CHAPTER I
_In which Clarence Esmond places himself in the hands of the Bright-eyed Goddess of Adventure, and is entrusted by that Deity to the care of a Butcher’s Boy._
On a morning early in September, the sun was shining brightly upon thevillage of McGregor. Nestled in a coulée between two hills, one risingsquarely and rock-ribbed, lacking only the illusion of windows to giveit the appearance of a ruined castle, the other to the northwest,sloping gently upwards, and crowned at the summit with a number ofvillas, McGregor, running down to the Mississippi River, was as pretty atown as Iowa could boast.
On this bright particular morning, an overgrown youth was sitting on theboat-landing, his feet dangling above the water, his face gloomingdarkly. Master Abe Thompson, age sixteen, was troubled in spirit.
He was homeless. He had lost his position, that of a butcher’s boy, justa little after sunrise. It arose out of a difference of seventy-fivecents in the butcher’s accounts. Abe had been told under penalty ofhaving “his face shoved in” never to darken the doors of thebutcher-shop again. At the tender age of twelve Abe had left his homeunostentatiously and without serving notice, and ever since had spenthis time in losing jobs up and down the river. The trouble with Abe wasthat he never could resist “obeying that impulse,” no matter what thatimpulse might be. He had been blessed, if one may say so, with anobedient mother and an indifferent father. The discipline of the publicschool which Abe was supposed to attend might have done something forthe boy had he been present for so much as six days hand-running. ButAbe had early made a successful course in the art of dodging duty. Hewas by way of joining that vast army of the unemployed who are theornament of our country roads in summer and of our back alleys inwinter. Abe was entitled to graduate with honors in the ranks of thosewho have learned the gentle art entitled “How not to do it.” At thepresent moment Abe Thompson was in darkest mood. His soul just now wasfit for treasons, stratagems, and spoils. His gloomy eyes moved vacantlyover the waters shimmering in the sun. Suddenly his air of listlessnessdisappeared, his eyes grew tense. Among the boats around the landing wasone small skiff riding high on the water, in which (for some people willbe careless) lay a pair of oars and a paddle.
Abe was still gazing at this boat and its contents with greedy eyes whenthere came upon his ears the sound of a sweet, piercing soprano voice,giving, to whoso should wish to hear, the ineffable chorus of an almostforgotten music-hall melody:
“Ta-ra-ra-boom-de-ay, Ta-ra-ra-boom-de-ay, Ta-ra-ra-boom-de-ay, Ta-ra-ra-boom-de-ay!”
Abe turned to discover coming blithely down street—the one streetrunning through McGregor—a gay lad of about fourteen years of age,dressed in an immaculate white sailor-suit. The approaching youth waswalking, skipping, and jumping in such wise that it was hard to definewhat he was doing at any particular moment. He was rather small for hisyears, but apparently of muscle all compact. Gracefulness characterizedhis wildest and most impetuous motions. He was a perfect blonde, and hishair, bobbed after the fashion of little girls of ten or eleven, gavehim a somewhat feminine aspect, further emphasized by his cream-and-rosecomplexion. A close observer, studying his pretty features, might indeedhave inferred from his tip-tilted nose and his square chin that theyoungster was not safely to be treated as a mollycoddle. Abe was not aclose observer.
“I say,” he broke out, as the pretty boy drew near, “what sort of alingo is that you’re giving us? You don’t call that American, do you?”
“Good morning, fair sir,” replied the boy, raising his sailor hat andbowing elaborately, “may I have the pleasure of your acquaintance?”
“What lingo was that you was a-singing?”
“The language, fair sir, of adventure.”
Abe frowned, and spat into the river.
“Permit me,” continued the newcomer, “to introduce myself. I have thehonor of informing you that my name is Clarence Esmond. What is yours?”
“I’m Abe Thompson. What are you looking for this morning?” continuedAbe, as he noticed that Clarence was gazing longingly at the craftmoored at the river’s edge.
“Who?—me?” queried the debonair youth. He drew himself erect, threwback his head, raised his eyes, and with a dramatic gesture continued:“I am looking for the bright-eyed goddess of adventure!”
“Oh, talk American!”
“I will, gentle youth. I am looking for fun; and if something happens,so much the better.”
“Do you want to go anywheres?”
“I want to go everywhere. I’d like to be on the ocean, running a liner;I’d like to be a cowboy, dodging Indians; I’d like to be a soldier inthe trenches, and a sailor in a submarine. In fact, I’d like to beeverywhere at the same time.”
“You can’t do that, you boob,” said Abe with strong disfavor on hisrugged face.
“I am one of those fellows,” continued Clarence, “who wants to eat hiscake and have it.”
“Oh, jiminy!” roared Abe, breaking into a loud laugh, “you want to eatyour cake and you want to have it at the same time?”
“That’s it exactly. I want to eat my cake, and at the same time haveit.”
“Oh, jiminy! Why, do you know what you are?” asked Abe laughing withconscious superiority.
“Won’t you please tell me?”
“Why, you are an idiot, a plumb-born idiot.”
“Oh, am I?” and as Clarence asked the question his face beamed with joy.
“You sure are.”
“I suppose,” continued Clarence, “that you think I am one of those chapswho hasn’t got enough sense to come in out of the rain when it israining.”
“You’re the dumbdest idiot I ever met,” said the frank butcher’s boy.
“I guess you are right,” assented the lad beamingly. “Lots of peoplehave told me I am an idiot. And I never do come in out of the rain whenit is raining. I use a cravenette.”
“Oh, Lord!” cried Abe, all his crude humor stirred to scornful laughter,“what an awful ass you are!”
“Thank you so much,” answered Clarence glowing with delight. “It’s apleasure to meet a fellow who says just what he thinks.”
“Any more like you at home?”
“I happen to be the only child,” answered Clarence. “I am the light ofmy mother’s eyes. There are no others like me.”
“I should say not! Say, who let you loose?”
“That reminds me,” said Clarence, his smile leaving him. “I’ve got to beback at noon, and it’s nearly eight-thirty now. Say, do you know thisriver?”
“I should say I do. Do you want me to row you?”
“Is there any place around here worth seeing?”
“Sure! Pictured Rocks! Everybody goes there. It’s a mile down theriver.”
“Suppose I hire a boat, would you mind acting as my guide—salary, fiftycents?”
“I can do better than that,” said Abe, becoming all of a suddenobsequious. “That’s my boat down there—that little boat with theoars—and I’ll take you to Pictured Rocks and bring you back for onedollar. That’s fair enough, ain’t it?”
Abe was young and his imagination undeveloped. Had he been older, hewould have tried to sell the boat and a few houses nearest the riverbank, all together, for a slightly larger sum.
“That’s a go!” cried Clarence, running for the boat, jumping in andseating himself to row. “Come on quick. Cast off, old boy.”
The boat was locked to a post. Abe was accustomed to facing suchdifficulties. He broke the lock under Clarence’s unobservant eyes, and,shoving the skiff off and jumping in, seated himself in the stern.
“You row and I’ll steer,” he said, as he picked up the paddle.
Clarence dipped the oars into the water, and with a few strokes the twostarted down the river with the swift current. It was a beautifulmorning, clear and crisp. The river, a vast lake in width with islandsand inlets and lagoons and streams between the Iowa and the Wisconsins
hores, was dancing in the sunlight. Birds, late though the season was,made the air gay. On the Wisconsin shore the solemn hills, noble andvaried, stood sentinel over the smiling valleys of golden grain whichran almost to the river’s banks; on the Iowa side, a twin range camedown almost to the water. The river was clear and, despite the current,had all the appearance of a vast lake.
The air and the sunshine and the scenery entered into Clarence’s soul.
“Hurrah!” he cried, brandishing an oar. “All aboard to meet thebright-eyed goddess of adventure!”
And the bright-eyed goddess was not deaf to the summons of thethoughtless lad. The goddess was awaiting him. The meeting was to bevery soon, and the interview a long one. And it is because of themeeting that this veracious story is written.
Cupid of Campion Page 2
