Chapter 11

Percy, in particular, was learning to enjoy the free, out-of-door life, so different from anything to which he had been accustomed. At the close of pleasant afternoons, when a land breeze had driven the fog to sea and the work of the day was finished, he liked to take his Caesar or Virgil up to the beacon on Brimstone, and lie at ease on the cushion of wiry grass, while he followed the great general through his Gallic campaigns or traced the wanderings of pious AEneas over a sea that could have been no bluer or more sparkling than that which surrounded the island. Sometimes it pleased him to explore the sheep-paths through the scrubby evergreens with gray wool-tags clinging to the branch ends, and to emerge at last from the tangle of dwarfed, twisted trunks on the northeast point. There he would throw himself at full length on the summit of the bluff, with the surf in his ears and the cool, salt breeze on his face, and watch the sun flashing from the brown glass toggles near the white lobster-buoys; or, lifting his gaze to the horizon beyond the purple deep, he would trace the low, rolling humps of the mainland hills, the cleft range of Isle au Haut, or the heights of Mount Desert. But no studies or scenery caused him to forget his daily trip with sweater and rockweed.

The glades on the southern edge of the woods were overgrown with raspberry-bushes. When Filippo's daily stint about the camp was finished, he visited these spots with his pail; and while the season lasted, heaping bowls of red, dead-ripe fruit or saucers of sweet preserve varied their customary fare. There were blueberries, too, in abundance, and these also made a welcome addition to their table.

"Boys," said Lane, one morning, "I'm meat hungry. I can still taste that beefsteak we got the other night at Rockland. Think of the ton or so of mutton chops running loose on top of this island, while we poor Crusoes are starving to death on the beach!"

"No need of waiting until you're in the last stages, Budge," observed Jim. "Uncle Tom told me we could have a lamb whenever we wanted one. All we've got to do is to kill it."

A silence settled over the camp. The boys looked at one another. Nobody hankered for the job.

"Budge spoke first," suggested Throppy.

"I'm no butcher," returned Lane. "Come to think of it, I don't care much for lamb, after all."

"Now see here!" said Jim. "What's the use of beating round the bush? We're all crazy for fresh meat. The only thing to do is to draw lots to see who'll sacrifice his feelings and do the shooting. We'll settle that now."

He cut four toothpicks into uneven lengths.

"Filippo's not in this."

He had noticed that the Italian's olive face had grown pale.

"Now come up and draw like men!"

The lot fell to Lane.

"You're it, Budge! Don't be a quitter! There's the gun and here's our last shell. Don't miss!"

Lane's lips tightened. But he took the gun, put in the shell, and started up over the bank.

"Don't follow me," he flung back. "I'll do this alone."

Five minutes of silence followed. Then--_bang!_

"He's done it!" exclaimed Throppy.

The boys felt unhappy. In a few minutes Lane came crunching down the gravel slope. His face was sober.

"Where's the lamb?" asked Jim.

"Up there! I didn't agree to bring it down."

"Come on, boys!"

Jim, Percy, and Stevens went up to the pasture; Lane remained in the cabin. A careful search failed to reveal the victim. Jim walked to the edge of the bank.

"Oh, Budge!" he called.

Lane came out of the camp.

"Where's that lamb?"

"Don't know! Running around up there, I s'pose!"

"Didn't you shoot him?"

"No! I couldn't. And I know none of the rest of you could, either. So I fired in the air."

Jim's laugh spoke his relief.

"Well, I guess that's the easiest way out of it for everybody. Next trip to Matinicus I'll order a hind quarter from Rockland. It'll mean a little more wear and tear on the company's pocketbook, but a good deal less on our feelings."

One of the accompaniments of the heat and fog of those August days was a kind of salt-water mirage. Ships and steamers miles away below the horizon were lifted into plain view. Low, distant islands rose to perpendicular bluffs, distorted by the wavering air-currents; other islands appeared directly above the first, and came down to join them. Percy watched these novel moving pictures with great interest.

Every few mornings either the trawl or the lobster-traps would yield something unusual. Now it might be a dozen bream, called by the fishermen "brim," "redfish," or "all-eyes"; again up would come a catfish, savage and sharp-toothed, able to dent an ash oar; and rarely a small halibut would appear, drowned on the trawl. Sometimes the lobstermen would capture a monkfish, whose undiscriminating appetite had led him to try to swallow a glass float; or a trap would come to the surface freighted with huge five-fingers or containing a short, ribbon-shaped eel, blood-red from nose to tail-tip.

Spurling & Company were dressing a big catch of hake on the _Barracouta_ early one afternoon when a rockety report resounded close to the island. Percy, who was wielding his splitting-knife with good effect, as his oilskins showed, glanced up quickly.

"That's a yacht's gun!"

Sixty seconds revealed that he was right. Into the mouth of the cove shot a keen-pro wed steam-yacht, resplendent with brass fittings and fresh, white paint. Five or six flanneled figures lounged aft, while a few members of her crew, natty in white duck, dropped anchor under the direction of an officer. Side-steps were lowered and an immaculate toy boat swung out; a sailor occupied the rowing-thwart, while one of the yachtsmen stepped into the stern and took the rudder-lines. The boat sped straight toward the _Barracouta_, which grew dingy and mean by contrast.

Presently the strangers were near. The yachtsman touched his cap. He was a good-looking fellow of perhaps nineteen, with a light, fuzzy mustache and eyes that were a trifle shifty.

"Would you be so kind as to tell me--"

He broke off abruptly as he recognized Percy.

"By the Great Horn Spoon!" he almost shouted, "if it isn't P. Whittington! Percy, old man, what do you mean by hiding yourself away offshore in a lonesome spot like this? Come aboard! Come aboard! The old crowd's there--Ben Brimmer and Martin Sayles and Mordaunt and Mack and Barden. I've chartered the _Arethusa_, and invited 'em to spend a month with me along the New England coast. We're not having a time of it--oh no! or my name isn't Chauncey Pike!"

His eyes dwelt curiously on the details of Percy's costume and occupation.

"What you masquerading for? Hiding from the sheriff?"

Percy met his gaze evenly. His estimate of men and the things that make life worth living had undergone a material change during the last two months. Pike's jesting flowed off him like water off a duck. He introduced the other members of Spurling & Company, and Pike greeted them cordially.

"I want you all to take dinner on board with us to-night. We've got a first-class chef, and I'll have him do his prettiest. 'Tisn't every day you run across an old friend."

Jim was inclined to demur, but Pike would not take no for an answer, and he finally gave in when Percy added his entreaties to those of the yachtsman.

"Signal the yacht when you're through, Perce," said the latter as he rowed away, "and I'll send ashore for you. I know your friends here will excuse you for a while if you come aboard and talk over old times with us."

"Better let me set you ashore now," said Jim, "so you can wash up and change your clothes."

"Not much!" refused Percy. "I'll see every fish salted first."

He was as good as his word. Not until the last hake lay on the top of its brethren in the hogshead did he take off his oilskins and prepare for his visit to the yacht. At his signal the boat rowed in and took him aboard. He received an uproarious greeting from his former friends. The first welcome over, he came in for more or less chaffing.

"Boys," jeered Pike, "what do you suppose I found this modest, salt-water violet--or barnacle, I should say--doing? Actually dressed in oil-clothes and cleaning fish! Think of it! P. Whittington, the one and only! Wouldn't his friends along Fifth Avenue like to see him in that rig! Honest, Perce, if I wanted to bury myself, I'd pick a cemetery where the occupants didn't have to perform so much bone labor. I'd rather face the firing-squad than do what you were doing this afternoon."

"Guess you're telling the truth, Chauncey," retorted Percy.

"Come down below and let's have a drink all round!"

"Not unless it's Poland water," said Percy, firmly. "The one drawback about this island is that the only spring's brackish. If you've any good bottled water I'll be glad to drink with you, but nothing stronger."

"Just listen to that, fellows! Well, have your own way, Perce! We've a dozen carboys of spring water aboard, and you can drink 'em all if you want to. Try these cigarettes!"

"Swore off over a month ago."

"No! Shouldn't think you'd find life worth living. What do you have for amusement?"

"We're too busy to need any," replied Percy, truthfully.

Pike looked serious. Removing Percy's cap, he tapped his head with the tips of his fingers.

"There's some trouble inside," he said at last, "but I can't quite make out what it is. I think we'll have to take him up to the city to consult some prominent alienist, as the newspapers would say. But first he's going east in the _Arethusa_ with Doctor Pike. Come on, Perce! Put off the sackcloth and ashes, or rather the oilskins and fish-scales, and travel with us for a while. We're all artists aboard, but we paint in only one color, and that's a deep, rich red! We're going to spread it over Castine and Bar Harbor and Campobello, and we want your esteemed assistance. Do we have it?"

Percy shook his head.

"You do not," he declined. "I'm booked for college in the fall, and I'm studying to make up my conditions."

Pike looked sadly round at the others.

"And so young!" he lamented. "I presume your friends ashore share your sentiments, and we'll have to take 'em into consideration in planning for that dinner to-night. Wouldn't have any scruples, would you, about beginning with a clear soup, then tackling a juicy beef roast with all the fixings, and winding up with lemon pie and ice-cream?"

"Lead me to it," grinned Percy. "Well, fellows, I'm mighty glad to see you, even if we don't agree on all points. Now I've an engagement ashore for a half-hour or so, and if you'll set me on the beach I'll come aboard with the others."

Curious eyes followed him as he climbed the bluff with his sweater and plunged into the woods. At six he rowed out with the rest of the Spurlingites, Filippo included. The dinner to which they sat down was one they remembered for the rest of the season. Pike had not overpraised his French chef. Everybody had a good time, and at the close of the meal a toast was drunk--in spring water--to the continued success of Spurling & Company. The boys went ashore early.

No trawling was done the next morning, as it was the regular day for the trip to Matinicus. The _Barracouta_ started at nine o'clock. At about the same time the yacht catted her anchor, fired a farewell gun, and proceeded eastward, her passengers first lining up and giving three cheers for their guests of the night before, and receiving a similar salute in return.

"Perce," said Jim as the sloop rose and sank on the swells on her way over to Seal Island, "if you won't think me impertinent, I'd like to ask you a question."

"Fire ahead!"

"You can tell me or not, just as you please, but I've been wondering since last night whether, right down at the bottom of your heart, you'd rather be with your friends on the yacht or with us on the island."

"That's an easy one, Jim," replied Percy. "And the best answer I can make is the fact I'm on the boat with you this minute. I had an invitation to go with them, and I declined it. Things look different to me from what they did two months ago."

At Matinicus Percy found a letter from his father, answering his epistle of a few weeks before.

DEAR PERCY [it ran],--Glad to hear you're on the job. Keep it up.

Percy countered that night as follows:

DEAR DAD,--I'm still sticking.

XVI

A LOST ALUMNUS

Throppy stepped out of the fish-house at the close of a breezy afternoon and started for the camp to wash up. The morning's catch had been split and salted; it just filled a hogshead. He glanced seaward at the white-capped squalls chasing one another over the broad blue surface. Three steps from the building he halted in surprise.

"Hulloo! Who's that?"

Round the eastern point came a small sloop. Evidently she had met with disaster, for the end of her boom was broken and dragging and her mainsail hung loosely. It was easily apparent that she had made a safe harbor none too early.

Attracted by Throppy's exclamation, the other boys joined him, and together they watched the strange craft limp into the cove. As she came nearer they could see that she was old and dilapidated. Her brown canvas was frayed and rotten; tag-ends of rope hung here and there; and her battered sides were badly in need of a coat of fresh paint.

"Built in the year one!" was Jim's verdict. "Almost too old to be knocking round so far offshore!"

Gliding slowly into the cove, she lost headway not far from the _Barracouta_. A small black dog began to run to and fro on board and bark excitedly. The man at the helm, evidently her only crew, hurried stiffly forward, let the jib and mainsail run down, and dropped the anchor. Then the boys were treated to a fresh surprise.

A shaggy white cat leaped from the standing-room upon the roof of the cabin. A Maltese followed her. Then another, jet black, sprang into view. The three rubbed about the legs of the man as he made his cable fast. Nemo, roused from his nap under the stove, ran down to the water's edge and began an interchange of ferocious greetings with the strange canine; while the cats, lining up in a row on the side, arched their backs and spit fiercely.

The boys viewed this menagerie with amazement.

"Barnum & Bailey's come to town!" muttered Budge.

His craft safely moored, the man drew in a small punt which was towing astern and stepped into it. The dog followed.

"Back, Oliver!" ordered his master.

Grasping the animal by the scruff of the neck, he tossed him into the standing-room. Then he slowly sculled the punt to the beach. Jim walked down to meet him.

The stranger was of medium height, and apparently over sixty years old. His beard and mustache were gray. He wore a black slouch-hat and a Prince Albert coat, threadbare and shiny, but neatly brushed. He stepped briskly ashore, with shoulders well set back. His dark eyes carried a suggestion of melancholy, and his face was deeply lined.

"I've dropped in to make repairs," said he. "Broke my main boom in a squall about a mile north of the island, and thought I might get some one here to help me fix it."

"You did right to come," returned Jim. "We'll be glad to do anything we can, Mr.--"

"Thorpe," supplied the other. "That isn't my name, but it'll do as well as any."

"Mine's Spurling," said Jim.

They shook hands and walked up to the camp. There Jim introduced the newcomer to the other boys. Supper was about to be put on the table and the stranger was invited to share it. He accepted, and ate heartily, almost ravenously.

"Seems good to taste somebody's cooking besides your own," he apologized. "When you've summered and wintered yourself, year in and year out, the thing gets pretty monotonous and you almost hate the sight of food."

"Then you're alone most of the time?" ventured Lane.

"Not most of the time, but all the time."

The boys would have liked to inquire further, but courtesy forbade, and their guest did not volunteer anything more regarding himself. He shifted the conversation to Nemo.

"Bright-looking dog you've got there!" he commented.

"Yes," said Jim. "And he's fully as bright as he looks. I see you've a dog and some cats aboard."

"Yes; and they're good company--better, in some ways, than human beings, for they can't talk back. The dog's Oliver Cromwell; and the cats I've named Joan of Arc, Marie Antoinette, and Queen Victoria. I must go aboard and give 'em their suppers."

He rose from the table.

"Come back again in an hour," invited Jim, "and we'll have some music. We've a violin here."

"I'll be more than glad to come," returned their guest. "Music's something I don't have a chance to hear very often."

Walking down the beach, he sculled out to his sloop. His animals greeted him, Oliver Cromwell vociferously, the cats with a more reserved welcome.

"What d'you make of him?" asked Percy. "Odd stick, isn't he?"

"Yes," said Jim, meditatively, "but he seems like a gentleman. What I can't understand is why he's cruising along the coast alone in that old Noah's ark. It doesn't seem natural. Besides, it's dangerous business for a man of his age. Well, it's no concern of ours. Let's give him a pleasant evening."

Promptly at the end of the allotted hour the stranger came ashore again.

"Got the children all in bed for the night," said he. "Now I can make you a little visit with a clear conscience."

He spoke faster and more cheerfully than he had done before. The melancholy in his bearing had vanished. Jim thought he detected a slight odor of liquor about him, but he could not be sure. They all sat down together, and Throppy brought out his violin.

"What shall it be, boys?" he asked, after a preliminary tuning up.

"Give us 'The Wearing of the Green,'" suggested Lane.

Soon the wailing strains of the familiar Irish melody were breathing through the cabin. "Kathleen Mavourneen" followed, and the stranger sat as if fascinated. At "'Way Down Upon the Suwanee River" he dropped his head in his hands and his shoulders shook.

"Something livelier, Throppy," said Jim.

Stevens started in on "Dixie." As the first spirited notes came dancing off the violin their guest raised his head quickly, and before the selection was finished his cheerfulness had returned.

"Can you play 'The Campbells Are Coming'?" he inquired.

As Stevens responded with the stirring Scotch air Thorpe rose to his feet and began whistling a clear, melodious accompaniment. The notes trilled out, pure and bird-like. The boys broke into hearty applause when he finished. Their approval emboldened him to ask a favor.

"I used to play a little myself," he said; "but it's been years since I've had a bow in my hand. Would you be willing for me to see if I can recall anything? I'll be careful of your instrument."

"Sure!" cordially returned Stevens.

He handed violin and bow to Thorpe. The latter took them almost reverently. Tucking the violin under his chin, he drew the bow back and forth, at first with a lingering, uncertain touch, but soon with an increasing firmness and accuracy that bespoke an old-time skill. Gradually he gathered confidence, and a bubbling flood of liquid music gushed from the vibrating strings.

At first he played a medley of fragments, short snatches from old tunes, each shading imperceptibly into the one that followed, blending into a whole that chorded with the night and sea and wind and the driftwood fire crackling in the little stove in the lonely island cabin. The boys sat motionless, listening, brooding over the visions the music opened to each. They had never heard such music before. Even Percy had to acknowledge that, as he leaned breathlessly forward, eyes glued to the dancing bow.

One final, long, slow sweep, and the last notes died away, mellow and silvery as a distant bell. The musician raised his bowed head and looked about.

"More!" begged the boys.

With a nod of assent, he began "Annie Laurie." His audience sat spellbound. "Flow Gently, Sweet Afton" followed; and he closed with "Auld Lang Syne." Then he laid the violin carefully on the table and burst into tears.

For two or three minutes nobody spoke. Filippo was weeping silently; Percy cleared his throat; and even the other three were conscious of a slight huskiness. The evening was turning out differently from what they had anticipated.

Brushing away his tears, the stranger controlled himself with a strong effort.

"I don't know what you'll think of me, boys," said he, shamefacedly. "I'm sorry to have made such an exhibition of myself. But music always did affect me; besides, it's wakened some old memories. Guess I'd better be going now."

He half rose.

"Stay awhile longer," urged Jim; and the others seconded the invitation.

Thorpe sank back on his box.

"You won't have to persuade me very hard. Evenings alone on the _Helen_ are pretty long."

His eye fell on Percy's AEneid on the shelf beside the window.

"Aha! Who's reading Virgil?"

"I am," confessed Percy. "Making up college conditions."

The stranger looked at him keenly.

"Conditions, eh? Guess you don't need to have any, unless you want 'em."

"Found you at home there, Perce!" laughed Lane.

"I don't propose to have any more after this summer," averred Percy, stoutly.

"Stick to that!" encouraged Thorpe. "There's enough have 'em that can't help it."

Taking down the volume, he opened it at the beginning of the first book, and began reading aloud, dividing the lines into feet:

_"Arma virumque cano, Trojae qui primus ab oris Italiam, fato profugus, Laviniaque venit._

"Wouldn't want to say how long it's been since I last set eyes on that. Probably you boys notice that I use the English pronunciation of Latin instead of the continental; it's what I had when I was in college."

"What was your college?" inquired Percy.

Melancholy darkened Thorpe's face again.

"Never mind about that," he replied, a little brusquely.

Glancing round the cabin, he caught sight of Throppy's wireless outfit; soon the two were engaged in an interested discussion on wave-lengths and the effect of atmospheric disturbances. Later he was talking over the lobster law with Jim, and life-insurance with Lane. He seemed to be equally at home on all subjects.

Eight o'clock came before they realized it. The stranger's face suddenly grew somber.

"Boys," said he, "I must be going now. You've given me a mighty pleasant evening and I sha'n't forget it right away. You'll think it a strange thing for me to say, but the best return I can make for your kindness is to tell you something about myself."

He glanced at Percy.

"You asked me what my college was. I'm not going to answer that question, but I'll say this: At the end of its catalogue of graduates you'll find a page headed 'Lost Alumni,' and my name--my real name--is there. It's a list of those whose addresses are unknown to the college authorities, men who have dropped out, gone back, disappeared. Nobody knows what's become of 'em, and by and by nobody cares. That's just what I am--a lost alumnus! And it's better for me to stay lost!"

With trembling hands he picked up a worm-eaten stick beside the stove.

"I'm like this stick now--only driftwood! Once I was young and sound and strong as any one of you--just as this wood was once. Now--"

Lifting the stove cover, he flung the stick into the fire; a burst of sparks shot up.

"That's all it's fit for; and it's all I'm fit for, too! Name ... character ... friends ... home ... all gone--all gone!"

He took a step toward the door, then halted.

"I've told you this because it may do some one of you some good while there's time. Don't throw your lives away, as I've thrown away mine!"

The sober, startled faces of his hearers apparently recalled him to himself.

"Sorry I spoke so freely," he apologized. "Forget it, boys, and forget me! Everybody else has. Good night!"

He opened the door.

"Won't you stop ashore with us?" invited Spurling. "We can fix you up a bunk."