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CHAPTER VII – THE STORM
After a while Frank went below to examine the interior of the yacht. He found it very comfortable and well furnished with all necessities and not a few luxuries.
“She’s a little boat,” he said; “but she’s a peach! There won’t be any room to spare on board, but we’ll manage to get along somehow. It is plain she was built for not more than five or six, and there are eight of us.”
Bart Hodge came down.
“By Jove!” he said, dropping on a cushioned seat, “I am feeling better, don’t you know. I hated to sail for Honolulu, and now we’ll soon be so far from San Francisco that there’ll not be much danger of arrest. I want to stick by you, Merry.”
“And I hope we’ll be able to hang together, old fellow,” assured Frank. “You have been beating about for yourself far too long.”
“I know it – I can see it now. It’s lucky you turned up just as you did, for I was going to the dogs.”
Frank examined the wardrobe, and a cry of satisfaction came from him.
“Look here!” he exclaimed. “Here are a number of yachting suits. Perhaps we can dig out suits for all of us.”
They overhauled the clothing, and Frank and Bart soon found suits which fitted them very well. In fact, Merriwell was so well built that he obtained a splendid fit, and remarkably handsome he appeared in the cap, short jacket and light trousers of a yachtsman.
“We are strictly in it,” he smiled, surveying Bart. “I’ll go on deck and send the others down for suits, while you remain here and assist them in the selections. I want to keep my eye on Lord Stanford, anyway.”
So Frank ascended the companion way, and soon took Barney’s place at the helm, sending him and Bruce below.
The boys were much surprised to see Merriwell appear in a yachting suit, and he explained that he had purchased everything on board the Greyhound, which included the suits in the wardrobe, as they plainly were not all Chandler’s personal property, having been designed for men of different build.
“Vale, uf dot don’d peat der pand!” muttered the Dutch boy. “Uf dere peen a suit der lot in dot vill fit me, I vill show der poys vat a dandy sailors der Dutch makes. Yaw!”
Barney soon returned to the deck, having found a very good fit, but he said Bruce was having more difficulty.
“Begorra! there wur a fat mon on borrud, an’ he’s lift a suit thot will fit this Dutch chase,” grinned the Irish lad.
“Why you don’d drop id callin’ me dot names, Barney!” cried Hans. “I don’t like dot, you pet!”
The other lads went below to see what they could find in the way of clothes as Frank sent them, Toots being the last.
Every boy found a suit, although in some cases the clothes were too loose. Hans came swelling on deck, wearing a suit with the legs of the trousers turned up several inches and the wrists of the coat sleeves rolled back.
“Say!” he grinned; “I vos a pird! Did you efer seen der peat me of now, I don’t know?”
Toots had discovered an ordinary sailor’s suit, with white anchors worked upon it, and he was proud as a peacock.
The very first leg across had carried them out past Black Point, upon which Fort Mason frowned down upon them when they swung close under the shore and went about on the other tack.
At first the Greyhound gained on the Fox, as Merry could see; but as Lord Stanford’s yacht approached the open ocean she found a stronger breeze and danced along in a lively manner.
Other vessels were in the narrows, but there was plenty of room for them all.
Frank had brought a marine glass from below, and he used it to watch the Fox, having permitted Barney to take the helm again.
Merry could see Lord Stanford standing on the deck near the companion way, talking to one of his men. From the manner of the Englishman, it was apparent that he did not suspect he was being pursued.
“So much the better,” muttered the new owner of the Greyhound. “If he does not catch on right away we may be able to overhaul him and lay alongside without being suspected.”
He watched the Fox till it shot out past Fort Point and disappeared beyond the point of land on which the fort was located.
“So they are bound southward,” muttered Merry. “Ten to one they are going down the coast to Santa Cruz – possibly to Santa Barbara, although that is quite a cruise.”
Half an hour later the Greyhound ran out past Fort Point, and the Fox was discovered far away along the coast, steadily bearing to the south.
“We’re after you, my boy,” muttered Frank. “I don’t believe you’ll be able to run away from us in a hurry.”
There was a heavy swell on – an “old say,” Barney called it. It was seen that the Fox was rolling a great deal.
“They are sure to hug the coast pretty close,” Merriwell decided. “I don’t believe Lord Stanford cares about getting far from land in that boat. The Greyhound will sail anywhere he can go.”
It became a steady sail to the south, and Frank cracked on every stitch of canvas, hoping to come up with the Fox hand-over-hand. In this he was disappointed, although it was plain that they gained somewhat.
The afternoon sun sank lower and lower. Toots was appointed steward, and prepared a meal from the supply of provisions on board.
At sunset the Fox was seen rounding a distant point of land and making into a bay.
“I rather think she means to stop there to-night,” said Frank.
He examined the chart and decided that it was Half-moon Bay.
“If the wind holds,” he declared, “we will come upon them there to-night.”
But as the sun sank in a reddish haze that seemed like a conflagration far out on the open ocean, the wind died entirely and the Greyhound lay becalmed, rolling helplessly on the “old sea.”
“But it’s a good bit av a brase we’ll be afther havin’ before mawnin’,” Barney declared. “Oi nivver saw th’ sun go down thot way when it didn’t poipe up lather on.”
The Irish lad was right. Frank believed this, and he ordered everything made tight, while both mainsail and jib was double-reefed, and the topsails taken in.
“I don’t see the good of all this work,” grumbled Diamond. “Here we are rolling around without a breath of wind, and yet we’re taking in sail as if it were blowing a hurricane.”
Frank paid no attention to Jack, who, in a most astonishing manner, had developed into a grumbler since starting out on the bicycle tour across the continent.
Barney, however, was not pleased with the Virginian’s remarks, and he snorted:
“Pwhat’s th’ matther wid yez? It’s a roight shmart bit av a sailor ye’d make – Oi don’t think! Ye’d wait till th’ wind blew, an’ thin ye’d be afther rafing.”
Jack did not fancy being talked to in this manner by the Irish lad. He flushed hotly, and seemed on the point of assaulting Barney, but Mulloy gave indications that he was ready and anxious for a “scrap,” and Diamond thought better of it.
The rolling swell proved decidedly trying for some of the boys, and Diamond was the first to get sick. In fact, he had begun to feel ill when he grumbled about shortening sail.
“Dot poy vas opeyin’ der Pible,” grinned Hans, pointing to Jack, who was leaning over the rail. “Der Pible says, ‘Cast your pread der vater on,’ und py shimminy! he vas doin’ dot, ain’d id!”
Then the Dutch boy opened wide his mouth and laughed heartily. Suddenly he pressed his hands to his stomach and stopped laughing, a queer, troubled look coming to his fat face.
“Shimminy!” he muttered. “I vonder vot der madder mit me vas, don’d id? I nefer felt so queer all mein life in.”
Then, as the Greyhound fell away into the trough of the sea, with a peculiar sinking motion, he gasped:
“Dot subber vot I ate don’d seem mit me to agree. I pet you your life dot canned chickens vas sboilt. I peliefed all der time dot chickens vas a hen, but id vas der first hen I efer seen as didn’t vant to set.”
“Begorra! it’s saysack ye are alriddy,” chuckled Barney. “You’ll be kapin’ company wid Diamond dirictly.”
“Yaw,” gasped Hans. “I pelief you, Parney.”
Then he made a rush for the rail, and followed Jack’s example.
Darkness came on, creeping in a blue haze across the water. Shortly after nightfall there was a faint, weird moaning away on the surface of the sea, which glowed like liquid fire under the rail of the yacht.
“It’s the auld nick av a blow we’ll have,” declared Barney to Frank. “Oi don’t loike it at all, at all.”
“You like it quite as well as I do,” admitted Merriwell. “I am not familiar with these waters, and I do not fancy the idea of piling up on lea shore.”
The moaning arose to a shrill cry, and then the wind came with a sudden rush, catching the Greyhound and knocking her on beam ends in a twinkling.
Frank assisted Barney at the helm, shouting:
“Hold fast, everybody!”
The little vessel righted, and then away she leaped, laying hard over to port, with the rail awash.
Like a frightened race horse the Greyhound sped away, with the wild wind beating upon her and shrieking through her rigging. The mast bent with a snapping sound.
“Ease off the sheet!” shouted Frank. “We’re in danger of losing that stick, and we’ll be finished if we do!”
So the boat was allowed to run free, which eased the strain somewhat.
Now the wind was shrieking as if all the demons of the deep had been set loose in a moment and were making an assault on the little yacht that had been caught in the midst of the tempest.
At nightfall Frank had taken precaution to see that the proper lights were set, green to starboard and red to port.
The sky was covered with flying masses of clouds, between which the cold stars blinked and vanished, like the flashes of guns seen through masses of rolling smoke.
After a little the moon rose and leaped up into the mass of clouds, as if eager to be in the midst of the wild delirium of the reeling sky.
The Greyhound leaped along the crests of the waves, plunged into the depths of the watery valleys, and tore her way through the seething, boiling sea.
Frank was watching her with the greatest anxiety, wondering what sort of storm boat she would prove to be.
Diamond, Browning, Hans and Toots got below. Rattleton and Hodge remained on deck with Frank and Barney.
When the moon shot out through the clouds the boys could see a great waste of water heaving and plunging all around them, like a sea of snow.
But the moon appeared and disappeared in such an erratic manner that it was extremely irritating, making the whole world seem a place of troubled shadows and awesome shapes.
“It’s dead lucky we reefed down for this, Barney,” cried Frank, placing his lips close to the Irish lad’s ear.
“Roight ye are, me b’y,” Mulloy called back, cheerfully. “It’s a good bit av a braze she’s blowing now, an’ Oi think there’s more comin’.”
“Will she stand, it?”
“Av it ain’t too sthiff. It’s a roight tight litthle boat she is, an’ all we nade is to kape off shore an’ let her go.”
Beginning to feel satisfied with the behavior of the yacht, Frank felt a wild thrill of delight in the fury of the tempest. He knew something about managing a large boat himself, and he felt confidence in Barney’s qualifications as a sailor.
The moon leaped from the edge of one cloud to the edge of another, as if it, too, were running a race across the sky and taking all sorts of desperate chances.
There was the sound of sullen thunder in the tumbling sea, which swished and swirled about the little vessel like hissing serpents.
Now and then Frank strained his eyes to port, for he knew the coast lay there to leeward, and he had no fancy for suddenly coming upon some rocky point that might project far out into the sea.
He fully understood that, in case the Greyhound should become disabled, it would not take the wind long to pile them upon the shore, where the seas would beat out their lives on the rocks.
There was danger in the tempest, and it was just enough to keep Merriwell’s blood rushing warm in his veins.
“If Stanford’s yacht has found shelter in Half-moon Bay, we’ll be a hundred miles below them in the morning,” he cried to Barney.
“Sure,” agreed the Irish lad. “But nivver a bit can we hilp thot, Frankie.”
The first half of the night was wild and boisterous. Near midnight the wind fell somewhat, but it still blew so strong that the Greyhound held on its course.
Toward morning the tempest died out, and sunrise found them rolling helplessly on the long swells, without enough breeze to steady the boat.
Diamond had been sick all through the night, and he was in a pitiable condition, looking pale and weak.
“If I ever get ashore, I won’t take another cruise for ten years,” he faintly declared. “It didn’t make much difference to me last night whether we went to the bottom or not. In fact, there was a spell when I rather hoped the old boat would go bottom up, and I’d been glad to take a chance by having her run ashore.”
“Vale,” said Hans, “I feld someding like dot meinself: but I peen petter now. All der same, I pelief I strained me der roots my toenails of, und I vas lame all ofer.”
When the breeze rose, after breakfast, Frank set their course due east. At noon they ran into Monterey Bay and anchored off Santa Cruz.
By that time Diamond had recovered from his sickness and was beginning to take some satisfaction in the life on board the yacht.
Frank felt sure the Fox would run into Santa Cruz, and so he kept watch for her appearance.
It was mid-afternoon when a bark came in from the south and reported seeing at sun rise a small yacht that was in a battered condition, evidently having been in the blow of the previous night. She had lost her mainsail, but seemed to have been prepared for such a misfortune by having an old sail on board, and this her men were setting.
The bark had spoken the yacht and asked if she needed aid, but she declined assistance. The name of the yacht was the Fox.
Barney, who had gone ashore, heard this statement, and he made all haste to get on board the Greyhound and report to Frank.
Merriwell was astonished.
“Great Scott!” he exclaimed. “Lord Stanford did not lay to in Half-moon Bay, and the Fox was out in the storm last night. She was used worse than the Greyhound, but, instead of being ahead of her, we are still behind! That is an interesting discovery, I must confess! All the same, the loss of her sail has delayed her so she will not have such a great start on us. It’s lucky she did not lose all her canvas, or she might be high and dry on shore now.”
“What are you going to do?” asked Hodge.
“Do? I am going to get up the anchor and get after the Fox instanter. I’ll catch her if I have to chase her around Cape Horn!”
“That’s the Fox sure enough, Frank,” declared Bart Hodge, who had been watching the distant sail for some time.
It was three days after the night of the storm, and the Greyhound had entered the Santa Barbara Channel.
In all that time they had not sighted the yacht they were pursuing, although they heard of her several times from vessels they had spoken.
With bulldog tenacity Frank had continued in pursuit of Lord Stanford’s boat, and now, at last, he was rewarded by sighting her in the distance.
A steady breeze was blowing from the northwest, and the Greyhound was carrying every stitch of canvas with which she was provided.
“She does not seem to be heading for Santa Barbara, if I am right in my reckoning,” said Merriwell, in a puzzled way. “She should be setting her course southeast and she is bearing directly south. I wonder where Stanford is taking Inza and her father? I really do not understand it.”
The others were unable to offer a solution for the Englishman’s peculiar behavior.
Both boats were running almost dead before the wind, and the Greyhound was able to spread the most canvas, so she gained steadily on the other yacht.
Within an hour she was quite near the Fox, which seemed to be heading for a wooded island that lay straight ahead.
The boys could see that the steady manner in which the Greyhound held in pursuit of the boat in advance had created some stir aboard.
Looking through a glass, Frank saw Lord Stanford come up from below and take a survey of his pursuer. Then one of his men brought him a glass, and he took a look through that.
Immediately the Englishman grew excited. He turned to the man who had brought the glass and said something, waving his hand in a manner that betrayed agitation.
“At last he has discovered who is following him,” smiled Merriwell. “But it is too late to get away. We are walking up on him in great style.”
“An’ it’s a bit av a shcrap we’re loikely to be in directly,” grinned Barney. “Oi don’t moind thot at all, at all!”
“You like the prospect, you rascal!” laughed Frank. “Well, I must confess that I do not mind it myself.”
Nearer and nearer the Greyhound drew to the Fox.
Lord Stanford came aft and shouted to his pursuers.
“Keep off, you blooming duffers! If you come near us you will get into trouble!”
“Ahoy, the Fox!” Frank shouted back. “Lay to. I wish to come on board.”
“I’ll brain you if you try to come over the rail of this yacht!” frothed the excited nobleman.
“You will be sorry if you try that trick,” asserted Merriwell. At this moment Inza appeared, hurrying up the companion way and reaching the deck of the Fox. She saw Frank on the pursuing boat, and waved her hand to him.
With an exclamation of anger, Lord Stanford hastened to her side, and seemed to be urging her to go below again. It was plain that she refused to do so, and the Englishman grew still more angry.
“Begobs! th’ spalpane acts loike he wur goin’ to shtrike her!” exclaimed Barney.
“If he does, I’ll make him regret the day he was born!” grated Frank.
“Dot vos der stuffs!” nodded Hans; “und you vos der huckleberry to done dot, Vrankie.”
The Fox was now on the port quarter of the pursuing yacht, and it was plain the Greyhound would soon weather the other boat. The two yachts were quite near together.
Lord Stanford was seen to suddenly grasp Inza’s wrist, as if he thought of forcing her to go below.
Then it was that, without warning, the Fox changed her course to starboard, and the Greyhound crashed into her.
There was a severe shock, a sound of splintering wood and rending sails, and the Fox careened violently, as if she was going over.
“That must be a clumsy lubber at her helm!” cried Frank. “Make fast to her, boys!”
With those words he rushed forward, sprang out on the jib-boom and leaped to the deck of the Fox.
A moment later he confronted Lord Stanford, who was still clinging to Inza.
“Break away, you villain!” were the words that shot from Merriwell’s lips.
Then he caught the Englishman by the collar, broke his hold on Inza, and sent him sprawling his full length on the deck.
“Oh, Frank!”
“Inza!”
He held her close in his arms.
“I knew you would come! Something told me you would find a way to follow!” she declared.
“I would follow you to the end of the world!” he whispered.
With the aid of boat hooks the boys had made the Greyhound fast to the Fox, and they lost no time in boarding the yacht they had run down.
There were but three sailors on board the Fox. Stanford urged them to attack the boys, but one of them, the fellow who had been at the helm when the collision occurred, coolly drawled, his voice having the nasal twang of a genuine down East Yankee:
“Wal, not by a gol darn sight! I know some of them fellers, by gum! an’ ef there’s goin’ to be enny fightin’, I’ll hev ter fight with them an’ ag’in yeou, Mister Lord Stanford.”
“Great goodness!” cried Bart Hodge, staggering with surprise. “Is it possible – can it be Ephraim Gallup?”
“Kainder guess it be, b’gosh!” grinned the tall Yankee youth. “I ain’t seen some of yeou fellers since I left Fardale skewl, an’ I’m slappin’ glad ter clap peepers onter ye, by chaowder!”
“Be me saoul! it’s th’ Yankee bane-’ater!” shouted Barney.
“Shore’s yer born, Mister Mulloy. I’m ’tarnal tickled by this air chance ter meet ye all.”
“Ephraim Gallup!” squealed Hans. “Dot vos der poy I von times fought a deadly tuel mit at Vardales! Shimminy Gristmas! Uf dees don’d peen a recular surbrise barty!”
CHAPTER VIII – A CHANGE OF SCENE
Ephraim Gallup possessed a roving disposition, although when away he often longed to be “back hum on ther farm,” and, after returning from his travels abroad with Frank, he did not remain long at his Vermont home.
Drifting to California in search of fortune, a peculiar combination of circumstances had caused him to become a sailor, and he had finally shipped on Lord Stanford’s yacht. He was on board when Frank and the Englishman had the encounter on the pier in San Francisco, but was unable to render Merriwell any assistance.
Inza had seen and recognized Ephraim, but he had signaled for her to keep still, and so she had pretended that she did not know him.
However, they found opportunities to speak together, and the Yankee youth assured her that she could depend on him. When the opportunity came he would do his level best to help her escape from Lord Stanford.
The tossing about of the Fox in the storm had made Bernard Burrage very ill and repentant. He began to think he was sure to die before they reached land again, and he begged Inza’s forgiveness for trying to force her into a marriage against her will.
“I thought I was doing it for your good,” he said. “I see now that I was selfish and cruel, but I have pledged you to him, and it is too late for any backing down.”
To this the girl had said nothing, but she felt that she would prove it was not too late when they went ashore.
Lord Stanford had seen things were going against him, and he had threatened to take the girl to one of the islands off Santa Barbara and keep her till a minister could be brought there to marry them.
But the appearance of Frank upset the desperate nobleman’s plans.
Lord Stanford was thoroughly disgusted.
“Deuce take the blooming girl!” he said. “She has caused me more trouble than she is worth, and I wouldn’t marry her now if she’d have me!”
He thought of having Merriwell arrested for running him down, but thought better of it, as he realized the accident had happened because his own helmsman had swung directly into the course of the Greyhound, which Merriwell would not have trouble in proving.
He suspected that Ephraim Gallup had done the trick intentionally, but that was something he could not prove.
In less than an hour Inza and her parent were ready to leave the yacht, and with them went Frank and his friends, including Ephraim.
“Won’t stay another minit, b’gosh!” said the Yankee lad.
It was not long after this that the two boats separated, and Frank’s yacht was headed for Santa Barbara.
As they parted Lord Stanford shook his fist at Frank, at which the boy from Yale simply laughed.
The run to Santa Barbara was made without special incident, and here Frank and Inza separated for the time being.
The weather proved delightful, and the boys concluded to take it easy at this ideal spot in the land of sunshine and flowers.
“We need a rest after such a chase,” said Frank, to the crowd, as they rested under some trees, two days after landing.
Just then came a cry of pain from Hans.
“A rest!” howled the Dutch boy. “Dis don’t peen no rest. I bet me your life dot vos annudder flea der small uf mein pack on! Und I vos pitten all ofer in more as zwei tozen places alretty yet! Murter!”
Hans’ companions laughed heartily as the fat Dutch lad made a frantic effort to reach over his shoulder and scratch the itching spot on his back.
They were reclining beneath the shade of a large tree that stood near the flat, sandy beach, watching the surf roll in and shoot up in snowy spouts around a distant rocky point.
“Haw! haw! haw!” laughed Ephraim Gallup. “Gol darned ef yeou don’t make me lawf! What’s a little squint of a flea amaount to?”
“Oh, vot vos der madder mit you?” snorted Hans. “Suppose you mind mine business, aindt it.”
Then the fat fellow got his back against the tree and scratched it in that manner, making up a face that was expressive of mingled feelings of intense agony and acute satisfaction.
“You chaps make me tired!” grumbled Diamond, in a rather surly manner. “You are all the time quarreling. I’d wish you’d drop it and give us a rest.”
“Is that so!” came sarcastically from the Yankee lad, as he stiffened up. “Wal, I want tew know! Who be yeou, anyhow?”
“I’ll mighty soon show you, if you want to know!” grated Jack, giving the boy from Vermont a savage glare.
Ephraim spat on his hands.
“Sail right in!” he cried, as he got on his feet. “I’m all reddy. Whar be yeou frum, anyhaow?”
“I am from Virginia, one of the finest States in the Union,” answered Diamond.
“An’ I’m from Vermont, ther finest State in ther Union,” flung back Gallup, “Vermont kin lick Virginny four times aout of four, an’ don’t yer fergit it!”
This was too much for Jack to stand. He got up quickly, his dark face having grown pale with anger.
“We’ll see about that, you Yankee clown!” he hissed. “We’ll settle it right here!”
The affair had suddenly assumed a very serious aspect, and Frank sprang to his feet, quickly stepping between them, saying as he did so:
“Here, you fellows! I am ashamed of you both! Stop it!”
“Git out of the way, Frank!” cried the Yankee boy. “If he wants ter fight, I’m all reddy, b’gosh!”
“Don’t interfere, Merriwell!” exclaimed the Southern lad. “I must teach this insolent chap a lesson.”
“There will be no fighting here,” said Frank, his face stern and his air commanding. “I forbid it!”
“He called me a clown!” burst from Ephraim.
“He insulted me!” grated Diamond.
“Let him take it back, darn him!”
“Let him apologize, confound him!”
“I tell you to drop it!” said Frank, firmly. “What sort of chaps are you that you can’t get along together and overlook trifles? I am ashamed of you fellows!”
The manner in which Frank said this brought a flush of resentment to Diamond’s cheeks. He drew himself up to his fullest height, and coldly said:
“Very well, sir; you will have no further cause to be ashamed of me. I will not give you the opportunity.”
“What do you mean?”
“That I see you are beginning to get down on me lately, since you have met your old friends from Fardale, and I will not trouble you any more. I will withdraw from the party and take the next train for the East.”
Frank looked astonished.
“It can’t be that you are in earnest, Jack?” he said.
“I am.”
“I can’t believe it! You know I am not down on you. I do not get down on any one in such a way. I have proved to you in the past that I am your friend. I have not changed in the least. It was no more than natural that I should be overjoyed to see my old chums, but their appearance has not caused me to change toward you in the least.”
Jack looked sulky.
“That’s easy enough to say,” he muttered.
Those words brought the color to Merriwell’s face.
“Jack Diamond!” he cried, and his voice rang out clear and cutting, “did you ever know me to lie?”
“No, but this is a case where – ”
“Do you wish to insult me? It can’t be that you do, Jack! Your words were thoughtlessly spoken. I know it. You have not been well of late, and that is why you are unlike your old self.”
“If I have changed so much, it is best that I should get out, and I will do it. I didn’t mean to insult you, Merriwell, and I take back anything that seemed like an insult. I never knew you to lie, and I do not believe you could be forced to tell an untruth.”
Instantly Frank seized Jack’s hand.
“I knew you didn’t mean it, old fellow!” he cried, his face lighting up with a sunny smile, as he gave the hand of the Virginian a warm pressure. “We have come to know each other too well for you to think such a thing of me.”
“It’s natural that you should think a great deal of your old friends,” said Jack, unsteadily; “and I was a fool to notice anything. I think there is something the matter with me, and I believe it will be better for all concerned if I get out of the party right away.”
“Nonsense, old fellow!”
“But I can’t get along with Gallup.”
“You can if you’ll try.”
“It’s no use. I’m going home.”
“All right,” said Frank, slowly; “that spoils the scheme I had in my mind. It ruins my plans, and will mean the breaking up of the whole party.”
“I don’t see how that comes about.”
“Never mind; it’s no use to talk about it, if your mind is made up. It’s too bad, that’s all!”
Jack wavered.
“Won’t you tell me what your plan was?” he asked.
“It was a scheme for a trip back East, in which we could have any amount of sport. But what’s the use? You are going, and that spoils everything.”
Diamond looked conscience-stricken, but he was proud, and he disliked to yield. However, his curiosity was aroused, and he urged Frank to divulge his scheme.
“I’ll do it if you’ll shake hands with Gallup and promise to stick by the party. I am sure Ephraim will shake hands.”
“Why, ’course I will!” cried the Vermonter, cheerfully. “I ain’t no darn fool ter git my back humped up inter ther air an’ keep it there till it gits crooked like a camel’s jest ’cause I think I’m spitin’ somebody. Shake? Why, sartin’!”
Then, before Jack could realize it, the quaint down Easter had him by the hand and was working his arm up and down as if it were a pump handle.
