Chapter 8

"Yes," said Dud, his brow darkening. "People like that don't want to know such low-down chumps as Dan Dolan. Why, he's in St. Andrew's on charity; hasn't got a decent rag to his back except what we give him there; used to shine shoes and sell papers on the streets. His aunt is in the poorhouse or something next to it; he's just a common tough, without a cent to call his own."

"Goodness!" gasped Miss Minna. "Then what is he doing up here with boys like you?"

"Pushed in," answered Dud, hotly. "He has enough nerve to push anywhere. St. Andrew's gives a scholarship at the parochial school, and he won it; and, as he hadn't any place to go this summer, they bunched him in with us. But you can see what he is at one look."

"Oh, I did,--I did!" murmured Miss Minna. "I saw at the very first that he was not our sort; but, being with nice boys like you, I thought he must be all right. He isn't bad-looking, and such nerve for a bootblack! Just look how he is making up to little Polly Forester!"

To an impartial observer it would have really seemed the other way. Polly herself was "making up" most openly to this nicest boy she ever saw. Tripping along by Dan's side, she was extending a general invitation, in which Dan was specialized above all others.

"I am going to have a birthday party next week, and I want you to come, and bring all the other boys from Killykinick. It's the first party I've ever had; but mamma is feeling better this year, and I'll be ten years old, and she's going to have things just lovely for me,--music and dancing, and ice-cream made into flowers and birds, and a Jack Horner pie with fine presents in it. Wouldn't you like to come, Dan?"

"You bet!" was the ready answer; for a party of young persons like Miss Polly was, from his outlook, a very simple affair. "When is it coming off?"

"Thursday," said Polly,--"Thursday evening at six, in our garden. And you needn't dress up. Boys hate to dress up, I know; Tom and Jack won't go any place where they have to wear stiff collars."

"I'm with them there," rejoined Dan. "Had to get into one on Commencement Day, and never want to try another."

"You see, I don't care for some boys," said the expectant hostess, confidentially. "All Tom's and Jack's friends are in long trousers. Some girls like that, but I don't: they look too grown up, and they stand around and tease, and won't play games, and are just horrid. You would play games, I'm sure."

"Just try me at them," answered Dan, grinning.

"Oh, I know you would! So I want you all to come," said Miss Polly, who, having reached her own gateway, paused for a general good-bye. "I don't know your names, but I want you all to come with Dan to my party."

"If we can get here," replied Dan. "Captain Jeb wouldn't trust us to sail his boat, and I don't know that he could come with us."

"Oh, he will,--he must!" persisted Polly.

"He ain't the will-and-must kind," said Dan, nodding.

"Then maybe I can send for you," the little lady went on eagerly. "My cousins are coming over from Rock-haven on dad's yacht, and I'll make them stop at Killykinick and bring you all with them to my party."

And, with a gay little nod that included all her nice boys, little Miss Polly disappeared among the hydrangeas; while the others kept on down to the wharf, where the "Sary Ann" was already swinging out her dingy sail, and Brother Bart was growing anxious and nervous.

Merry good-byes were spoken, and very soon the boys were on their homeward way, with Beach Cliff vanishing in the distance. There had been no bids to the Fosters' cottage, which was already filled with grown-up guests. Dud was sullen and disappointed; lazy Jim a little tired; while Freddy, seated in the bottom of the boat, dropped his curly head on Brother Bart's knee and went off to sleep. But to Dan the day had been a most pleasant experience, a glimpse of a friendly, beautiful world whose gates he had never thought to pass; and Aunt Winnie's Dan was very happy as he steered the "Sary Ann" over a smiling summer sea without a clouding shadow.

"How did you push in so quick to the Foresters?" sneered Dud.

"Looking for two lost donkeys," retorted Dan, who was learning to give Dud as good as he sent.

"Maybe you think you'll get there again," said Dud. "Well you won't, I can tell you that. It was all very well to make up so strong to a little fool girl; but they are the tiptoppers of Beach Cliff, and you won't hear any more of Miss Polly's yacht or her party."

"I'm not worrying over that, are you?" said Dan, philosophically. "You look as if you had a grouch on about something."

"I have," blurted out Dud fiercely. "I hate this horrid Killykinick and everything on it; and I'm not going to be mixed up before decent people with roughs and toughs that are fit only to black my boots--like you, Dan Dolan!"

XV.--A RESCUE.

For a moment Dan's blue eyes flashed, his strong arm quivered. Every hardy nerve was tingling to strike out at the insolent speaker who lost no opportunity to fling a scornful word. But this beautiful day had left holy as well as happy memories. Dan had knelt at Brother Bart's side before the altar light, that through all his hard rough young life had been Aunt Winnie's boy's beacon,--a beacon that had grown clearer and brighter with his advancing years, until it seemed to rise above earth into the dazzling radiance of the stars. Its steady light fell upon his rising passion now, and his fury broke as the swelling surf breaks upon the beacon rock--into foam and spray.

"It _is_ a sort of mix up, I must say," he answered. "But I'm out of the bootblack business for good and all; so what are you going to do about it?"

"Cut the whole lot," said Dud, "just as soon as I can get money enough to do it."

"Well, I won't cry after you, I'm sure," retorted Dan, good-humoredly; though there was a spark in his eye that told the fire was smoldering still, as even under the beacon light such fires sometimes do.

But a stentorian shout from Captain Jeb put an end to the altercation.

"Wind's a-veering! Swing round that ar boom, matey Dan! Duck, the rest of you boys,--duck--quick!"

Freddy was asleep, with his head pillowed safely on Brother Bart's knee. Jim was dozing in the stern, out of harm's reach; but on Dud, seated at the edge of the boat and fuming with rage and pride, the warning fell unheeded. As the sail swung round there was s splash, a shriek.

"He's overboard! God have mercy on us!" cried Brother Bart, roused from his third Glorious Mystery of the Rosary.

"Didn't I tell you to duck, ye rascal?" roared Captain Jeb, to whom a tumble like this seemed only a boy's fool trick. "Back aboard with ye, ye young fool! Back--aboard! Don't ye know there's sharks about in these waters? Lord, ef he ain't gone down!"

"He can't--can't swim!" And Jim, who had started up half awake and who could swim like a duck, was just about to plunge after Dud, when he caught the word that chilled even his young blood to ice--_sharks_! Jim knew what sharks meant. He had seen a big colored man in his own Southern waters do battle with one, and had sickened at the memory ever since.

"A rope,--a rope!" thundered Captain Jeb, whose right leg had been stiffened for all swimming in deep waters ten years ago. "If he goes down again, it's forever."

"O God have mercy! God have mercy!" prayed Brother Bart, helplessly; while Freddy shrieked in shrill alarm.

In that first wild moment of outcry Dan had stood breathless while a tide of feeling swept over him that held him mute, motionless. Dud! It was Dud who had been swept over into those foaming, seething depths. Dud, whose stinging words were still rankling in his thoughts and heart; Dud, who hated, scorned, despised him; Dud who could not swim, and--and there were sharks,--sharks!

Dan was trembling now in every strong limb,--trembling, it seemed to him, in body and soul. Sharks! Sharks! And it was Dud.--Dud who had said Dan was fit only to black his boots!

"O God have mercy! Mother Mary--Mother Mary save him!" prayed Brother Bart.

At the words Dan steadied,--steadied to the beacon light,--steadied into Aunt Winnie's boy again.

"Don't scare, Brother Bart!" rang out his clear young voice. "I'll get him."

"Dan! Dan!" shrieked Freddy, as, with the practised dive of the Wharf Rats, the lithe young form plunged into the water. "O Dan,--my Dan, the sharks will get you, too! Come back! Come back, Dan!"

Dan caught the words as he struck out blindly, desperately, almost hopelessly, through depths such as he had never braved before. For this was not the safe land-bound harbor; this was not the calm lap of the river around the sheltering wharf; this was a world of waters, seething, surging roaring around him, peopled with hunting creatures hungry for prey.

"Dan, Dan!" came his little chum's piercing cry as he rose for breath.

"Come back, ye fool!" thundered Captain Jeb. "He's gone, I tell ye,--the boy is gone down!"

But even at the shout something dark swept within touch of Dan's outstretched arm; he made a clutch at it and grasped Dud,--Dud choking, gasping, struggling,--Dud, who sinking for the last time, caught Dan in a grip that meant death for both of them.

"Let go!" spluttered Dan, fiercely,--"let go! Let go or we'll drown together!" And then, as the deadly clutch only tightened, Dan did what all Wharf Rats knew they must do in such cases--struck out with the full strength of his hardy young fist, and, knocking the clinging Dud's fast-failing wits completely out of him, swam back with his helpless burden to the "Sary Ann."

"The Lord, matey, but you are a game un!" said Captain Jeb, as he and Jim dragged Dud aboard.

"Ah, God have mercy upon the poor lad's soul! It's dead entirely he is!" sobbed Brother Bart.

"Not a bit of it!" said Dan, scrambling up the side of the "Sary Ann." "He's just knocked out. I had to knock him out, or he would have pulled me down with him. Roll him over a little, so he can spit out the water, and he'll be all right."

"Sure he is,--he is!" murmured Brother Bart, as Dud began to cough and splutter encouragingly. "It's gone forever I thought he was, poor lad! Oh, God bless you for this day's work, Dan Dolan,--bless you and keep you His forever!"

"It was a close shave for all hands," said Captain Jeb, permitting himself a long-drawn sigh of relief, as Dan, after shaking himself like a water-dog, sank down, a little pale and breathless, at his side. "And you were what most folk would call a consarned fool, matey. Didn't you hear me say these 'ere waters had sharks in 'em?"

"Yes," said Dan, whose eyes were fixed upon a drift of sunlit cloud in the distance.

"Then what the deuce did you do it for?" said Captain Jeb, severely.

"Couldn't let a fellow drown," was the brief answer.

"Warn't nothing special to you, was he?" growled the old sailor, who was still fiercely resentful of his "scare." "Ain't ever been perticular nice or soft spoken as I ever heard to you. And you jumping in to be gobbled by sharks, for him, like he was your own twin brother! You're a fool, matey,--a durn young fool!"

And Dan, who understood his old sailor friend, only laughed,--laughed while his eyes still followed the drift of swinging cloud fringing the deep blue of the sky. They were like the robe of the only Mother he had ever known,--the sweet Mother on whom Brother Bart had called to save Dud. And Dan had heard and obeyed and he felt with a happy heart his Mother was smiling on him now.

But to Dud this thrilling adventure left no pleasant memories. He was sick for several days from his overdose of salt water, weak and nervous from fright and shock: there was a bruise over his eye from the saving impact of Dan's sturdy fist, which he resented unreasonably. More than all, he resented the chorus that went up from all at Killykinick in praise of Dan's heroism.

Jim testified openly and honestly that the cry of "Sharks" got him, and he couldn't have dared a plunge in those waters to save his own brother.

"I saw a nigger cut in half by one of those man-eaters once, and it makes my flesh creep to think of it."

Even dull-witted old Neb rose to show appreciation of Dan's bold plunge, and said he "reckoned all boys wuth anything did sech fool tricks some times."

Good old Brother Bart felt it was a time for warning and exhortation, which Dud found altogether exasperating.

"Sure it's on your knees you ought to go morning and evening to thank God for bold, brave Dan Dolan. If it hadn't been for him, it's food for the fishes ye'd be now. The Lord was merciful to ye, lad; for I'm misdoubting if ye were fit for heaven. Though it's not for me to judge, ye have a black look betimes, as if God's grace wasn't in yer heart. This ought to be a lesson to ye, a lesson that ye should never forget."

"I'm not likely to forget it," was the grim answer. "I couldn't if I tried."

"And I'm glad to hear ye say so," said the simple-minded old Brother. "I'm thinking sometimes ye're not over friendly with Dan. It was a rough bating he gave ye before we left the college." (Dud's black looks grew blacker at the memory.) "But he has more than made it up to ye now, for he has given ye back yer life."

"And what are you going to give him for it, Dud?" questioned Freddy confidentially, as the good Brother moved away.

"Give who?" growled Dud, who was sick and sore and savage over the whole experience, and, strange to say--but such are the peculiarities of some natures,--felt as if he hated his preserver more than ever.

"Why, Dud!" continued Freddy. "You always give a person something when he saves your life. Dick Walton told me that a man saved him when he was carried out in the surf last summer, and his father gave the man a gold watch."

"So Dan Dolan wants a gold watch, does he?" said Dud.

"Oh, no!" answered Freddy, quite unconscious of the sneer in the question. "I don't think Dan wants a gold watch at all. He would not know what to do with one. But if I were you," continued Dan's little chum, his eyes kindling with loyal interest, "I'd make it a pocket-book,--a nice leather pocket-book, with a place for stamps and car tickets and money, and I'd just fill it _chock_ full. You see, Dan hasn't much pocket money. He pulled out his purse the other day at Beach Cliff to get a medal that was in it, and he had only a nickel and two stamps to write to his aunt."

"So your brave Dan is striking for ready cash, is he?" said Dud, in a tone that even innocent Freddy could not mistake, and that Dan coming up the beach with a net full of kicking lobsters, caught in all its sting.

"Ready cash," he asked, looking from one to the other. "For what?"

"Pulling me out of the water the other day," answered Dud. "Freddy says you're expecting pay for it."

"Well, I'm _not_," said Dan, the spark flashing into his blue eyes. "You're 'way off there, Freddy, sure."

"Oh, I didn't mean,--I didn't say," began poor little Freddy, desperately. "I only thought people always got medals or watches or something when they saved other people, and I told Dud--"

"Never mind what you told him, kid" (Dan laid a kind hand on his little chum's shoulder); "you mean it all right, I know. But Dud" (the spark in the speaker's eye flashed brighter,)--"Dud didn't."

"I did," said Dud. "My father will pay you all you want."

Then Dan blazed up indeed into Irish fire.

"I don't want his pay: I wouldn't touch it. You ain't worth it, Dud Fielding."

"Ain't worth what? My father is worth a million," said Dud quickly.

"_That_ for his million!" and Dan snapped his two fishy fingers under Dud's Grecian nose. "You ain't worth a buffalo nickel, Dud Fielding; and I wouldn't ask one for saving your measly little life."

And Dan went off with his lobsters, in a wrath almost fiery enough to boil them alive. Pay!--pay for that wild plunge into watery depths--the doubt, the fear, the icy terror of hungry monsters around him! Dud Fielding was offering him pay for this, very much as he might fling pay to him for blacking his boots. Ah, it was a fierce, bad moment for Dan! His beacon light vanished; murky clouds of passion were blackening dream and vision; he felt he could cheerfully pitch Dud back to the sharks again. And then, as still hot and furious, he strode back with his lobsters to old Ned, Freddy, who was remorsefully following him--remorseful at having stirred up a row,--piped up in sudden excitement:

"O Dan, look--look what's coming here to Killykinick! Dan, just look!"

Dan turned at the cry. Past Numskull Nob, making her cautious, graceful way through rocks and shoals, was a beautiful white-winged yacht, her mast gay with pennants. One, fluttering wide to the breeze, showed her name, "The Polly."

XVI.--A NEW EXPERIENCE

Dan stood staring in blank amazement, while Freddy's voice rose into shriller triumph:

"Jim, Dud, Brother Bart, look,--look what is coming here!"

She was coming indeed, this white-winged stranger, swaying to the right and left under skilful guidance as she made her way to the Killykinick wharf; for her rugged old Captain knew the perils of the shore. And under the gay awnings that shaded the deck was a merry group of young people, waving their handkerchiefs to the rocky island they were approaching; while Polly's big handsome "dad," in white linen yachting togs, pointed out the ship house and the wharf, the tower and garden patch,--all the improvements that queer old Great-uncle Joe had made on these once barren rocks. Polly's dad had known about the old captain and his oddities all his life. Indeed, once in his very early years as he now told his young listeners, he had made a boyish foray in Great-uncle Joe's domain, and had been repelled by the old sailor with a vigor never to be forgotten.

"I never had such a scientific thrashing in my life," laughed dad, as if he rather enjoyed the remembrance. "We were playing pirate that summer. I had a new boat that we christened the 'Red Rover,' after Cooper's story; and we rigged her up with a pirate flag, and proceeded to harry the coast and do all the mischief that naughty twelve-year-olds can do. Finally, I proposed, as a crowning adventure, a descent upon Killykinick, pulling down old Joey Kane's masthead and smashing his lantern. Well, we caught a Tartar there, I can tell you! The old captain never had any use for boys. And to think of the place being full of them now!"

"Oh, no, dad! There are only four," said Polly,--"four real nice boys from St. Andrew's College, and just the right size to come to my party. O Nell, Gracie, look! There they come!"

And the handkerchiefs fluttered again gleefully as "The Polly" made up to the wharf, and the whole population of Killykinick turned out to greet her,--even to Brother Bart, who had been reading his well-worn "Imitation" on the beach; and Neb, who, with the bag of potatoes he had just dug up, stood staring dumbly in the distance.

"Killykinick ahoy!" shouted dad, making a speaking trumpet of his hands.

"_Aye, aye_!" answered Captain Jeb, with his crooked smile. "You're 'The Polly' of Beach Cliff. What's wanted, Mr. Forester? Clams or lobsters?"--for in these latter days Killykinick did something of a trade in both with the pleasure boats and cottages along the coast.

"Well, we don't like to call them either; do we, Polly?" laughed dad, as he stepped ashore, while the little girls crowded to the deck rail. "'The Polly' is sailing under petticoat orders to-day and is scouring the waters in search of four boys that, we understand, you have here at Killykinick."

"We have," answered Captain Jeb,--"or at least the Padre here has. They're none of mine."

"I am no Padre, as I've told ye again and again, Jeroboam," interposed Brother Bart. "I am only Brother Bartholomew from St. Andrew's College. And I have four boys here, but they've been under my eye day and night," he continued anxiously; "so, in God's name, what are ye after them for, sir? They have done ye nor yours no harm, I am sure."

"None in the world," said Mr. Forester quickly, as he saw his light speech was not understood. "I was only joking with Captain Jeb. My mission here, I assure you, is most friendly. Permit me to introduce myself, Brother Bar--Bar--Bartholomew--"

"Ye can make it Bart, sir, for short; 'most everyone does," said the good Brother, nodding.

"Then, Brother Bart, I am Mr. Pemberton Forester, of Beach Cliff. I am also known by the briefer and pleasanter name of this little lady's 'dad,' and it is in that official capacity I am here to-day. It seems this little girl of mine met your boys a few days ago at Beach Cliff, where they rendered her most valuable service."

"One--it was only one of them, dad!" corrected Miss Polly's silvery voice. "It was only Dan Dolan who caught my bird and--and--"

"Well, at all events, the acquaintance progressed most pleasantly and rapidly, as my daughter's acquaintance is apt to progress; and it resulted in an equally pleasant understanding that the four young gentlemen were to come to a little festivity we are giving in honor of Polly's birthday,--a garden party in our grounds, between the hours of six and nine. This is the occasion of our present visit, Brother Bart. Fearing that travelling facilities might not be at the young gentlemen's disposal, we have come to take them to Beach Cliff. If you would like to accompany them--"

"To a party, is it?" exclaimed Brother Bart, in dismay. "Me at a party! Sure I'd look and feel queer indeed in such a place." Brother Bart's glance turned from the fine boat to the gentleman before him; he felt the responsibilities of his position were growing perplexing. "It will be great sport for the boys, I am sure," he added; "and I don't like to say 'No,' after all yer kindness in coming for them. But how are they to get back?"

"Oh, we'll see to that!" answered Mr. Forester, cheerfully. "They will be home and safe in your care, by half-past ten,--I promise you that."

"Hooray!--hooray!" rose the shout, that the boys who had been listening breathlessly to this discussion could no longer repress.

There was a wild rush to the shining decks of "The Polly," and soon all her pretty passengers were helped ashore, to scramble and climb as well as their dainty little feet could over the rocks and steeps of Killykinick, to wonder at the gardens and flowers blooming in its nooks and crannies, to peep into cow house and chicken house, and even old Neb's galley,--to explore the "Lady Jane" from stem to stern in delighted amazement.

Nell and Gracie, who were a little older than their cousin, took possession of Jim and Dud; their small brother Tad attached himself to Freddy, who was about his own age; while Polly claimed her own especial find, Dan, for escort and guide.

"Oh, what a queer, queer place!" she prattled, as, after peering cautiously into the depths of the Devil's Jaw, they wended their way to safer slopes, where the rocks were wreathed with hardy vines, and the sea stretched smiling into the sunlit distance. "Do you like it here, Dan?"

"Yes: I'm having a fine time," was the cheery answer, for the moment all the pricks and goads forgotten.

"Are you going to stay long?" asked Miss Polly.

"Until September," answered Dan.

"Oh, that's fine!" said his small companion, happily. "Then I'll get dad to bring me down here to see you again, Dan; and you can come up in your boat to see me, and we'll be friends,--real true friends. I haven't had a real true friend," said Miss Polly, perching herself on a ledge of rock, where, in her pink dress and flower-trimmed hat, she looked like a bright winged butterfly,--"not since I lost Meg Murray."

"Lost her? Did she die?"

"No," was the soft sighing answer. "It was much worse than that. You see" (Miss Polly's tone became confidential), "it was last summer, when I had the whooping cough. Did you ever have the whooping cough?"

"I believe I did," replied Dan, whose memory of such minor ills was by no means clear.