Green Eyes

by Roy J. Snell

  "Ever hear how this cabin came here?" Tillie asked.

  "No," Florence replied quickly.

  "It's sort of interesting. I'll tell you."

  "Oh! Please do!"

  "This," Tillie began, "was once the cabin of a ship."

  "It looks the part," replied Florence. "But where are the portholes?"

  "Someone has covered them." Tillie stepped to the wall, fumbled for ashort time with a fastening, then swung back a section of the panelingwhich was, in reality, a small door, revealing a circle of brass framinga glass.

  "But why a ship's cabin on land?" Florence's face took on a puzzledfrown.

  "It was all on account of old Captain Abner Jones. His ship was wreckedon the shoals near Goose Island. She was the 'Mary C,' just a freighter,but a good strong one.

  "Captain Abner Jones had her for his first command. She was his last,too. He lived in this cabin and sailed the Great Lakes for thirty-fiveyears.

  "Then, when she struck one stormy night, through no fault of his, herefused to leave her. All through the storm he stuck there, though shewas half torn to pieces. When the storm was over, his men went out to gethim.

  "Still he wouldn't come. 'No, men. Much obliged all the same,' he toldthem. 'You've been a good crew. You'll find other berths. But mine'shere. I'll never leave this cabin.'

  "The men went aside. I've heard my father tell it lots of times. Theytalked it over. They loved their old skipper. They knew the next stormwould do for the ship, and him, too, if he stayed. So they made a plan.

  "'All right, Cap,' the first mate said, when they had come back to him,'you have your way. And we'll have ours, too. Give us a day, mebby two,and we'll put this cabin in a safe place.'

  "'Meanin' what?' the captain asked.

  "'That we'll set the cabin ashore, and you in her.'

  "I guess the captain saw they were too strong for him, so he let themhave their way.

  "They took a lot more than two days. You see what a neat job they did.Why, there's even a hold to the place! They built it of ship's timbers."

  "A hold!" Florence stared at her.

  By way of answer, Tillie began rolling up the canvas that covered thefloor. When she had done this, she pried up a plank, then another. Nextshe sent the gleam of a flashlight into the dark depths below.

  "Sure enough, a real hold!" exclaimed Florence.

  "And there's a trunk!" Tillie, too, was surprised. "How long do yousuppose it's been there?"

  "Not long. See! The copper is not tarnished. It's her trunk." She spokeof the lady cop.

  "It must be. But such a queer trunk!"

  It was indeed an unusual bit of baggage. Made of some very hard tropicalwood, it was bound by broad bands of copper. Strangest of all were itsstraps. They were four inches wide and fully three quarters of an inchthick.

  "What monster has a hide like that?" Tillie asked in amazement.

  "A walrus or an elephant."

  "It's empty."

  "Quite naturally. One does not leave one's things in a trunk in a cellarlike this."

  "But it's wide open."

  "That's a bit strange."

  "It's all strange. A woman with a trunk like that!"

  For a moment they stood there, staring down into that dark chasm.

  "Tell you what!" exclaimed Tillie at last. "I've got an idea!"

  Tillie was given to having ideas. Some of them were quite wild, forTillie was more than half wild herself.

  "Let's steal her trunk!" she cried, clapping her hands.

  "That," said Florence in some disgust, "seems a dumb idea."

  "Not so dumb as you think. Listen. Day before yesterday I brought thelady cop a small bag of balsam tips; you know, the green end of twigsthat smell so swell."

  "Yes?"

  "She took one sniff of them, then threw up her hands and said, 'I'd likea trunk full, a whole trunk full to take home to my friends, for makingpillows.'

  "We'll steal her trunk and hide it in the woods. We'll fill it withbalsam tips. Turkey Trot and I will bring it back. She'll drop dead whenshe sees it. She'll never know it's been gone until she sees the balsamtips. Come on. Give me a hand. She'll be back pretty soon. We'll justhide it in the brush until we go home. Then we'll carry it over to yourpoint."

  Florence, though not fully convinced of the wisdom of such high-handedproceedings, was quite carried away by Tillie's bubbling enthusiasm. Inless time than it takes to tell it, the trunk was up from the dark holeand away to the brush, the planks down again, the canvas spread smoothlyin place.

  They were not a moment too soon. Shaking the rain from her coat, the ladycop came breezing in.

  "It's glorious!" she enthused. "Even in the night and the rain. I hate toleave it all. But I fear I must. Very soon."

  This last remark sent a chill running up Florence's spine. But she saidnever a word.

  CHAPTER XX 13-13 AND OTHER SIGNS

  "Look at this cabin!" The lady cop's voice was filled with consternationas she spoke. Florence and Tillie could only stand and stare. The ladycop's room was a wreck. She had gone out before dawn; had been gone anhour, had picked up Florence and Tillie on her way back, and now this!

  Florence had never seen such a roomful of confusion. Table upside down,chairs overturned, clothing scattered everywhere, broken glass from thetransom overhead, the canvas torn up, a gaping hole where the imitationship's hold was; such was the scene upon which she gazed in the utmostastonishment.

  "You know," said Tillie in a tone that was both serious and solemn, "wegirls didn't do that."

  "Of course not, child!" The lady cop laughed in spite of herself. "Forall that, I know who did it. And soon enough they shall have their pay.

  "I know, too, what it was they wanted. And they--" The lady cop advancedto the center of the room to cast one glance to the void below, "and theygot it!"

  "Wha--what was it they wanted?" Florence managed to stammer. She knew theanswer, but wanted it from the lady cop's lips.

  "My trunk."

  "Your trunk! Why should they want that? It was--" She checked herself intime.

  The lady cop gave her a sharp look, but proceeded to answer her questionas well as she might.

  "The truth is, I don't know why they wanted that trunk," she began. "Theyhave wanted it for a long time. Now that they have it, I hope they aresatisfied. I can get a tin one down at the store for a few dollars. Andit, I hope, will contain no secrets."

  "Secrets!" Florence wished to tell her own secret, that the mysterioustrunk was safely locked up in a hunting cabin back in the woods where sheand Tillie had carried it through the rain and the dark. She did notquite dare.

  "That trunk," said the lady cop, up-ending a chair and dropping into it,"has been the most spooky thing you ever saw.

  "My cousin bought it for me at a police auction sale."

  "A police auction sale!" Tillie stared at her hard.

  "Once a year the police department sells all the lost, stolen andunclaimed articles that have come into its keeping. You'd be surprised atthe variety of articles sold there; electric drills, oriental rugs,watches, knives, burglars' tools, suitcases full of silks--everything.

  "This trunk was in the sale. It was filled with a lot of worthlessclothing. But my cousin bought it for me. It was such an unusual affair.Teakwood, heavy copper, walrus hide. You wouldn't understand unless yousaw it."

  Florence and Tillie exchanged significant glances.

  "This cousin of mine is a queer chap," the lady cop went on. "He's alwaystrying to break up superstitions. Belongs to a Thirteen Club formed inhis academy days. Thirteen fellows lived in a building numbered 1313.Table always set for thirteen, whether they were all there or not. Suchthings as that.

  "Now every year on the thirteenth day of a month, Friday if possible,they have a banquet. Six of the thirteen are dead. Four met violentdeaths. Yet they keep it up. Thirteen places set. Seven seats filled. Sixvacant.

  "Makes you sh
udder to think of it. But he loves it.

  "He bought this trunk because a crook had owned it. That's supposed tobring bad luck.

  "He hadn't got half way home with it before someone dragged it off thetruck. He crowned the fellow with half a brick and retrieved the trunk.

  "He took it home. That night he woke up to see it disappearing out of thewindow. When he fired a shot through the window the trunk paused in itsjourney and he took it back.

  "Then, because I am a policewoman, he presented it to me. And here--hereit is not. They got it at last!"

  Once more the two girls exchanged glances. They said never a word.

  "Queerest part of it all is," the lady cop concluded, "the thing waschuck empty!

  "But come on!" she exclaimed, springing up. "Let's get this placestraightened out. Then we'll fry some bacon."

  "Shall we tell her?" Tillie asked in a low tone as she and Florencewalked down the little dock half an hour later.

  "I don't know. Not just yet." Florence's face took on a puzzled look. "Ifthat trunk has such wandering ways, perhaps it's safer where it is. Doesanyone go to that hunting shack?"

  "Not this time of year."

  "And no one besides us knows where the trunk is, and we won't tell."

  "Cross my heart!"

  "See you this afternoon," Tillie added. "We're going fishing."

  "Are we?"

  "You know it! Got to work this forenoon. Can go after dinner. And boy!Will there be fishing!

  "You know," she added with all the wisdom of an old timer, "after a threedays' storm is the very best time to fish. When it is sunny and still,the fish lay round and get lazy; too lazy to eat. A storm stirs 'em up.Watch 'em bite this P. M. So long!" She went skipping away.

  CHAPTER XXI "FISHIN'"

  Youth is the time of life when perils, sorrows and battles are soonforgotten; when joy persists, and the anticipation of some fresh thrillis ever uppermost in the mind. As they started on the proposed fishingtrip rather late that afternoon, Tillie, to all appearances, hadforgotten her battle with the children of a rich city gambler. Thesplendid black bass they had captured, the memory of the thrill of thechase, was still with her.

  "Do you know," she said to Florence, "I think the other two bass arelarger, much larger? Perhaps one is a five pounder.

  "We are going to have a grand time!" she enthused. "There are two bigmuskies lurking in those weeds. I saw them once. They may strike to-day."

  "You don't think those hateful people will come back?" Florence wrinkledher brow.

  "Guess we gave 'em enough!" Tillie clipped her words short.

  "You said they'd ruin you."

  "Mebby they can't." Tillie's strong arms worked fast at the oars.

  They arrived at the fishing hole. Once more the conditions were ideal.Dark, slaty clouds lay spread across the sky. A slight breeze roughenedthe surface of the water. Such water as it was! Gray, shadowy water thatsuggested fish of immense proportions and infinite fighting power.

  The whispering rushes, the gurgling water, the bobbing dragon fly, wereall there.

  "As if we had been gone but an hour," Florence said, as she dropped theanchor.

  "Yes," replied Tillie, "this old bay changes very little. I climbed up onGull Rock to steal a gull's eggs when I was three. And there it standsstill. And still the gulls lay their eggs there. Only difference is, Ihave learned how foolish it is to steal their eggs."

  She baited her hook with a large minnow, drew out her line until thirtyfeet of it hung loosely coiled in her left hand; then with a deft tosslanded the minnow thirty feet from the boat.

  "There," she sighed, "right over there."

  Florence was obliged to satisfy herself with a shorter cast.

  "Do you know," said Tillie, and the sound of her voice glided along likethe air of some old song, "this has been my fishing hole ever since I wasold enough to paddle the first little tub of a boat I ever owned? Butit's never lost its mystery, this hole hasn't.

  "There have been times when I thought I knew all about it. I've skatedover it in winter when the ice was like glass. I could see every stone,every stick and log at the bottom. I peered in between every littleforest of pikeweed and said, 'Nope, there's nothing there.'

  "There have been times in summer when the surface of the water was smoothas a looking-glass. Then I peeked around in every little corner downthere in the depths of it, and I said, 'Ah, ha! At last I have you! Iknow all about you. You're only a hole full of water with a sandy bottomand a shelving bank. You're full of weeds and other common things.'

  "Just about then the sun goes under a cloud. A little breeze ripples thewater. I can't see a thing. I wait. The rain comes pattering down. I puta shiny minnow or a dark old crawdad on my hook and throw it far out overthe edge of the old fishing hole. Pretty soon the line starts stealingaway. My reel goes round and round, silent as a whisper. Then of a suddenI jerk. I begin reeling in. A beautiful thing all green and gold leapsfrom the water. But I have him still.

  "'Ah!' I cry. 'A black bass. Where did he come from? The old fishinghole, to be sure.' And right away that old pool with its mysteriousblue-green top of rippled, spattered water is as full of mystery as itever was."

  "Isn't it wonderful to have such a fishing hole!" Florence enthused.

  "Don't all boys and girls have fishing holes?"

  "I'm afraid not."

  "In the cities, of course not. It's too bad."

  For a time after that they were silent. It was Florence who broke theSabbath-like stillness of the old fishing hole.

  "People," she mused, "are very much like fishing holes. You have afriend. You are with him a great deal. He tells you all he can abouthimself. He turns the light of truth upon himself and allows you to gazeinto the very depths of his soul. At last you say, 'There is no mysteryleft in his being. I know it all.' Then of a sudden, in time of joyoustempest, splendid success or dark storm of disappointment and sorrow, ina moment demanding heroic courage, he shows you in an instant that thereare possibilities in his being of which you never dreamed.

  "Cities are like that, too," she went on. "Take the great city I callhome. It's a very plain city where millions toil for their daily bread.I've been all over it. I often say to myself, 'There is no furthermystery in this city.' I have no more than said it than I come upon aChinatown, a theatre, a court room, some dark place at night where suchpersons meet as I have never known. Then that old city seems to look upand laugh as it exclaims, 'No mystery!'"

  "It must be wonderful to explore such a city!" Tillie's words were filledwith longing.

  "Perhaps," replied Florence, "we can do it together some time."

  A large perch took Florence's minnow. She reeled him in and threw him inthe live-net.

  "Probably all I'll get," she commented, "but they are fine fried brown inbutter."

  "None better."

  Tillie lost her minnow. A second and a third disappeared into that darkexpanse.

  "Somebody's stealing my bait." She selected a very large minnow andhooked it on with meticulous care. Then out into the deep he went to joinhis comrades.

  The manner in which he did this was startling in the extreme. Hardly hadhe hit the water than Tillie's reel flew round and round, quite beyondcontrol. With a quick glance toward the sky, she assured herself thatsome thieving bird had not seized her bait, then she pressed a thumb onher reel as she seized the handle to end its wild flight. Fortunately herline was long and strong. She had the fish under control in anothermoment.

  But to play him, to land him--that was the problem.

  "What is he?" Florence asked in an awed whisper.

  "Who knows?"

  Tillie reeled him in for twenty yards, then let him take the line slowlyout.

  "Tire him out," she explained.

  This she repeated three times. Then as a look of fixed determinationsettled on her face she said quite calmly:

  "The landing net."

 
Florence was ready. Settling her feet firmly, Tillie began to reel in.The manner in which she reeled in that mysterious monster was a thing tomarvel at. And he came, foot by foot, yard by yard, fathom by fathom,until a great gaping mouth appeared close to the surface.

  "A pike!" Tillie's voice betrayed her disappointment. "But he's a darb.We must have him. Get ready. When I give him line, get the net ahead ofhim."

  Florence obeyed with trembling fingers. She was a second too late. Tilliedid not give the powerful fish line. He took it. Grazing the rim of thelanding net, he shot away, taking fathoms of line with him.

  The process of wearing him out was repeated. Once again he was brought tothe side of the boat. This time Tillie gave him very little line.Unfortunately it was not enough. As his head shot toward the landing net,the hook that protruded through his jaw caught on the rim of the net.There was a thundering of water, a whirlpool of white spray, and he wasgone.

  "Dumb!" exclaimed Tillie, throwing down her rod.

  "Lost him!" Florence dropped the net. "But then," she added, "a pike's nogood except to look at."

  "That's right," agreed Tillie. "And we came out here for a big blackbass. We'll have him too!" She baited her hook anew.

  An hour passed, and another. The sun hung for a time above the cedars,then slowly sank from sight. The water turned golden, then red, thensteel blue. Still they fished on.

  The number of fine perch, nine, ten, twelve inches long, which Florencedropped into the live-net, grew and grew. Tillie flung hers overboard ingreat contempt, as soon as they were hooked, and grumbled because theytook her bait.