Harper's Round Table, July 30, 1895 Part 1

Harper's Round Table, July 30, 1895.

by Various.

JOE'S SCHEME.

BY J. SANFORD BARNES, JUN.

The sharp crackling of the gravel, and the sound of a horse's hoofs coming up the driveway which led to the Thompsons' house, told Joe that Ned was going to be as prompt as he always was when the two boys had made any appointment, so he dropped his book, and ran to the door just as a neat little buckboard pulled up at the doorstep.

"h.e.l.lo, Ned!" said Joe; "just on time. I knew that was you the moment I heard the rig turn in the gate. Wait till I get my hat and I'll drive to the stable with you. Say, will you stay to lunch? Jerry'll take care of him," he nodded toward the little roan, and disappeared in the doorway.

In a moment he was back again, and jumping in with Ned they spun off to the stable, where Jerry, the coachman, promised to see that Tot should get his full measure of feed at noon.

"Now, to work," said Joe, "and after lunch we'll start off for the lake.

Just you wait till you've heard my scheme, and you'll think it a dandy; see if you don't."

"Well, what is it?" said Ned. "There's no use keeping it to yourself forever."

"Come up in the workshop, for we've got to spend the rest of the morning there, and I'll tell you all about it."

The boys on leaving the stable turned down towards the farm barns, where in one of the vacant rooms Mr. Thompson had fitted up a neat little carpenter shop for his son. In one corner was a first-cla.s.s lathe for all kinds of wood-turning, and across the room was a long carpenter's bench with all the appliances complete, while over in one of the other corners was what remained of Joe's first scroll-saw, rather dilapidated and cheap-looking now, but still of some service. Joe would not have parted with it even if he did not use it, for with it he developed his first love for carpentry, which had finally led to the present shop.

"Now look here," said Joe; "my scheme is the simplest in the world; it's a plan to catch those ba.s.s in Laurel Lake which we can't get any way we've tried so far. It isn't the bait. Jingo! we've tried everything, from gra.s.shoppers, dobsons, and live bait down to worms; they just look at it, and then look up at the boat over their heads, and scoot.

Remember that monster we saw off Sea Lion last Tuesday? What would you give to get him, eh?"

"What would I give? Why, Joe, he's the biggest ba.s.s in that lake. I'd give--now, let me see," said Ned, scratching his head as he turned it from one side to the other; "I'd be willing to throw my new rod in the lake and stop fishing the rest of the summer."

"So would I," said Joe. "But look here, just get that cross-cut saw and help me get this plank so that we can get at it, and I'll explain as we go along." Joe measured off on the board ten divisions of eight inches each, and started sawing across the first line. "Now, you see," said he, "what I propose is that we take each of these ten pieces, cut up that old line of mine into lengths of about eight or nine feet, and then--see? Isn't that easy? The beauty of it is that we have a chance in ten different places; just string them along the sh.o.r.e, leave them, and while we wait jump in and play fish ourselves off Baldwin's Cliff; we can easily watch the floats from there. Catch?"

Ned had been listening eagerly, and approved the scheme heartily, only wondering why it had not occurred to them before. When Joe finished, Ned raised the question of bait, but was put off by Joe's saying there would be time enough to get all the gra.s.shoppers and crickets they wanted, and maybe a few frogs, so they went to work, coats off, and sleeves rolled up in a businesslike manner. In the course of an hour or more they had that part of the work all done, and a short time afterwards they started up to the stable with their arms full of their invention, and deposited it complete in the box under the seat of Ned's buckboard.

"Now for bait," said Joe; "you take this box and keep along by that old stone wall and look sharp for crickets. There are lots of old boards and stones there; turn them all over and you'll get enough. I'll stick to this field and get the 'hoppers."

They separated, and were soon hard at work, both using their hands to catch the wily bait; Ned said he never had any luck with 'hoppers or crickets that were caught with a b.u.t.terfly net. After an hour they decided they had enough, and turned down toward a small stream which ran through the meadow, and got a dozen or more frogs, and so complete in all the details of their plan they came into the house and sat down to lunch. It seemed to both the boys entirely too long, and Joe fidgeted so much that his father noticed it, and tried to find out what the cause was.

"No, nothing's the matter, only we want to hurry up and get to the lake.

We've got a scheme, and later we're going to have a swim."

"What is it, Joe?" said Mr. Thompson. "What's up? You're not going to catch that Jonah's whale you told me about with dynamite or anything like that, are you? You had better try putting salt on his tail," he added, jokingly, and he quietly pa.s.sed the salt-cellar to Joe. "Come, fill your pockets; you'll need it."

Now it might as well be said right here that Mr. Thompson owned many a fine split bamboo rod, and two or three beautiful guns, and that there were pictures of partridges and woodc.o.c.k in his den. Two fishing pictures in particular, which had always been Joe's delight, hung near the door, one of a great trout rolling up to take a fly as it skimmed the surface of the water, while the other, its mate, was of a fine small-mouthed ba.s.s clearing the water, and shaking himself in the air in his efforts to break away from the hook which had tempted him. In fact, Mr. Thompson was a sportsman of the truest kind. Little did Ned and Joe know how near he came to adding set lines to dynamite when talking seriously before he mentioned the salt. If he had been told "the scheme"

this story would never have been written, but the boys went off unaware of what Mr. Thompson's views were on the method they had devised to try the ba.s.s in Laurel Lake. They took their rods and bait, of course, but kept mum about what was rattling under the seat as Jerry drove Tot up to the door.

A mile and a half and they turned in at old Farmer Sayre's, hitched and blanketed the pony, and with their variety of equipment went down to the sh.o.r.e of the lake, where their boat was made last.

"Go ahead, Ned, you row," said Joe; "we'll get there quicker, and I'm most crazy to see how she works; aren't you?"

"You bet," replied Ned. "Shove off. Let fall," he added, giving himself part of the orders he had picked up but a week before, while on a visit to a friend on the Sound. "Give way; how's that for nautical, Joe?"

"Never mind nautical," said Joe; "git there is what we want. _One_, two--now, now!" He grunted out each word to help Ned, who was pulling with all his might, and the light little boat jumped ahead at each stroke.

Around the point, which formed the bay in which the boat was kept, on the sh.o.r.e, but partly hidden by the trees, was an old, rather dilapidated ice-house; it was called that by courtesy, for it was no house at all; it had no roof--it never had one--but it was used once to store ice in, and the fishing-ground along the sh.o.r.e in front of it had always been designated by the boys as "off the ice-house." Ned and Joe claimed to themselves that they alone knew of the existence of a certain ledge which ran for some distance parallel to the sh.o.r.e, but much farther out than the average fisherman would think of dropping anchor.

As they approached the place, in order to get the right spot to leave the first float, which had a choice fat frog wriggling at the end of the line, Ned slowed down and began to row quietly. He got a certain stump on a point of land in line with the roof of a barn way back on the hill-side, and was watching for the cross-line, a clump of bright willows with a scraggly dead tree some distance behind them.

"Whoa, slowly," said Joe, who was also watching. "There! hold her, and I'll let him go. There, my fine friend," he added, addressing the frog; "good-by to you and good luck to us. Now, a stroke or two: there, let her slide! And to you, Mr. Hoppergra.s.s, good-by, and good-luck." He gently dropped the line over the side, and, so with the others, all had a farewell given them as they were dropped over at intervals. Then the boys rowed on towards Baldwin's Cliff, keeping their eyes on the small floats as they left them bobbing under and over the tiny waves.

About four o'clock Ned and Joe had had enough swimming and diving, and fetching white stones from the bottom; they had been in, as was usually the case, too long, yet both wanted to stay in longer. Nothing had happened, as far as they could see, to their floats, and they felt keenly disappointed. They had hardly noticed that the clouds were gathering over the hills, and that the wind had risen so that little white caps had sprung up, and were dancing in towards sh.o.r.e. But a low mutter of thunder startled them, and they saw now no way but to adopt a means for shelter which they had followed before to keep dry.

"Hurry up, Ned," said Joe; "make for the boat; that storm's a dandy, and coming like thunder, too. It's pouring at the end of the lake already."

The boys put for the boat as hard as they could, and a moment later had her beached and rolled over, and their clothes snugly tucked away under perfect shelter.

"Here she is!" they both cried at the same moment, as the rain started to come down in large noisy drops, and the wind caught the spray from the water and whirled it along in sudden gusts.

"Let her rain," said Joe; "but doesn't that sting your back, it does mine; and that wind's cold, too. I'm going to swim out a way, the water's warmer than here."

So Joe plunged in and swam out from the sh.o.r.e.

Ned watched him as he paddled around in the deep water; he did not exactly like the idea. The whole scene, with the dark lowering clouds, broken now and then by the jagged streaks of lightning, each one followed by a sharp and startling smash and roar, made him shiver, and the large drops and an occasional hailstone made him skip around on the beach. The situation was exciting, though, and Joe, now quite a way out, felt the tingles creep through him. Finally, as Ned was still watching Joe, he saw him start forward with the overhand Indian stroke, making straight for the middle of the lake. He put his hands to his mouth and shouted:

"Say, Joe! come back here! Don't be a fool; come back!"

Joe paid no attention; he did not hear the call, which was carried back into the woods by the gusts of wind; he kept on straight ahead, swimming as though in a race.

Ned turned and looked at the boat and then at Joe. "I know what's the matter," he said, aloud; "he's seen one of the floats way out there, and he's after it; but he can't stand it, I know he can't; he'll be all tired out when he gets there, and then when he has to tread water and play that fish--" Here he stopped, and gave a long low whistle. "By jingo! he must be a monster! why, he's towed that float nearly a hundred yards dead against this sea. No, sir! Joe can't do it, and here goes for wet clothes to get home in."

Ned had hardly finished speaking, and inwardly calling Joe some hard names for his foolishness, when he heard a cry from the water:

"Ned, oh, Ned! he's a whale! Hurry with the boat; I'm tuckered! Hurry!"

The last call to hurry was rather faint, and sounded almost as bad to Ned as if it had been "help" that Joe had cried; it made his heart leap in his throat.

"Let go the line," Ned cried back, "and keep your head, and I'll be there in a moment."

Again the words were lost in the wind, and Joe continued his struggle.

In his excitement he felt that letting go that line would be like cutting it, and he hung on, now thrashing and splashing as the fish started to twine the line around his legs, and the sharp points of his fins p.r.i.c.ked him. It was a case of the fish playing Joe, a pretty even struggle, but Joe was game and bound to have him. He did not appreciate that his strokes and kicks to keep his head up over the choppy surface of the lake were leaving him weaker and weaker.

As Joe turned his head a moment towards sh.o.r.e he saw Ned pulling towards him with all his strength; a moment later a wave struck him full in the face and caught him with his mouth open; he gulped and choked, and again started thrashing and struggling to gain his breath, but all he could do was to give a feeble cry of "help," then he sank out of sight, holding fast to the line.

Ned heard the faint cry, and turned as he rowed against the storm, which was now luckily falling as quickly as it had come up. The only thing he saw was the small piece of board tip up on its side and disappear.

"Thank goodness he had hold of that line!" murmured Ned. "Now brace yourself," he added, aloud, "and keep cool, keep cool, keep cool."

It seemed to Ned that he said those words a thousand times; he was right on the spot, and was standing and waiting. The strain was something awful. He knew a good deal about swimming and about its dangers, and knew that a person had to come up twice, and that the third time down was down for good. He thought that Joe had not called before, yet he could not tell; but there was only one thing to do--wait, and, as he had said, "keep cool."

Ages and ages seemed to pa.s.s as Ned, shivering and pale, strained his eyes to see the block of wood appear again. Suddenly he caught a glimpse of the bit of wood slowly rising close by the side of the boat, and below it, as it came up zigzagging to the surface, he saw the white body following. It was a lucky thing that a stout trolling-line had been used in the scheme, for Ned reached far over the gunwale and firmly seized the line, then gently and steadily pulled the heavy weight to the surface. There were no signs of life in Joe's limp body; his cramped hand held the line twisted about his fingers, his eyes were closed, and his mouth half open.

Ned grasped the wrist which appeared first, and drew Joe along towards the bow of the boat, so that there would be no chance of capsizing. He lay out flat over the bow and held Joe under the arms, keeping his head well out of water, and waited. There was nothing to be done now but _wait_; no one was in sight, and shouting would have done no good, so he held on in his cramped position and watched the boat get a little headway in drifting towards sh.o.r.e, driven by the light wind. The sun had come out again, and blue patches of sky were appearing through the fast-flying clouds.