Author: Sewell Ford
Category: Humorous
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CHAPTER XII
TORCHY HITS THE HIGH SEAS
Well, I got to take it all back--most of it, anyway. For, between youand me, this bein' a seagoing private sec. ain't the worst that canhappen. Not so far as I've seen.
What I'm most chesty over, though, is the fact that I've been throughthe wop and wiggle test without feedin' the fishes. You see, when thegood yacht _Agnes_ leaves Battery Park behind, slides down past StatenIsland and the Hook, and out into the Ambrose Channel, I'm feelin' sortof low. I'd been lookin' our course up on the map, and, believe me,from where New York leaves off to where the tip end of Florida juts outinto the Gulf Stream is some wide and watery jump. No places to getoff at in between, so far as I can dope out. It's just a case ofbuttin' right out into the Atlantic and keepin' on and on.
We hadn't got past Scotland Lightship before the _Agnes_ begins thatmonotonous heave-and-drop stunt. Course, it ain't any motion worthmentionin', but somehow it sort of surprises you to find that it keepsup so constant. It's up and down, up and down, steady as the tick of aclock; and every time you glance over the rail or through a portholeyou see it's quite a ride you take. I didn't mind goin' up a bit; it'sthat blamed feelin' of bein' let down that's annoyin'.
For a while there I was more or less busy helping Old Hickory get hisfloating office straightened out and taking down a few code messagesfor the wireless man to send back to the general offices while we wasstill within easy strikin' distance. It was when I planted myself in awicker chair 'way back by the stern, and begun watchin' that slow,regular lift and dip of the deck, that I felt this lump come in mythroat and begun wonderin' what it was I'd had for lunch that Ishouldn't. My head felt kind of mean, too, sort of dull and throbby,and I expect I wasn't as ruddy in the face as I might have been.
Then up comes Vee, lookin' as fresh and nifty as if she was juststeppin' out on the Avenue; and before I can duck behind anything she'sspotted me.
"Why, Torchy," says she, "you don't mean to say you're feeling badlyalready! Or is it because you're leaving New York?"
Then I saw my alibi. I sighs and gazes mushy hack towards the land.
"I can't help it," says I. "I think a heap of that little old burg.It--it's been mother and father to me--all that sort of thing. I'vehardly ever been away from it, you know, and I--I--" Here I smiles sadand makes a stab at swallowin' the lump.
"What a goose!" says Vee, but pats me soothin' on the shoulder. "Come,let's do a few turns around the deck."
"Thanks," says I, "but I guess I'd better just sit here quiet and--andtry to forget."
"Nonsense!" says Vee. "That's a silly way to act. Besides, you oughtto tramp around and get the feel of the boat. You'll be noticing themotion if you don't."
"Pooh!" says I. "What this old boat does is beneath my notice. She'sheaded away from Broadway, that's all I know about her. But if youwant someone to trail around the deck with, I'm ready. Only I ain'tapt to be very cheerful, not for a while yet."
Say, that dope of Vee's about gettin' the feel of the boat was a goodhunch. Once you get it in your legs the soggy feelin' under your vestbegins to let up. Also your head clears. Why, inside of half an hourI'm steppin' out brisk with my chin up, breathin' in great chunks ofsalt air and meetin' that heave of the deck as natural as if I'd walkedon rubber pavements all my life. After that, whenever I got to havin'any of them up and down sensations in the plumbin' department, I dashedfor the open air and walked it down.
Lucky I could, too; for about Friday afternoon we ran into some weatherthat was the real thing. It had been cloudy most of the mornin', withthe wind makin' up, and around three o'clock there was whitecaps as faras you could see. Nothin' monotonous or reg'lar about the motion ofthe _Agnes_ then. She'd lift up on one of them big waves like she wasstretchin' her neck to see over the top; then, as it rolled under her,she'd tip to one side until it looked like she was tryin' to spill us,and she'd slide down into a soapsudsy hollow until she met a solid wallof green water.
"This is what we generally get off Hatteras," says Vee, who has shownup in a green oiled silk outfit and has joined me in a sheltered spotunder the bridge. "Isn't it perfectly gorgeous?"
"It's all right for once," says I, "providin' it don't last too long.Everyone below enjoyin' it, are they?"
"Oh, Auntie's been in her berth for hours," says Vee. "She never takesany chances. But Mrs. Mumford tried to sit up and crochet. Helma'strying to take care of her, and she can hardly hold her head up. Theyare both quite sure they're going to die at once. You should hear themtaking on."
"How is it this don't get you, too?" says I.
"I've always been a good sailor," says Vee. "And, anyway, a storm istoo thrilling to waste the time being seasick. I always want to stayup around, too, and repeat that little verse of Kipling's. You know--
'When the cabin portholes are dark and green, Because of the seas outside, When the ship goes wop with a wiggle between, And the cook falls into the soup tureen, And the trunks begin to slide--'
Doesn't that just describe it, though--that 'wop with a wigglebetween'?"
"As good as a thousand feet of film," says I. "Kip must have had someof this fun himself. Here comes a wop for us. There! Great, eh?"
I hope I made it convincin'; but, as a matter of fact, I had to forcethe enthusiasm a bit.
Not that I was scared, exactly: but now and then, when the _Agnes_sidled downhill and buried the whole front end of her in a wave thatlooked like a side elevation of the Flatiron Building, I'd have apanicky thought as to whether some time she wouldn't forget to come upagain.
She never did, though. No matter how hard she was soused under, she'dshake it off with a shiver and go on climbin' up again patient. Therewas several vacant chairs at the dinner-table, and when I finallycrawled into my bunk about 9:30 I had to brace myself to keep frombein' slopped out on the floor.
I was wonderin' whether I'd be too sick to answer the shipwreck callwhen it came, and I tried to figure out how I'd feel bouncin' around onthem skyscraper waves draped in thin pajamas and a life belt, until Imust have dropped off to sleep.
And, take it from me, when I woke up and saw the good old sunshinestreamin' in through the porthole, and discovered that I was stillalive and had an appetite for breakfast, I was as thankful a privatesec. as ever tore open a pay envelope.
By the time I got dressed and found that the Agnes was doin' only thegentle wallow act, with the wop and wiggle left out, I begun to getchesty. I decides that I'm some grand little sailor myself, and Ilooks around for a willin' ear that I can whisper the news into.
The only person on deck, though, is Captain Rupert Killam, who's pacin'up and down, lookin' mysterious, as usual.
"Well, Cap," says I. "Looked like it was goin' to be a little roughfor a spell there last night, eh?"
"Rough?" says he. "Oh, we did have a little bobble off Hatteras--justa bobble."
"Huh!" says I. "I don't expect you'd admit anything's happenin' untila boat begins to turn flip-flops. Do you know, Rupert, there's timeswhen you make me sad in the spine. Honest, now, you didn't invent theocean, did you?"
But Rupert just stares haughty and walks off.
I've been afraid all along he didn't appreciate me; in fact, ever sincehe first showed up at the Corrugated, and I kidded him about his buriedtreasure tale, he's looked on me with a cold and suspicious eye.
Course, that's his specialty, workin' up suspicions. He's been at itright along, ever since the _Agnes_ was tied loose from her pier, andoutside of Auntie and Mr. Ellins, who are backin' this treasure hunt, Idon't think there's a single party aboard that he hasn't given thesleuthy once-over to.
I understand he was dead set against takin' any outsiders along fromthe first, even protestin' against Mrs. Mumford and old ProfessorLeonidas Barr. I expect his merry little idea is that they might gettheir heads together, steal the map showin' where all that pirate goldis buried, murder the rest of us, and dig up the loot themselves
.Something like that.
Anyway, Rupert is always snoopin' around, bobbin' out unexpected andpussy-footin' up behind you when you're talkin' to anyone. I didn'tnotice his antics the first day or so, but after that he sort of got onmy nerves--specially after the weather quit actin' up and it come offwarmer. Then folks got thicker on the rear deck. Mrs. Mumford withher crochet, Auntie with her correspondence pad, the Professor with hisbooks, and so on, which was why me and Vee took to huntin' for littlenooks where we could have private chats. You know how it is.
There was one place 'way up in the bow, between the big anchors, andanother on the little boat deck, right back of the bridge. But, justas we'd get nicely settled, we'd hear a creak-creak, and here wouldcome Rupert nosing around.
"Lookin' for anybody special?" I'd ask him.
"Why--er--no," says Rupert.
"Then you'll find 'em in the main saloon," says I, "two flights down.Mind your step."
But you couldn't discourage Captain Killam that way. Next time itwould be the same old story.
"Of all the gutta-percha ears!" says I to Vee. "He must think we'replottin' something deep."
"Let's pretend we are," says Vee.
"Or give him a steer that'll keep him busy, eh?" says I.
So you see it started innocent enough. I worked out the details durin'the night, and next mornin' my first move is to make the plant. FirstI hunts up Old Hickory's particular friend, J. Dudley Simms, him withthe starey eyes and the twisted smile. For some reason or other,Rupert hadn't bothered him much. Too simple in the face, I expect.
But Dudley ain't half so simple as he looks or listens. In his ownparticular way he seems to be enjoyin' this yachtin' trip huge, justloafin' around elegant in his white flannels, smokin' cigarettescontinual, soppin' up brandy-and-soda at reg'lar intervals, andentertainin' Mr. Ellins with his batty remarks.
The only thing that appears to bother Dudley at all about bein' cut offthis way from the world in general is the lack of a stock tickeraboard. Seems he'd loaded up with a certain war baby before sailingand while the deal wouldn't either make or break him, he had a sportin'interest in which way the market was waverin'.
"Well, how do you guess Consolidated Munitions closed yesterday?" Iasks.
Dudley shakes his head mournful.
"I dreamed last night of seeing a flock of doves," says he. "That's abad sign. I'd give a dollar for a glimpse at a morning paper."
"They say Charleston's only a couple hundred miles off there," says I."If it wasn't so soggy walkin' I'd run in and get you one."
"No," says he; "you'd be late for breakfast. I wonder if our wirelessman couldn't get in touch with some of the shore stations."
"Sure he could," says I, "but don't let on what stock you're plungin'on. His name's Meyers. He's a hyphen, you know. And if he got wiseto your havin' war-baby shares he'd likely hold out on you. But youmight jolly him into gettin' a general quotation list. I'd stickaround this forenoon if I was you."
"By Jove!" says J. Dudley. "I will."
And maybe you know how welcome any new way of killin' time can be whenyou're out on a boat with nothin' doin' but three or four calls to gruba day. Dudley goes it strong. He plants himself in a chair justoutside the wireless man's little coop, and begins feedin' Meyersmonogrammed cigarettes and frivolous anecdotes of his past life.
Havin' the scene set like that made it easy. All I has to do is sketchout the plot to Vee and wait for Rupert to come gum-shoein' around.
"Just follow my lead, that's all," says I, as we fixes some seatcushions in the shade of one of the lifeboats on the upper deck. "Andwhen you spot him--"
"He's coming up now," whispers Vee.
"Then here goes for improvisin' a mystery," says I. "Is he nearenough?"
Vee glances over her shoulder.
"Go on," says she. Then, a bit louder: "Tell--tell me the worst,Torchy."
"I ain't sure yet," says I, "but take it from me there's somethingbein' hatched on this yacht besides cold-storage eggs."
"Hatched?" says Vee.
"S-s-s-sh!" says I. "Underhanded work; mutiny, maybe."
"O-o-o-oh!" says Vee, givin' a little squeal. "Who could do anythinglike that?"
"I'm not saying," says I; "but there's a certain party who ain't justwhat he seems. You'd never guess, either. But just keep your eye onJ. Dudley."
"Wh-a-at!" gasps Vee. "Mr. Simms?"
"Uh-huh," says I. "Listen. He knows about Nunca Secos Key, don't he?And about the gold and jewels there?"
"That's so," says Vee. "But so do all of us. Only we don't know justwhere the island is."
"Suppose Dudley had buffaloed Old Hickory into showin' him the map?"
"Well?" demands Vee.
"Wouldn't it be easy enough," I goes on, "if he had pals ashore, topass on the description, have them start out in a fast yacht from NewOrleans or Key West, and beat us to it?"
"But I don't see," says Vee, "how he could get word to them."
"Look!" says I, pointin' to the wireless gridiron over our heads."Where do you guess he is now?"
Vee shakes her head.
"Gettin' in his fine work with Meyers," says I. "He's been at it eversince breakfast."
"Think of that!" says Vee. "And you believe he means to--"
"S-s-s-sh!" says I. "Someone might be rubberin'."
Does it work? Say, when I gets up to scout around, Rupert hasdisappeared, and for the first time since we've been aboard be leavesus alone for the rest of the forenoon. We didn't hate that exactly.Vee reads some out of a book, draws sketches of me, and we has longtalks about--well, about a lot of things.
Anyway, I'm strong for this yacht-cruisin' stuff when there's no Rupertinterference. It's so sort of chummy. And with a girl like Vee, toshare it with--well, I don't care how long it lasts, that's all.
And the next thing we knows there goes the luncheon gong. As we climbsdown to the main deck where we can get a view forward, Vee gives me anudge and snickers. J. Dudley Simms is still roostin' alongside thewireless cabin; and just beyond, crouched behind a stanchion with oneear juttin' out, is Captain Killam.
"Fine!" says I. "Rupert's got a steady job, eh?"
About then the other folks commence mobilizin' for a drive on thedinin'-room, and someone calls Dudley to come along.
"Just a moment," says he, scribblin' on a pad. "There!" and he hands amessage over to Meyers.
"Ha, ha!" says a hoarse voice behind him.
Then things happened quick. Rupert makes a sudden pounce. He grabsDudley, pinnin' his arms to his sides, and starts weavin' a rope aroundhim.
"Oh, I say!" says Dudley. "What the deuce?"
"Traitor!" hisses Rupert dramatic. "You will, will you?"
J. Dudley may look like a Percy boy, too, but he ain't one to standbein' wrapped up like a parcels-post package, or for the hissin'act--not when he's in the dark as to what it's all about. He justnaturally cuts loose with the rough stuff himself. A skillful squirmor two, and he gets his elbows loose. Then, when he gets a close-up ofwho's tryin' to snare him, he pushes a snappy left in on Rupert's nose.
"Go away, fellow!" remarks Dudley.
"Snake in the grass!" says Rupert.
Then they clinched and begun rollin' over on the deck, clawin' eachother. Course, Mrs. Mumford lets out a few frantic squeals and slumpsin a faint. Professor Leonidas Barr starts wringin' his hands andgroaning "Oh, dear! Oh, dear, dear!" Auntie, she just stands theregaspin' and tryin' to unlimber her lorgnette.
As for Old Hickory, he watches the proceedings breathless for a secondor so before he can make out what's happenin'. Then he roars:
"Hey, stop 'em, somebody! Stop 'em, I say!"
That listened to me like my cue, and while I've never been strong formixin' in a muss, I jumped into this one lively. And between me andthe deck steward haulin' one way, and Meyers and Mr. Ellins pullin' theother, we finally pries 'em apart, breathin' hard and glarin' menacin'.
; "Now, in the name of Mars," demands Old Hickory, "what the sulphurettedsyntax is this all about? Come, Captain Killam, you started this; tellus why."
"He--he's a traitor, that's why!" pants Rupert, pointin' at Dudley.
"Bah!" says Old Hickory. "Whaddye mean, traitor?"
"He's plotting to send confederates to Nunca Secos Key before we getthere," says Rupert. "Plotting to steal our buried treasure. See! Hewas just sending a message to some of his gang."
"Eh!" snorts Mr. Ellins. "A message?"
Meyers fishes it out of his pocket and hands it over.
"Huh!" says Old Hickory, puzzlin' it out. "'Advise how infant isdoing. Send care yacht _Agnes_, off Charleston.' Dudley, what infantis this?"
Dudley grins sheepish. "Consolidated Munitions," says he.
"Oh!" says Old Hickory. "A war infant, eh? I see." Then he whirls onRupert. "And by what idiotic inference, Killam, did you conjure upthis rubbish about a plot?"
Rupert, he turns and stares indignant at me. Old Hickory follows theaccusin' look, and next thing I know I'm in the spot light for fair.
"Hah!" observes Mr. Ellins. "You, eh?"
Now, there's only one rule I got for dealin' with the big boss. Istick to facts and make 'em snappy.
"Uh-huh," says I. "Me."
"You thought it humorous, I presume," he goes on, "to tell this sillyyarn to Captain Killam?"
"But he didn't," speaks up Vee. "He was telling it to me; that is, wewere telling it to each other--making it up as we went along. Sothere!"
"Oh!" says Mr. Ellins. "And the Captain happened to overhear, did he?"
"Happened!" says I. "Like you happen to climb a fire-escape. That'sRupert's long suit--overhearin' things. He's been favorin' us a lotlately."
"What about that, Killam?" asks Mr. Ellins.
"Why--er--ah--" stutters Rupert, "perhaps I have. But when you see twopersons getting off by themselves and talking so much together, younaturally--"
"Bah!" explodes Old Hickory. "Can't you remember back to nineteen,Killam?" Then he turns to me. "So you concocted this plot story forCaptain Killam's benefit, did you?"
I nods.
"I thought it would keep him off our heels for a while," says I. "Ifed him an earful, I guess."
"Young man," says Mr. Ellins, shakin' a forefinger at me, but lettin'his left eyelid drop knowin', "the next time I find that imagination ofyours running loose I--I'll authorize Captain Killam to catch it andput it in irons. Now let's have luncheon."