Part 7

The blond youth's eyes twinkled. "If they touch our lares and penates, I agree to lead you against the Philistines, and we will smite them hip and thigh--and on the nose. How's that?"

"It's a promise," grunted Cloudman.

"Most sensible thing I've heard you say since we landed on Storm Island," said Red Phillips.

*CHAPTER XVI.*

*WHITE WINGS.*

With that understanding, the Walcott Hall lads sought their beds that night, and arose betimes in the morning. The sun was scarcely up when they were aboard the catboat and drifted out of the tiny cove in which she had been anchored.

They selected to have breakfast aboard and, as he knew very little about sailing a boat, Cloudman agreed to be the "doctor" during the cruise.

There is no more comfortable, roomy, or safe boat for her size than a cat, and, despite her broad beam, with a stiff breeze blowing, the _Spoondrift_ could walk the water in amazing fashion. Beside, Kingdon was skillful at sailing a craft of her kind.

"How did you learn so much about it, Rex?" asked Peewee Hicks.

"Sailed in pretty near every kind of a one-man or two-man dish all around the seven seas," declared Kingdon airily. "From a catamaran to an outrigger, or an Esquimaux kaiak, yours truly has tempted Father Neptune."

"Wish to goodness you'd be really serious once in a while, Rex," grumbled Midkiff. "Never know whether you're dreaming or just plain fibbing."

"There!" ejaculated Red Phillips. "Some rap that, Old Grouch; right in the solar-plexus."

"But you surely _have_ traveled, Kingdon?" put in Cloudman, who had come up from the low-roofed cabin to breathe.

"That used to be my middle name--before my father settled in Maine for the sake of mother's health, and went into the lumber game. Rexford Traveler Kingdon--that's me. Isn't it perfectly delightful to hear me boast like this? I'm so modest about it, what?"

"There's another sail over yonder," cried Peewee suddenly. "Is she heading in, too, Kingdon?"

"She's making a leg that way," announced the skipper. "Blackport Channel is narrow, but deep. We'll have to make about the same number of tacks as she'll make to get in. Another cat, too; but bigger than the _Spoondrift_."

"And a whole lot fancier," Red Phillips declared.

"See her canvas!" cried Peewee. "White as snow."

"And this old tub looks like a slop bucket," complained Midkiff.

"Handsome is as handsome does," laughed Kingdon. "We know how well the _Spoondrift_ acted the other day in that squall."

"She certainly spoke her little piece coming up from Boston," Red admitted.

"That other boat's going to cross our bow, Kingdon," Peewee announced excitedly.

"Don't you believe it, infant," was the prompt rejoinder.

"But she is, I tell you----"

"Watch out!" called Kingdon. He swung the tiller hard over and the _Spoondrift_ turned almost on her heel. The white spume flew across the decked-over bows into the cockpit, Cloudman getting about half a bucketful down the back of his neck.

"What do you think you're doing?" he yelled, leaping up.

"Hold on!" advised Red, choked with laughter.

The sail of the _Spoondrift_ caught and held every ounce of wind possible. She was shooting along, splashing through the waves with a lift of her nose that shook her from stem to stern.

"Hold on to what?" cried the Colorado lad, grabbing the edge of the centerboard well. "She's pitching like a wild bronco!"

"Stick to the saddle," chuckled Pewee. "You should like this."

"I do--like fun!" grumbled Cloudman. "Spilled my kettle of hot water. How can I wash greasy pans without hot water?"

"Let 'em stay greasy till the next meal. Then they're all ready to use again," Red suggested.

"We ought to have a dog," Peewee declared.

"What for?"

"Like the lazy woman's dog. She called it 'Three Waters' and when folks asked her if her dishes were washed clean, she always said, 'Just as clean as Three Waters can make them.'"

"That's an awful chestnut," Red said. "We'll have no such housekeeping as that. Better let 'em stay greasy."

Meanwhile the _Spoondrift_ was tearing through the jumping waves, with the wind in the most favorable quarter. The strength of the wind was increasing, too, and the _Spoondrift_ was distinctly a heavy-weather craft.

In saving her from being "cross-bowed" by her handsome rival, Kingdon had lost a bit on the length of that leg. Now the _Spoondrift_ rushed down toward the opening of the channel like a steam tug. As the other sailing craft was about to tack, the Walcott Hall boys crossed the stranger's bows.

So near were the two catboats that a biscuit might have been tossed from one to the other. No biscuits were tossed, but certain chaff was.

"Oh, you lubbers!" shouted a young fellow in a yachting cap, rising upon the forward deck of the strange catboat, and hanging to a stay for support. "Some sailors! Where are you from? What cart is that?"

There seemed to be half a dozen persons aboard the hailing craft, all young fellows. Kingdon answered the laughing challenge:

"_Spoondrift_, from Storm Island; Kingdon, skipper; bound in. What boat's that?"

"_Nothing To It_, Blackport Boat Club. My name's Yansey. Will see you fellows later. Some tub you got there."

"Tub!" flung back Peewee. "Like your nerve! We've got her entered for the International Cup Races."

"Sure you have. Tea cup races, you mean," gibed the other. "Come, now, get that old catamaran out of our way, so we don't fall over her. We're going to tack."

"Look like a lively lot," Red Phillips remarked as the _Spoondrift_ pulled ahead and got into the choppy channel.

"Blackport Boat Club boys. We ought to know them," Kingdon agreed. "I understand they've set up a fancy eight-oared shell, too. That's where we are weak, fellows."

"Where?" Midkiff asked.

"Rowing. Walcott Hall should pull as good an oar as any prep. school in the East. What do we do?"

"It's what the other schools have always done to us, not what _we_ do," sighed Red Phillips.

"Why is that?" demanded Cloudman, who knew little about boating of any kind.

"We never seem to develop good rowing material," Midkiff said.

"Don't go after it," Kingdon rejoined, with vigor. "Not as we do after football and baseball timber."

"Ain't that the truth?" drawled Peewee. "I'd like to see Old Hall set up a good eight-oared boat--I'd be cox."

"You're the right size--below your ears," said Red.

"If we had a shell," began Kingdon.

"Where? Here?" Midkiff demanded.

"Yes. Why not? Plenty of quiet water in that sound."

"But there aren't eight of us," squealed Peewee.

"More than eight on the island," Kingdon returned with a sudden grin.

"Jumping jacks!" Red exclaimed. "He's raving again. Thinks he can work those loafers over there on Storm Island into rowing material. Going to make a Christy Mathewson out o' that Horrors kid, too."

"Like fun he will!" said Cloudman, mockingly.

"What's the matter--jealous, Eat-'em-alive Jack?" drawled Kingdon. "Don't be narrow--don't! If we could put in some practice this summer----"

"Get up a crew and race these Blackport fellows, I suppose?" Midkiff asked, scowling.

"Your supposing is good, Jawn," observed Kingdom, shifting the tiller just a little so as to ship the cap of a wave that came inboard with a mighty splash and broke up the group of critics forward of the centerboard.

The _Spoondrift_ kept well ahead of the _Nothing To It_ through the channel. It was a fine day, and there were plenty of small sailing craft, as well as motorboats, astir on the ample bosom of Blackport Cove.

To the westward, toward the Beaches, was the anchorage of the Boat Club, where, if any inshore gale did hit them, the small fry would find no rocks to go ashore on.

The _Nothing To It_ wended her way to these moorings; the _Spoondrift_, with reefed sail, loafed in to a dock near the middle of the water-front.

Rex and Midkiff went up to a machine shop for the new engine parts and needed repairs. On their way back to the dock, the big fellow again tried to reason with his roommate.

"Why not send a letter while we're here to the Manatee Company, and tell them how the permit was lost?" he begged. "They'd give us another, wouldn't they? That Enos Quibb will be coming around again--and he isn't going to be put off so easy a second time. You can see that."

"Beautiful day, Midkiff," Kingdon observed, his head in the air.

"Don't you hear what I say?"

"We're going to have some job beating back against this wind--if she doesn't change."

"Hang it all, Rex! Come on! Take a fool's advice----"

"No, Jawn; I'm foolish enough myself. Why load up with an overstock of the same goods?"

"Hang it all!" ejaculated Midkiff again.

"Do, Jawn," Kingdon advised mildly. "Hang it all up--and forget it."

"You'd try the patience of a saint!"

"Don't know. Never knew one personally. You don't claim to have been canonized, do you, Jawn?"

Midkiff flung up his hands and fell silent.

*CHAPTER XVII.*

*AN OFF-SHORE BLOW.*

Before the two friends reached the dock an automobile drove across their path. There were several men in it, but Midkiff did not give the party any attention--being in a retrospective state of mind--until one of the men hailed Kingdon jovially.

"Ahoy, Rex! 'Ullo, boy! How's Rex Kingdon?"

The curly-haired lad looked up, with a smile, and waved his hand in response to the greeting as the automobile whisked away.

"Who's that?" Midkiff asked.

"Ahem!" coughed Kingdon, a twinkle in his eye. "A man who knows my father."

"Humph! He seemed to know your father's son, too," said the dark fellow, and then forgot the incident.

But there was somebody within sight and hearing of the occurrence who was not likely to forget it. The two Walcott Hall boys, however, went on down to the dock without marking the presence of this curious individual.

The fellow, who had said his name was Yansey, skipper of the _Nothing To It_, was sitting on the stringpiece of the wharf, swinging his legs and chaffing with the trio aboard the _Spoondrift_.

He was a smart-looking, cheerful lad, with the spirit of a sparrow--a friendly soul who even made Midkiff warm toward him. He hailed the latter and Rex as though he was an old friend.

"Say," he began on the blond chap, "I hear your name is Rex Kingdon?"

"Who told you so much?"

"These chaps here in the tub."

"Of course. They are devoted to the unadorned truth," said Kingdon whimsically. "You know, Old Till wants a chair of Truth endowed at Walcott Hall."

"Maybe he feels the need of one there?" suggested Yansey cheerfully.

"Don't be so dazzling! What have you come over here for--to try to get our angoras because you couldn't beat us out with that old log of wood you were attempting to sail?"

"Came because I fell in love with you all at first glance," returned Yansey, grinning up at the curly-haired lad. "Bet you can't say that of me."

"Your crew look like good sports," said Rex. "Come aboard?"

"Yes. If you'll sail me over to the clubhouse. I came on purpose for you fellows," explained Yansey. "It's almost lunch time, and we want you to eat with us. Got a darkey for a cook, and he makes a fine chowder--and apple pie! My eye!"

"Home made apple pie? Say not so!" croaked Red Phillips. "You make my mouth water like a hydrant."

"You can stuff yourself," assured Yansey. "What say?"

"Is this just a polite invitation, or is it a dare?" asked Kingdon.

"Dare you to come!" laughed Yansey, hopping down into the _Spoondrift_.

"We never take a dare," responded Kingdon.

"Never!" was the chorus from the other Walcott Hall lads.

"But you don't know what you are getting that darkey cook in for," Cloudman warned. "We haven't had a square meal since we left Boston."

The wind was shifting and unsteady as they sailed across the broad cove. "Hope it comes into the right quarter for us to get back easy on," Kingdon observed.

"Think we're in for a spell of weather?" Red asked Yansey, who was Blackport born and seemed to be weather wise.

"Shouldn't wonder. Though we don't often have anything out of the no'theast this time of year. Just the same, there's been bad wrecks along the coast in June. They keep the life-savers on the job through this month nowadays."

None of the visitors thought of the weather, however, when once they were ashore at the boathouse. It seemed to be a club including all ages and the owners of all manner of craft. But the youngsters had it to themselves just now, as it was too early in the season for their fathers to get away save on Saturdays.

The visitors looked over several of the better-sailing craft while dinner was preparing. Kingdon took up the eight-oared shell question with Yansey, and learned that in August there was always a race with two other boat clubs, and that the Blackport eight considered themselves to be a little the best oarsmen anywhere along the Maine coast.

"To be real modest," Yansey grinned, "there's nothing to it for the other eights. We've got the race cinched already."

"Modesty adorns you," Kingdon told him. "I can see that. Also, why you chose that name for your catboat, too."

"Right! There's nothing to it!" proclaimed the optimistic Yansey. "We've got a new shell, and we keep her greased. Wait till you see us out practicing some day. I'm stroke."

"What did you do with your old shell?" Kingdon asked, reflectively.

"It's for sale over yonder at the boat builder's. Good boat, too, though battered some. Come and see our new one."

Kingdon went, and said nothing more about the thought that had become fixed in his mind regarding the eight-oared shell race.

The Walcott Hall boys had a good time at the boat club; but they were delayed in getting away, and when the _Spoondrift_ ran down toward the Channel it was plain the wind had come around into the north and was blowing strongly. The sea outside was streaked with foam over the caps of the jumping waves.

"Guess your old wind's changed, all right," grumbled Peewee.

"We won't have to beat up against it _all_ the way back to the island," Rex responded with cheerfulness. "Keep up hope, infant. All is not lost."

"I don't want to lose everything," said Cloudman as the cat began to pitch in the choppy sea. "That apple pie was too good to waste."

"Stop that talk!" groaned Peewee, his hand upon his stomach.

Cloudman really suffered from seasickness before they got out into open sea. There the waves were less choppy, and the _Spoondrift_ rode them like a seafowl. It was easier on all hands.

But the wind increased in strength, and to beat up into the sound--which was all a-streak with foam and very blusterous to look upon--was really more of an undertaking than Kingdon cared to tackle.

"We can do it all right. She's safe enough," Rex said to Midkiff. "But it will make rough going, Jawn--awful rough. These lubbers will be set on their ears."

"Never mind them. They'll feel better after it's all over."

"Unfeeling words, old boy. That's a narrow breach into our little cove where the camp is. Believe I'll go t'other side of the island."

"To the seaward side?"

"Right. The island will break the wind. I noticed one good anchorage, at least, over there. We can make it easily with the wind like this."

"You're the doctor," said Midkiff. "I suppose you know what you are about once in a blue moon."

"Your confidence in me almost brings the tears to my eyes. Shake a reef out of that sail, Jawn. We're going to run down wind for a long lap."

With this change in the sailing of the _Spoondrift_, Applejack and Peewee felt greatly relieved. With the wind practically astern, the catboat was less acrobatic in her motions. But when the high eastern point of the island began to draw in on their port quarter, the other fellows wanted to know where they were bound.

"What're you aiming to do, King?" asked Red Phillips. "Sail us clear over to Spain? You're heading that way."

"Get out your Spanish phrase book, and learn to speak the language with a pleasant accent," advised Kingdon, "if you think we're likely to reach that coast. Forewarned is forearmed."

"What do you mean, 'four-armed'?" grinned Red. "Think I am an _anthropoidean quadrumanous_ animal? Isn't that a good one? I learned it by heart after Old Yad suggested I might be one on occasion."

"I'd have had him arrested," Cloudman said, weakly. "Didn't know Yad could talk so mean to a fellow."

It was growing late when the catboat swung into the smoother patch of ocean south of the island. On their left, the surf roared far up the rocks and narrow beaches, and the swell, forerunning a storm, was quite apparent. The boat sailed on more even keel.

Kingdon pointed her for the sheltered gulf that indented the island coastline, which he had noticed when they battled with the squall the day they had reached Storm Island.

"We'll have to stay aboard all night, I suppose?" Cloudman groaned. "Oh, boy! _Terra firma_ for mine as soon as possible!"

"We might as well stay on the boat," Midkiff said. "No knowing what those other fellows have done to our camp."

"Cheerful, aren't you, Jawn?" chuckled Kingdon.

At that moment Peewee Hicks seemed suddenly to have a brainstorm. He had crept forward and was standing, hanging to a stay, looking off at the tumbling sea east of the island. Now he began to dance and yell.

"Come down out of that!" ordered Red Phillips. "What are you--going crazy? That's no place to be fox-trotting."

"Look there! See 'em! There's going to be a mess now."

"What do you mean?" questioned Red, climbing gingerly upon the deck to get a glimpse of what Peewee evidently saw.

The bulging sail shut out Rex Kingdon's vision. He called to know the cause of the disturbance. Red Phillips turned a perfectly pallid countenance to the stern, shouting:

"Canoes! Blown off shore, I guess. Two fellows in each, Rex. What will we do about it?"

*CHAPTER XVIII.*

*"THE HAPPY FAMILY."*

"It's that Horrors kid and his chums," Cloudman cried. "They're in for it, I reckon!"

"They're _out_ for it, you mean," Midkiff said.

"What can we do?" wailed the dancing Peewee. "They're trying to paddle back to the island."

"Right into the eye of the wind," said Phillips, who now had a good view of the two canoes.

"They'll be drowned!" declared little Hicks.

"Easy there, Midget," Kingdon requested. "Don't weep yet. Steady, you fellows. I'm going to wear ship. Give me the course, Red."

"You're sure not going to run down to them, Kingdon?" questioned Cloudman.

It looked dangerous to him. Even Midkiff said:

"Better look before you leap, Rex."

"Pshaw! As our Blackport friend says, 'There's nothing to it!' We can reach 'em all right--without shipping a capful of water."

"Yes," Midkiff muttered. "But can we get back to the island again?"

Kingdon did not answer that question. He knew he had a sound craft under him. A catboat of merely the _Spoondrift's_ length has run many a mile out to sea and lived through an offshore gale; but it wasn't a chance he fancied, and Kingdon fully felt the responsibility of taking the risk. Nevertheless, he could not think of letting those other fellows drown.

Drown they might unless they received immediate aid. Under the lift of the boom, Rex caught a glimpse of the two canoes. One fellow in each was paddling madly while his companion was bailing out the water shipped from the curling top of every wave.

It was a bad outlook for Horace Pence and his friends. Undoubtedly they had been fishing off the eastern point of Storm Island when the wind shifted. If that was so, then for nearly two hours the boys had been battling to get back to safety.

"Careless goats," Kingdon said to Midkiff, who stood beside him. "They ought never to have brought such dinky craft out here. Canoes are all right in the sound when it's quiet; but to try to manage a canoe out here, with the surf running the way it does on this south shore of Storm Island, is craziness."

"Guess they know all that now," grunted Midkiff.

"True for you, Jawn. Stand by to give them a hand. Save the canoes if you can. I've got to run her in between the two, and you and Red will each have to handle one of the cockleshells."

"Cockleshells. Now you've said a bushel, Rex," Midkiff rejoined. "Those fellows ought to be at home sailing chips on a puddle."

"They're putting up a plucky fight, just the same," Kingdon said, peering ahead. "Take your place. Speak to Red. Stand by the sheet to lower!" he bellowed.

"Aye, aye, skipper!" Phillips shouted back.

"Come aft here, Peewee, and help Cloudman pull 'em over the side. Keep your wits about you, Applejack."

"Oh, thank ye!" grunted the boy from the West. "I didn't spill them back there in that choppy channel."

Carried on by her own momentum, the _Spoondrift_ shot in between the two canoes. The struggling boys paddling at the moment--Pence in one canoe and Pudge MacComber in the other--might have ceased their work, seeing the catboat so near, had not Kingdon shouted:

"Keep it up, you fellows! Stick to the paddle. We've got to snake those other fellows inboard first."

Cloudman and Peewee each seized their man, while Red and Midkiff, lying precariously themselves on the decked over portion of the catboat, got a grip on the gunwales of the canoes.

Ben Comas and Kirby were hauled into the cockpit; but each canoe shipped so much water it began to sink.

Pudge was frankly crying; but he tried to balance his boat and use the paddle on the starboard side. Pence's countenance wore its usual sneering smile. His black eyes flashed and his glance did not quail in the least.

"Awfully decent of you, Kingdon," he shouted. "Try to save the canoes, if you can."

"Scramble aboard!" commanded the skipper of the _Spoondrift_. "Never mind the canoes."

But Midkiff and Phillips did their part nobly. They hung onto the sinking craft until Horace Pence and Harry Kirby could aid in dragging both upon the deck of the catboat.

"Lash 'em there," commanded Kingdon. "Give us more sail. We've got to make headway against this breeze."

He had brought the _Spoondrift_ into the eye of the wind and, when a reef was shaken out, the sail got the breeze on such a slant that she staggered and rolled like a drunken man.

"Oh, Rex!" squealed the frightened Peewee. "You'll have us turned turtle!"

"Don't worry, infant," responded Kingdon. "You couldn't tip this old girl over. She's as safe as a house."

The plunging of the catboat made them all hang on for dear life. Pudge had stopped crying, and he showed a courage far superior to that of his cousin. Deathly pale, Ben Comas was accusing Horace of having dragged them all into this perilous adventure.

That Pence had elements of the right stuff in him was proved by what he said in return: "You keep that to yourself, Comas, or I'll chuck you over the side. Thank Kingdon and his friends--as I do. We'd all been by-low in a few moments if it weren't for them."

"Huh!" grunted Ben. "What chance have we now?"

"If we are to drown we'll go down with these fellows who have done their best to save us," Pence put in curtly. "Don't forget that. Let's be decent--or, as decent as we can be--if we really have got to drown."

Kingdon smiled at the black-browed fellow.

"You're improving, Horrors," he said. "But we're not going to be swamped. We'll pull through all right."

"You'll never get us safely around to the other side of the island with the wind this way," Kirby shouted.

"Am not going to try," retorted Kingdon, shrugging his shoulders. "But we'll be all right--in time."

"Yes we will!" sneered Ben Comas.

"Drop that, or I'll punch you!" threatened Horace Pence, edging over toward the coward.

"Nice crowd, aren't they?" said Red Phillips, happening to be near Kingdon. "They must get along fine together in that camp up there. Regular happy family, such as you see in the sideshows--what?"