Jim Spurling, Fisherman Part 50

XXIV

CROSSING THE TAPE

There was little sleep on Tarpaulin, either for rescuers or rescued, until the small hours of the morning. The cabin was crowded to its utmost capacity, as the fish-house was too cold for the drenched, wearied men. Filippo kept a hot fire going until long after midnight, and served out coffee galore. During his intervals of leisure he and Frank conversed in liquid Sicilian.

Outside, the storm roared and the surf boomed on the ledges about Brimstone; beyond in the blackness lay the wrecked _Barona_, hammering to pieces.

Gradually conversation ceased and the camp grew quiet. The boys and their unexpected guests, sandwiched closely together on the floor and in the bunks, drifted off into fitful slumber. But John P. Whittington's eyes remained wide open.

He was outstretched in Percy's bunk. His clothes hung drying before the stove, and he had on an old suit of Jim's, as nothing that Percy wore was large enough to fit his father's square, bulky figure. Beside him lay his son, sound asleep. John P. marveled at his regular breathing.

Occasionally he touched the lad with his hand.

All his thoughts centered about Percy. He could not but feel that this brown, wiry fellow who had saved his life was a stranger to him. He could see with half an eye that a great change had come over the boy during the summer; he had grown quieter, stronger, far more manly.

Yes, Percy had stuck. John Whittington had only half believed that he could or would; and he had spent a good many valuable hours worrying over what he should do with his son if he didn't stick. The result showed that all those hours had been thrown away; but somehow the millionaire couldn't feel very bad about the waste.

He began to wonder if Percy might not have done better in the past if his father had put in a little more time with him personally and spent less in mere money-making. He had tried to shift his responsibility off on somebody else, had hired others to do what he should have taken pains to do himself. That was a big mistake; John P. Whittington could see it plainly now. And it had come near being a pretty costly error for him, for Percy. Well, those days were over. Percy had turned squarely about and was doing better. Whittington, senior, determined to do better, too.

Little by little the gale blew itself out. By daybreak the sky was clear and the wind had gone down, but the high rollers still wreaked their wrath on the shattered yacht and thundered on the point. A fiery sun shot its red rays over the slumberers in the crowded cabin. Filippo roused yawningly, built the fire, and busied himself about breakfast.

Soon everybody was astir. The millionaire's clothes were now dry, and he dressed with the others. Save for a slight stiffness and a few bruises, he was all right.

After breakfast he went up on Brimstone with Percy and the others to take a look at the _Barona_. The steel hull lay on its side on the foaming reef, a battered, crumpled shape, sadly different from the trim yacht that had left New York so short a time before. A miscellaneous lot of wreckage was swashing in the surf at the base of the point, and Jim and some of the crew were salvaging what they could; but it was not very much.

Standing in safety on the promontory in the sunlight of the pleasant morning, John P. Whittington gazed long at the wreck.

"Well," he remarked at last to the captain, who stood beside him, "I guess I see where I'm out fifty or seventy-five thousand dollars. Might as well take my medicine without a whimper. It was all my fault. You wanted to run into Portland when the storm was making up, but I thought we'd better try for some port nearer the island. I've gotten so into the habit of having men do as I want them to that I thought the wind and sea would do the same. But I've learned they won't. It's been an expensive mistake, and it came altogether too near being more expensive still.

It's up to me to foot the bills. I'll make it all right with you and the crew and Sadler."

The sea was going down rapidly. A council was held. The Rockland boat would leave Matinicus at half past one, and, as Jim felt that the _Barracouta_ could easily make the run to the island, it was decided to send the crew back to New York that very day. The captain and the mate arranged to remain on Tarpaulin until a wrecking-tug from Boston should arrive.

Mr. Whittington, yielding to the persuasions of Percy and the invitation of the other boys, consented to take the first vacation of his life and stop with them a week or ten days, when their season on the island would close.

While the crew were preparing to embark, Filippo approached Jim with his newly found brother.

"I like to go with Frank," he said.

"Sorry to have you leave, Filippo," returned Jim. "But I know just how you feel, and I don't blame you a bit."

He called Stevens and Lane aside. Presently the latter went into the cabin and reappeared with a roll of bills. Jim handed them to the Italian.

"Here's one hundred dollars, Filippo, your share for your summer's work.

You've earned it fairly. If there's anything more coming to you, after we figure up, I'll send it on. What will your address be? We hope to see you again some time."

Filippo was overcome. Tears of grat.i.tude filled his eyes as he stammered his thanks. It was arranged that letters in the care of the Italian consul at Boston would always be forwarded to him.

Jim and Throppy took the departing party over to Matinicus on the _Barracouta_, getting them there in ample time for the Rockland steamer.

The sloop was back at Tarpaulin by four o'clock.

Meanwhile John P. Whittington had started on his vacation. Though his time ran into thousands of dollars a week, he felt he could profitably spend a little of it in getting acquainted with his boy. One of the first things his keen eyes noted was the absence of the cigarettes.

"Knocked off, eh, Percy? For how long?"

"For good, Dad!"

The millionaire suppressed a whistle; something had certainly struck Percy.

The next morning, his st.u.r.dy figure garbed in oilskins, he started out with his son and Jim for Clay Bank. He had to acknowledge that rising at midnight was a little early, even for a man accustomed to work as hard as he had always done.

Out on the shoal he was a silent but interested spectator while the trawl was being pulled and the fish taken aboard. An old swell was running, and he speedily discovered that seasickness was another thing his will could not master. That afternoon he watched Percy skilfully handle the splitting-knife and later do his part in baiting the trawl.

On the morning following he went out lobstering, and found as much to interest him as on the day before. Everything was new to him. He discovered that even a man experienced in big business can learn some things from boys. Soon his sleep at night was as sound as his son's.

He made a trip to Matinicus in the _Barracouta_, and talked prices with the superintendent of the fish-wharf and the proprietor of the general store.

"Have a bottle of lemon, Dad?" invited Percy.

Mr. Whittington was on the point of refusing; he did not care for soda.

On second thought, however, he drank it soberly.

Percy appreciated his father's acceptance of the proffered courtesy.

"It's the first time my money ever bought anything for you."

The experience was a novel one for them both.

Just after light one morning the wrecking-tug from Boston appeared. A brief examination of the _Barona's_ hull by a diver showed that the havoc wrought by the sea and rocks had been so great that but little of value could be saved. So the tug started back that very afternoon, and the captain and the mate of the yacht went with her.

The weather was now much cooler, and the boys were glad that their stay was to be short. Wild geese were honking overhead in V-shaped lines on their way south. Mr. Whittington accompanied the others on a gunning trip to Window Ledge, and came back with a dozen coots. He smacked his lips over the coot stew and dumplings prepared by Jim. Throppy dismantled his wireless and packed up his outfit to send away.

On their last Thursday at Tarpaulin Uncle Tom Sprowl came in on the smack with Captain Higgins. He had boarded the _Calista_ at York Island.

Everybody, including Nemo and Oso, was glad to see Uncle Tom. His rheumatism was fully cured and he was spry and chipper. He was more than satisfied with what the boys had accomplished during the summer, and he planned to continue lobstering after their departure.

He noted the change in Percy.

"Told Jim your son needed salting," he confided to Mr. Whittington.

"He's all right now."

The afternoon before they were to leave the island Roger reckoned up his accounts. They showed that after Uncle Tom's share had been deducted, Spurling & Company had a thousand dollars to divide. Of this, one hundred dollars had already been paid to Filippo.

Lane handed Percy one hundred and fifty dollars.

"I don't want him to take that," objected Mr. Whittington.

"We shouldn't feel right if he didn't," said Jim.