that she had given Polly Jarley money; but she did not believe that the boatman’s daughter would be in need as she was if Mr. Jarley were guilty of the crime of which he had been so recently accused.
“Well, I haven’t a mite of sympathy for them,” declared Bessie.
“Perhaps you cannot be expected to have sympathy for the Jarleys,” admitted Wyn, in her wholesome way. “But you won’t mind, will you, dear, if I have a little for poor Polly?” and she hugged Bessie, who had sat down, close to her. “Come on, Bessie–don’t be mad at me.”
“Oh, dear! nobody can be mad at you, Wyn Mallory. You do blarney so.”
“Ah, now, my dear; it isn’t blarneying at all!” laughed Wyn. “It’s just showing you the sensible way. We girls don’t want to be flighty, and have ‘mads on,’ as Frank says, for no real reason. And this poor girl will never trouble you in the world – ”
“I wish she wasn’t up at that lake,” declared Bessie.
“Why, Bess! the lake’s plenty big enough,” said Wyn, chuckling. “We won’t have to see much of the Jarleys. Although – ”
“I sha’n’t go if she is to be on hand,” asserted Bessie, with vehemence.
“One would think poor Polly Jarley had an infectious disease. She won’t hurt you, Bess.”
“I don’t care. I feel just as papa does about it. He and Jarley were closer than brothers. But he wouldn’t speak to Jarley now–no, sir! And I don’t want anything to do with that girl.”
With this Bess jumped up, preparing to go on her way to the stores. Wyn was going home, and she gathered up her packages.
“You’ll think differently about it some day, Bess,” she said, thoughtfully, as her friend tripped away. “How foolish to hold rancor so long! For years and years those two men have hated each other. And I expect Polly would dislike Bess just as Bess dislikes her–and for no real reason!
“And it seems too bad. Mr. Lavine is very rich while John Jarley is very poor. Usually it is the wicked man who prospers–for a time, at least I really don’t understand this,” sighed Wyn, traveling homeward. “If Polly’s father is guilty as they believe he is, what did he do with the money he must have made by his crimes?”
CHAPTER VI
OFF FOR THE LAKE
Although the members of the Go-Ahead Club–some of them, at least–had expressed the wish that the time to start for Lake Honotonka was already at hand, the remaining days of May and the busy month of June slipped away speedily. At odd hours there was a deal to do to prepare for the outing which the girl canoeists longed to enjoy.
Wyn received several letters from Polly Jarley, more hopeful letters than she might have expected considering the situation in which the boatman’s daughter was placed. Evidently Polly was trying to live up to her “rechristening.”
In reply Wyn made several arrangements for the big outing which she confided only in a general way to the club. Polly had selected a beautiful spot just east of the rough water behind Gannet Island, and not half a mile from her father’s boathouse, for the camping place of the Go-Ahead Club, and she wrote Wyn that she had stuck up a sign pre-empting the spot for the girls from Denton.
It was arranged with the Busters, who would go up to Lake Honotonka the same day as the Go-Aheads, to send the stores together by bateau. Wyn arranged to have the girls’ stores housed by the Jarleys, for she did not think that the canvas of either the sleeping or the cook-tent would be sufficient protection if there came a heavy storm.
The boys had picked their camping place the year before. They would go to the far end of Gannet Island, where there was a cave which promised a fairly good storehouse for their goods and chattels. They proposed to erect their one big tent right in front of this cavity in the rock–in conjunction therewith, in fact. There was a backbone of rock through the center of the island in which Professor Skillings, as a geologist, was very much interested, and had been for a long time.
To purchase the stores cost considerable money. The girls had to do it all out of their own pockets, and to tell the truth some of them had to mortgage their spending allowance for the entire summer to “put up” their pro rata sum for these supplies.
“Papa says it is going to cost me as much as though I were spending the summer at Newport,” Percy Havel said, with a sigh.
“My folks have expressed some surprise,” admitted Mina Everett. “They thought we were going to camp out al fresco; but they can scarcely believe now that we are not going to live upon pâté de foie gras and have a French chef to get up the meals.”
“My father began to say something about the cost the other night,” giggled Frank Cameron. “But I put the stopper on poor pa very quickly. I told him that I’d willingly give up the camping-out scheme if he’d buy a touring car. I said:
“‘Pa, I’ve figured the whole thing out, and we can do it easily enough. The car, to begin with, will cost $5,000, which at six per cent, is only $300 a year. If we charge ten per cent, off for depreciation it will come to $500 more. A good chauffeur can be had for $125 per month, or $1,500 per year. I have allowed $10 per week for gasoline and $5 for repairs. The chauffeur’s uniform and furs will come to about $200. Now, let’s see what it comes to. Three hundred, plus five hundred, and then the chauffeur’s salary at – ’
“‘Don’t bother me any more, my dear,’ says pa. ‘I know what it comes to.’
“‘What does it come to, Pa?’ I asked. ‘How quick you are at figures!’
“‘My dear,’ he said, impressively, ‘it comes to a standstill right here and now. We will have no touring car. I’ll say no more about the Go-Ahead Club.’
“Oh, you can manage the grown-ups,” concluded Frank, with a laugh, “if you go about it right.”
The bateau of stores went up the Wintinooski two days before the girls and boys were to start; yet for fear that all might not have gone right with the provisions, Wyn insisted that each member of the Go-Ahead. Club pack in her canoe the usual “day’s ration” that they had been taught should always be carried for an emergency.
“It only adds to the weight,” grumbled Grace. “And dear knows, the old blankets and things that you make us paddle about, makes the going hard enough.”
“That’s it–kick!” exclaimed Frank. “You’d kick if your feet were tied, Gracie.”
“Assuredly!” returned the big girl.
“Now, don’t fuss at the rules of the club that have long ago been voted upon and adopted,” said Wyn, cheerfully. “We do not know what is going to happen. Somebody might hit a snag. It would take hours to make repairs–perhaps we would have to camp for the night somewhere on the way. We want to be prepared for all such emergencies.”
“Well, the Busters aren’t loading themselves down with all this truck,” declared Grace, with, vigor.
“That’s all right. Let us be the wise ones,” laughed Wynifred. “The boys may want to borrow of us before we get to Lake Honotonka.”
“Why, Wynnie!” cried Bess Lavine, “if you are expecting all sorts of breakdowns and misfortunes, I shall be afraid to start at all.”
“Guess I’ll go on with Aunt Evelyn to the Forge, and send my canoe by train,” laughed Percy Havel. “Wyn’s got us drowned already.”
But on the morning of the departure not one of the girls prophesied misfortune. As for the boys, they were bubbling over with fun.
Professor Skillings was going to paddle up the river with them, although Mrs. Havel would take the afternoon train to the lake. The professor had gone on ahead; but Dave Shepard arranged the two clubs in line and boys and girls marched through the streets and down to the river, being hailed by their friends and bidden good-bye by their less fortunate mates.
Somebody started singing, and the twelve young voices were soon in the rhythm of “This is the Life!” Dave and Tubby were ahead, their paddles over their shoulders, each carrying his blanket-roll in approved scout fashion. The roll made Tubby Blaisdell look twice his real size.
As the party struck across the sward toward the boathouses Dave suddenly dropped his paraphernalia and started on a run for the river.
“Hi, there!” he shouted. “The professor is in trouble, boys!”
The Busters bounded away after him, and the girls, catching the excitement, followed along the bank of the swiftly-flowing Wintinooski. There was Professor Skillings in his canoe, drifting rapidly into the middle of the current, and plainly without his paddle. Indeed, that useful–not to say necessary–instrument, capped the pile of Professor Skillings’ impedimenta on the bank. He had evidently–in his usual absent-minded manner–stepped into his canoe and pushed off from shore without getting his cargo aboard.
Amid much laughter Dave and Ferd Roberts got a skiff and went after their teacher. Professor Skillings chuckled at his own troubles. Although he was well past the meridian of life, he had neither lost his sense of the ridiculous nor his ability to laugh at a joke when it was on himself.
While the boys were rescuing their friend and mentor, the Go-Ahead Club proceeded to get out their own canoes and load them. The weight had to be distributed in bow and stern of the light, cedar craft; but Wyn and her mates had practised loading and launching their boats so frequently that there was little danger of an overset now.
Grace was still growling about the food and cooking apparatus distributed among the canoeists. Wyn said, laughing:
“That is still the bone of contention; is it, Gracie?”
“What is a ‘bone of contention’?” demanded Mina, innocently.
“Why, the jawbone, of course, silly!” cried Frank.
“Don’t you mind about my jawbone, miss!” snapped Grace.
“Oh, don’t let’s fight, girls,” Mina said, soothingly.
“Better a dinner of herbs with contentment than a stalled ox and trouble on the side,” misquoted Frank.
The six girls quickly shot their canoes out into the stream. At this point the current was swift; but above Denton the river broadened into wide pools through which the current flowed sluggishly and it would be easier paddling.
The girls set into a steady stroke, led by their captain, and passed the pretty town in a few minutes. Wyn could see the upper windows of her home and noted a white cloth fluttering from one. She knew that her mother was standing there with the field-glasses and Baby May. Perhaps the little one was trying to see “sister” through the strong glasses.
So Wyn pulled off her cap and swung it over her head and the six canoes immediately fell out of alignment.
“Don’t do that, Wyn!” shouted Bess. “Those boys will catch up with us.”
“Well, we want them to; don’t we?” asked the captain of the Go-Aheads, good-naturedly. “We’re going to lunch together, and if we make the poor boys work too hard they’ll eat every crumb we’ve got and leave nothing for poor little we-uns.”
“So that’s why you made us bring all this food?” demanded Bess, in disgust. “Can’t those boys feed themselves?”
“Oh, they’ll do their share,” Wyn replied, laughing. “You’ll see. Don’t you see how heavily laden Tubby’s canoe is? I warrant he has enough luncheon aboard for a small army.”
“I can’t look over my shoulder–I never can,” quoth Bessie. “Paddling a canoe takes more of my attention than riding a bicycle.”
“Or a motorcycle. Those things are just awful,” cried Mina Everett.
“Shucks!” exclaimed the lively Frankie. “A motorcycle is only an ordinary bicycle driven crazy by over-indulgence in gasoline.”
“How smart!” cried Bessie. “But you’d better save your breath to cool your porridge – ”
“Or, better still, to work your paddle,” commented Grace, with a swift glance behind. “Those Busters are coming up the river, hand over fist.”
“With poor Tubby in the rear, of course,” said Frank, glancing back. “The tide is certainly against him.”
“Oh, dear me!” giggled Percy, “poor Tubby was more than ‘tide’ last week when he took Annabel Craven out on the river. Did you hear about it? You know–the night before graduation.”
“I believe that fat youth is sweet on Annabel,” announced Bessie, shaking her head seriously.
“What do you suppose Ann thinks of Tubby?” cried Grace.
“You know how it is,” chuckled Frank. “Nobody loves a fat boy. Go on, Percy. What happened to poor old Tubby?”
“Why, he inveigled Annabel down to the river and got her into a boat and was going to row her around in the moonlight. You know it was just a scrumptious night.”
“M-m-m! wasn’t it?” agreed Frank.
“Well,” said Percy, “Tubby got in without overturning the boat and settled to work. The current was pretty swift and he struck right out into it and headed up stream.
“And there he tugged, and tugged, and tugged, giving all his attention to the oars and having none to spare for Annabel. By and by, after Tubby had tugged, and grunted, and perspired for half an hour, he said:
“‘Say, I never saw anything like this current to-night–not in all my born days! I’ve been pulling like a horse for half an hour and I don’t see that we’ve made as much as a dozen feet!’
“And then Annabel spoke up real pretty, and says she:
“‘Oh, Mr. Blaisdell! I’ve just thought of something. The anchor fell overboard some time ago and I forgot to tell you. Do you suppose it could have caught on something?’”
The other girls were intensely amused at this, for they all appreciated Annabel Craven’s character as well as poor Tubby’s good-natured blundering. But while they laughed and chattered in this way the Busters crept steadily up on them.
“I told you how it would be,” said Bess, tartly, “if we didn’t hurry up.”
“What’s the matter with you girls?” demanded Dave Shepard. “One would think you were sent for and couldn’t come, by the way you paddle. You’ll get to the lake before noon at this rate.”
“Not much danger of that, Davie,” returned Wyn. “And you know we agreed to stop at Ware’s Island for lunch.”
“Oh, I wish that was right here!” grunted a voice from the rear, where Tubby Blaisdell was paddling away with almost as much splashing as a small side-wheel steamer.
“My goodness, boy!” cried Ferd Roberts. “You’re not hungry so soon, are you?”
“Soon?” repeated Tubby, with disgust “It’s so long since breakfast that I’ve forgotten what I had to eat.”
“What do you want to eat, Tubby?” asked Frank, giggling.
“Not particular. Anything–from a marshmallow cake to a tough steak,” grunted the fat boy.
“Tubby wouldn’t be as particular as the grouchy gentleman who went into the restaurant out West and ordered a steak,” chuckled Dave. “After the waiter brought it the customer tried his knife on it and then called the waiter back.
“‘Say!’ he objected. ‘This steak isn’t tender enough.’
“‘Not tender enough, stranger?’ returned the cowboy waiter. ‘What d’you expect? Want it to hug an’ kiss yer?’”
When the laugh on Tubby had subsided Professor Skillings said, with a twinkle in his eye:
“Our friend, Blaisdell, should be able to exist some time on his accumulation of fat. He ought not to seriously suffer from hunger as yet.”
“Like a camel living on its hump–eh?” said Wyn. “How about that, Tubby?”
“I’m no relation to a camel–I tell you that,” snorted the fat boy, with disgust.
“Then Mr. Blaisdell might imitate some insects; mightn’t he, Professor Skillings?” suggested Frank, with a sly look. “You know there are insects that live on nothing.”
“On nothing?” exclaimed the professor, quickly. “Oh, no, young lady, you are mistaken. That is quite impossible.”
“But, Professor! A moth lives on nothing; doesn’t it?”
“No, indeed. How could that be?” cried the scientific gentleman, greatly perturbed by Frank’s apparent display of ignorance.
“Why, moths eat holes; don’t they?” chortled Frank. “Surely ‘holes’ are a pretty slim diet.”
Professor Skillings led the laughter himself over this simple joke. But he added:
“I fear I should not be able to interest you in science, Frances.”
“Not in summer, sir–oh, never!” cried Frank. “I refuse to learn a single, living thing until school opens again next fall.”
In spite of Tubby’s complaints, the canoeing party sighted Ware Island in good season for luncheon. This was a low, wooded spot around which the Wintinooski–split in two streams–flowed very quietly. The country on both sides was cut up into farms, with intervening patches of woods, dotted with ferns, and was very beautiful.
There was a little beach on one side of the island, with a green, shaded bank above. This was a favorite picnicking spot for parties from Denton; but our friends had the island all to themselves this day.
The girls had been as far as this island before in their canoes; but never beyond. From this spot on the journey up the Wintinooski would be all new to Wyn Mallory and her chums.
The canoes were hauled up out of the water and the boys skirmished for fuel while the girls got out the luncheon. Ferd Roberts was fire-builder, and Grace, who hated that work, watched him closely, marveling how quickly and well he constructed the pyre and had a blaze merrily dancing among the sticks.
“Doesn’t that beat all!” cried Grace. “You must love fires as much as Nero did.”
“Nero? Let’s see–he was the chap that always was cold; wasn’t he?” queried Ferd, grinning.
“Nope!” broke in Frank. “That was Zero. You will get your ancient history mixed, Ferd!”
The luncheon was quickly laid, and Tubby was not the only one who did it justice. But Bessie Lavine continued to act disagreeably toward the boys. She was “forever nagging,” as Dave said; and sometimes there was a spark of fire when she managed to get one or another of the boys “mad.”
Professor Skillings wandered off with his bag and little geological hammer and Tubby rolled over on his back under a shady bush and went to sleep.
“Pig!” ejaculated Bess, in disgust. “That’s all boys think of–their stomachs.”
“Oh, don’t be so hateful, Bess,” advised Frank. “Come on; the rest of us are going to walk around a little to settle our luncheon, before tackling the paddles again.”
“Humph! with the boys?” snapped Bess, seeing Wyn start off with Dave by her side. “Not me, thank you!”
“All right,” chuckled Frank Cameron. “You can keep Tubby company.”
But that suggestion made Bess even more angry, and she went off with her nose in the air, and all alone. But as the crowd of young folk came around the east end of Ware Island, they, saw Bess standing upon the brink of a steep bank, under a small tree, where the water had washed out a good deal of the earth in a sort of cave beneath where she stood.
“Hi, Bessie! get back from there!” shouted Dave, warningly. “That place is likely to cave in.”
“Then you certainly would get a ducking,” added Frank.
“Pooh! I guess I know what I’m about,” said the girl. “I’m no baby.”
“You’re acting like one,” growled Dave. “That place is dangerous.”
“It’s not, Mr. Smartie!” cried Bess, and she stamped her foot in anger.
And just as though that had been the signal for which it had been waiting, several square yards of the steep bank, with the tree she was clinging to, slumped down into the river.
The girls screamed, while the boys bounded forward toward the spot where Bessie had disappeared.
“Oh, Dave!” cried Wyn. “Save her! save her! She can’t swim very well. She will be drowned!”
