Guess you never see no hens like them afore, chuckled the lobsterman as he rowed away. An, say, dont pet em much; they might peck yer!
The lobsters were in the bottom of the tender, and as he rowed back to the launch Tom was careful to keep his feet out of their reach. When he had made fast and carefully lifted the lobsters on board, he put his head into the engine room and listened. Not a sound reached him save the peaceful breathing of his companions. That appeared to put an idea into Toms head. With a malicious smile, he tiptoed across to the lobsters, took one gingerly in each hand, and descended to the stateroom. There he placed the lobsters in the middle of the space between the berths, where they would each show to the best advantage, kicked off his sneakers, carefully closed the hatch and the doors, and finally crept back to bed. Once under the covers, he threw his arms out and yawned loudly. That not having the desired effect, he called sleepily to Dan:
Time to get up, Dan! Its most half-past seven! Da-a-an!
Huh?
Time to get up, you lazy chump!
Wha-what time is it? asked Dan fretfully.
Oh, its late; most half-past seven, answered Tom.
Is it? There was quiet for a moment. Then Dan sat up resolutely, stared drowsily about him and tumbled out of bed. As luck would have it, one bare foot landed plump on the cold, slippery back of the nearest lobster. The lobster rolled over, and so did Dan. There was a shriek, and Dan, staring in horrified dismay at the cause of his upset, tried to retreat into Bobs berth.
That annoyed Bob, who, half awake, struck out at the invader and again sent him sprawling. This time it was the other lobster that Dan came into contact with, and both went rolling up against the locker under Nelsons berth. But it didnt take Dan long to pick himself up, and once on his feet he made haste to get off them by sinking into Nelsons arms and waving them wildly in air.
By that time the stateroom rang with laughter and Barrys barking. Dan curled his feet up under him and, after making certain that neither of the lobsters had attached themselves to him, joined his laughter with the rest. On the floor the lobsters, justly indignant, or, as Tom remarked, a bit peeved, were waving their claws and trying to get back on their feet again. At last Nelson stopped laughing and turned a puzzled countenance to Bob.
Whered they come from? he asked.
Eh? asked Bob.
By Jove! cried Dan.
Tom only stared his bewilderment.
Nelson looked suspiciously at the others, but Dan and Bob were each in pyjamas, and so, of course, must be Tommy, although the covers still reached to just below his wondering countenance.
They must have come aboard last night, said Dan.
But the doors are closed, said Bob.
Through the ports, then?
Poppycock! said Nelson. Lobsters cant climb. Some one must
Maybe there was a high tide last night, suggested Tom.
Whats that got to do with it, Id like to know? Bob demanded.
Why, maybe the water came up to the port lights and the lobsters were swimming on the surface, and they saw Dan and mistook him for a long-lost brother
Tommy, if you call me a lobster, Ill hammer you! Look at the ugly, crawly things! Ugh! Some one throw em overboard!
Some smart chump must have opened the door and tossed them in here last night, said Nelson thoughtfully. Or maybe this morning.
More likely this morning, said Bob. And probably the person, whoever he was, dropped them in through the ports.
Thats so, said Tom, a trifle too eagerly. Bet you thats just what happened!
Bob looked at him in dawning suspicion.
Think thats the way of it, do you, Tommy? he asked. Tom nodded, but didnt seem to care to look at the questioner.
Maybe a fisherman was going by, he elaborated, and saw us all asleep in here, and thought it would be a good joke
Is that so? cried Bob, leaning over and jerking the bedclothes from Tom. Youre a very smart little boy, arent you?
Dan made a leap and landed astride the culprit.
You did it, you grinning idiot! he cried, shaking Tom back and forth.
Honest, Du-du-du-dan! gurgled Tom. I I
Honest, you what? demanded Dan, letting up for an instant.
Did! squealed Tom. Then chaos reigned and blankets waved as Dan and Tom rolled about the narrow berth. Youd bu-bu-bu-better lemme up! panted Tom, or I wont cu-cu-cook you any bu-bu-bu-bu-bu-breakfast!
Apologize? asked Dan.
But at that moment a terrific yelping drowned the question. Barry had left the foot of Bobs berth and proceeded to investigate the visitors on the floor. The natural thing had happened, and Barry was jumping about with a pound and a half of lobster attached to one of his front paws. Hostilities between Dan and Tom were forgotten and everyone rushed to Barrys rescue. It was Nelson who finally released the dog and tossed the two troublesome guests up into the cockpit. Barrys paw was badly pinched, but not seriously damaged, and after he had licked it for five minutes steadily he was apparently willing to call the episode closed.
What did you bring those things in here for, demanded Nelson, and where did you get them?
Tom explained the manner of acquiring the prizes, and said that he was going to cook them.
Cook them! shrieked Dan. Why, they arent fit to cook; theyre green as grass! Theyre probably spoiled!
This feezed Tom until Bob explained that live lobsters were always more or less green, and that it was boiling them that made them red. But Dan remained antagonistic to the plan of eating them.
I wouldnt touch one of them for a hundred dollars, he declared. I dont believe theyre lobsters at all.
Tom was hurt.
They are, tu-tu-too! he asserted indignantly. I gu-gu-got em from a lobster fisher, and saw him pu-pu-pu-pull em up.
Oh, you get out! Whos going to believe you, Tommy? You run along and get breakfast.
Thats so, said Nelson. Youre in disgrace, Tommy, and youll have to cook us something pretty nice if you expect to be forgiven.
Something nice! growled Tom. What do you expect? Spanish omelet and sirloin steak?
I dont care what we have, replied Dan, but I want mine fried on both sides.
Me too, added Nelson.
Tom left them to their dressing and took himself off to the corner of the engine room where the stove and sink and ice box were located, and which he had nautically dubbed the galley. Here he busied himself, chuckling now and then over the lobster episode, until Barrys frantic barking took him to the door. He looked out and then called to the others. The lobsters, quite still now, as though wearied by their recent experiences, were lying side by side near the after locker. In front of them, a safe two feet away, stood Barry. His tail there was only a bare two inches of it wagged violently, the hair stood up along the middle of his back and neck, and he was daring the lobsters to mortal combat. Finding himself reinforced by the quartet of laughing boys at the door, he grew very brave and began a series of wild dashes at the enemy, barking hysterically.
Anybody want to eat them? asked Bob finally.
Nobody seemed enthusiastic, and Bob heaved them over the side. There goes your fifty cents, Tommy, he said. Tom glanced at Dan and grinned.
It was worth it, he said.
After a breakfast of fried eggs, bacon, toast, and coffee the four went on deck, feeling ready for anything. Nelson and Tom found seats on the edge of the cabin roof, Dan and Bob sat on the after seat, and the subject of destination was discussed. Bob advanced the merits of the Maine coast as a cruising ground, Dan was in favor of heading south toward New York and Long Island Sound, Tom was for staying where they were, and Nelson remained neutral. Thus matters stood when a launch of about the size of the Vagabond chugged around the point and picked up moorings some fifty feet distant. The discussion died away and the boys watched the new arrival with interest. Her name was the Amy, and she was very similar to the Vagabond in build, save that her cabin was much longer and her whole length perhaps two feet greater. She flew the flag of the Knickerbocker Yacht Club of New York, and trailed a tender behind her. She had a crew of five men, and as the tender was drawn alongside one of the number called across.
Hello, there! he called. Are you entered for the race?
No, answered Nelson. What race do you mean?
To-morrows. Marblehead to College Point. Saw you had a tender along, and thought maybe you were in it.
No; are you? replied Nelson.
Yes. They seemed to lose interest in the Vagabond after that, and piled into their tender and rowed across to the hotel landing.
Going for breakfast, I guess, mused Bob. What race are they talking about, Nel?
I dont know for sure, but seems to me I read something in the paper about a race for cruising launches from Marblehead to New York.
College Point, he said, observed Tom.
Thats near New York, on the Sound, said Dan. Lets go into it!
We couldnt now, said Nelson. Its probably too late. Besides, it wouldnt do for us to try it; it would be pretty risky.
I dont see why, spoke up Tom eagerly. That boat isnt any bigger than the Vagabond; at least, not much!
Hello! said Bob. Tommy must have got over his nervousness!
I tell you what we might do, said Nelson. We might go over and see the start. That would be fun, wouldnt it?
Lets do it! cried Dan. Then we can decide meanwhile where were going.
The idea suited all hands, and it was agreed that they should spend the forenoon in cleaning up and run over to the scene of the race after luncheon. And, said Dan, lets find out about the race. It ought to be in the morning paper. If one of you fellows will put me ashore, Ill go and buy one.
So Bob rowed him to the landing, and when he returned the three got out the mops and metal polish and rags and set to work cleaning up the woodwork and polishing the brass. They hadnt nearly finished by the time Dan hailed from the landing. Tom brought him aboard. He had found a paper and was full of the race. All hands stopped work while he read the account of it.
The race was a handicap affair for cruising launches, and there were twelve entries. The start was to be made the next afternoon, at six oclock, from Marblehead, and the boats were to race to College Point, N.Y., a distance of about three hundred miles.
But if it isnt until to-morrow at six, asked Tom, whats the use of going over there this afternoon?
Thats so, said Bob. We might as well wait until to-morrow morning.
But what shall we do this afternoon? Run up to Portland and back? asked Nelson laughingly.
Lets cruise around here, said Bob. And you can show me how to run the engine. Some one ought to know, Nel, in case anything happened to you.
All right. Well finish cleaning up, and then take a run around the harbor if theres time before lunch. If there isnt, well go afterwards. Hows that?
All were agreeable and the work went on again. Nelson got into the tender and, armed with a hand mop and a canvas bucket of fresh water, cleaned the white paint-work of the hull. Tom scrubbed the deck, cockpit floor, and cabin roof, Dan cleaned up below, and Bob shined the bright-work. But, try as they might, there was no such thing as finishing before noon. And so they had an early lunch, and very hungry for it they were, too, and then weighed anchor and headed for the inner harbor on a sight-seeing cruise. They chugged in and out of the shipping, read the names on the dozens of fishing schooners which lined the wharves, and finally raced a tugboat out to the breakwater, winning easily.
There the wheel was given to Dan, and Nelson took Bob below and initiated him into the mysteries of the gas engine. Nelson started at the gasoline tank, and traced the flow of the fuel until it had passed through the cylinders and was discharged at the exhaust. Carburetor or, in the present case, vaporizer pump, oil cups, spark plug, and clutch were duly explained, and then Nelson took up the ignition, starting at the battery and following the wires to the engine. Finally, the motor was stopped, the gasoline shut off, and Bob was allowed to start things up again. Of course, he didnt succeed the first time, nor the second, but in the end he did, and was as pleased as could be. For the rest of the afternoon he stayed in the engine room while Dan and Tom had a beautiful time on deck running the boat to suit themselves and by the time they reached their anchorage again Bob had qualified, to his own satisfaction at least, as a gas engineer.
Its simple enough when you understand it, isnt it? he asked earnestly.
Yes, laughed Nelson; theres nothing to it at all until the engine stops and you cant find out why!
They had dinner at the Harborside again, and in the evening wrote home to their folks on the lovely stationery with the crossed flags. And at half-past nine, everyone having personally assisted at the lighting of the riding light, they turned in and slept like logs until morning.
CHAPTER VI IN WHICH THEY FOLLOW A RACE
Well! exclaimed Bob. Look at the boats!
The Vagabond was cutting her way through the sunlit waters at the best pace of which she was capable easily twelve miles an hour, Ill bet you, according to Nelson. Bob had the wheel, and was turning to port as the point drew abreast. Once around the lighthouse, the harbor lay before them blue and sparkling in the morning sunshine, and as full of boats as a raisin pie of raisins. Even Tom, eminently matter of fact, drew his breath as the Vagabond dashed across the harbor mouth.
Marblehead Harbor is naturally one of the most beautiful on the coast, and this morning, thronged with yachts of all descriptions, swinging at their moorings, cream-white sails aflutter in the light breeze, flags flying everywhere, paint and varnish glistening and brasswork catching the sunlight on every side, it presented as fair a sight as one is apt to find. Between the white and black and mahogany-red hulls of the yachts busy, cheerful, impertinent launches darted in and out, filling the air with the sharp explosions of their engines.
On one side the quaint old town came tumbling down to the wharves and the dripping seawall, a delightful hodgepodge of weather-stained sheds and whitewashed houses. On the other, green lawns set with summer cottages and shaded by vividly green elms stretched from the distant causeway to where the shore broke into a rocky promontory, from which the stone and shingle house of the Corinthian Yacht Club arose as though a part of the natural scenery.