Complete Works of L. Frank Baum

by L. Frank Baum

  As I stared into the little man’s face the tears came into my eyes and blurred my sight. He thrust the red handkerchief into my hand, and I quickly wiped away the traces of unmanly weakness. And when I could see plainly again my uncle was deeply involved in one of his fits of silent merriment, and his shoulders were shaking spasmodically. I waited for him to cough and choke, which he proceeded to do before regaining his gravity. The attack seemed to have done him good, for he smiled at my disturbed expression and laid a kindly hand on my shoulder.

  “Run up to the house, my lad, an’ get your bundle of clothes,” he said. “I’ll be here when you get back. Don’t worry over what’s gone. I’ll take care o’ you, hereafter.”

  I gave him a grateful glance and clasped his big, horny hands in both my own.

  “Thank you, uncle,” said I; “I don’t know what would have become of me if you had not turned up just as you did.”

  “Lucky, wasn’t it, Sam? But run along and get your traps.”

  I obeyed, walking slowly and thoughtfully back to the house. When I tried to raise the latch I found the door locked.

  “Mrs. Ranck!” I called. “Mrs. Ranck, let me in, please. I’ve come for my clothes.”

  There was no answer. I rattled the latch, but all in vain. So I sat down upon the steps of the porch, wondering what I should do. It was a strange and unpleasant sensation to find myself suddenly barred from the house in which I had been born and wherein I had lived all my boyhood days. It was only my indignation against this selfish and hard old woman that prevented me from bursting into another flood of tears, for my nerves were all unstrung by the events of the past few hours. However, anger held all other passion in check for the moment, and I was about to force an entrance through the side window, as I had done on several occasions before, when the sash of the window in my own attic room was pushed up and a bundle was projected from it with such good aim that it would have struck my head, had I not instinctively dodged it.

  Mrs. Ranck’s head followed the bundle far enough to cast a cruel and triumphant glance into my upturned face.

  “There’s your duds. Take ‘em an’ go, you ongrateful wretch!” she yelled. “An’ don’t ye let me see your face again until you come to pay me the money you owes for your keepin’.”

  “Please, Mrs. Ranck,” I asked, meekly, “can I have my father’s watch and ring?”

  “No, no, no!” she screamed, in a fury. “Do ye want to rob me of everything? Ain’t you satisfied to owe me four hundred dollars a’ready?”

  “I — I’d like some keepsake of father’s,” I persisted, well knowing this would be my last chance to procure it. “You may keep the watch, if you’ll give me the ring.”

  “I’ll keep ‘m both,” she retorted. “You’ll get nothin’ more out’n me, now or never!”

  Then she slammed down the window, and refused to answer by a word my further pleadings.

  So finally I picked up the bundle and, feeling miserable and sick at heart, followed the path back to the little grove.

  “It didn’t take you very long, but that’s all the better,” said my uncle, shutting his clasp-knife with a click and then standing up to brush the chips from his lap. “We two’ll go to the tavern, an’ talk over our future plans.”

  Silently I walked by the side of Naboth Perkins until we came to the village. I knew everyone in the little town, and several of the fishermen and sailors met me with words of honest sympathy for my loss. Captain Steele had been the big man of Batteraft, beloved by all who knew him despite his reserved nature, and these simple villagers, rude and uneducated but kindly hearted, felt that in his death they had lost a good friend and a neighbor of whom they had always been proud. Not one of them would have refused assistance to Captain Steele’s only son; but they were all very poor, and it was lucky for me that Uncle Naboth had arrived so opportunely to befriend me.

  Having ordered a substantial dinner of the landlord of “The Rudder,” Mr. Perkins gravely invited me to his private room for a conference, and I climbed the rickety stairs in his wake.

  The chamber was very luxurious in my eyes, with its rag carpet and high-posted bed, its wash-stand and rocking-chair. I could not easily withhold my deference to the man who was able to hire it, and removing my cap I sat upon the edge of the bed while Uncle Naboth took possession of the rocking-chair and lighted a big briar pipe.

  Having settled himself comfortably by putting his feet upon the sill of the open window, he remarked:

  “Now, Sam, my lad, we’ll talk it over.”

  “Very well, sir,” I replied, much impressed.

  “In the first place, I’m your father’s partner, as I said afore. Some years ago the Cap’n found he had more money ‘n he could use in his own business, an’ I’d saved up a bit myself, to match it. So we put both together an’ bought a schooner called the ‘Flipper,’ w’ich I’m free to say is the best boat, fer its size an’ kind, that ever sailed the Pacific.”

  “The Pacific!”

  “Naterally. Cap’n Steele on the Atlantic, an’ Cap’n Perkins on the Pacific. In that way we divided up the world between us.” He stopped to wink, here, and began his silent chuckle; but fortunately he remembered the importance of the occasion and refrained from carrying it to the choking stage. “I s’pose your father never said naught to you about this deal o’ ours, any more ‘n he did to that she-bandit up at the house. An’ it’s lucky he didn’t, or the critter ‘d be claimin’ the ‘Flipper,’ too, an’ then you an’ I’d be out of a job!” He winked again; solemnly, this time; and I sat still and stared at him.

  “Howsomever, the ‘Flipper’ is still in statute ko, an’ thank heaven fer that! I made sev’ral voyages in her to Australy, that turned out fairly profitable, an’ brought the Cap’n an’ me some good bits o’ money. So last year we thought we’d tackle the Japan trade, that seemed to be lookin’ up. It looked down agin as soon as I struck the pesky shores, an’ a month ago I returned to ‘Frisco a sadder an’ wiser man. Not that the losses was so great, Sam, you understand; but the earnin’s wasn’t enough to buy a shoestring.

  “So I sailed cross-lots to Batteraft to consult with my partner, which is Cap’n Steele, as to our next voyage, an’ the rest o’ the story you know as well as I do. Your father bein’ out o’ the firm, from no fault o’ his’n, his son is his nateral successor. So I take it that hereafter we’ll have to consult together.”

  My amazed expression amused him exceedingly, but I found it impossible just then to utter a single word. Uncle Naboth did not seem to expect me to speak, for after lighting his pipe again he continued, with an air of great complacency:

  “It mought be said that, as you’re a minor, I stands as your rightful guardeen, an’ have a right to act for you ‘til you come of age. On the other hand, you mought claim that, bein’ a partner, your size an’ age don’t count, an’ you’ve a right to be heard. Howsomever, we won’t go to law about it, Sam. The law’s onreliable. Sometimes it’s right, an’ mostly it’s wrong; but it ain’t never to be trusted by an honest man. If you insist on dictatin’ what this partnership’s goin’ to do, you’ll probably run it on a rock in two jerks of a lamb’s tail, for you haven’t got the experience old Cap’n Steele had; but if you’re satisfied to let me take the tiller, an’ steer you into harbor, why, I’ll accept the job an’ do the best I can at it.”

  “Uncle Naboth,” I replied, earnestly, “had you not been an honest man I would never have known you were my father’s partner, or that he had any interest in your business. But you’ve been more than honest. You’ve been kind to me; and I am only too glad to trust you in every way.”

  “Well spoke, lad!” cried Mr. Perkins, slapping his knee delightedly. “It’s what I had a right to expect in poor Mary’s boy. We’re sure to get along, Sam, and even if I don’t make you rich, you’ll never need a stout friend while your Uncle Nabe is alive an’ kickin’!”

  Then we both stood up, and shook hands with great solemnity, to seal the barga
in. After which my friend and protector returned to his rocker and once more stretched his feet across the window sill.

  “How much property belongs to me, Uncle?” I asked.

  “We never drew up any papers. Cap’n Steele knew as he could trust me, an’ so papers wa’n’t necessary. He owned one-third interest in the ‘Flipper’, an’ supplied one half the money to carry on the trade. That made it mighty hard to figure out the profits, so we gen’ly lumped it, to save brain-work. Of course your father’s been paid all his earnin’s after each voyage was over, so accounts is settled up to the Japan trip. Probably the money I gave him was in the sea-chest, an’ that old she-pirate up to the house grabbed it with the other things. The Japan voyage was a failure, as I told you; but there’s about a thousand dollars still cornin’ to the Cap’n — which means it’s cornin’ to you, Sam — an’ the ship’s worth a good ten thousand besides.”

  I tried to think what that meant to me.

  “It isn’t a very big sum of money, is it, Uncle?” I asked, diffidently.

  “That depends on how you look at it,” he answered. “Big oaks from little acorns grow, you know. If you leave the matter to me, I’ll try to make that thousand sprout considerable, before you come of age.”

  “Of course I’ll leave it to you,” said I. “And I am very grateful for your kindness, sir.”

  “Don’t turn your gratitude loose too soon, Sam. I may land your fortunes high an’ dry on the rocks, afore I’ve got through with ‘em. But if I do it won’t be on purpose, an’ we’ll sink or swim together. An’ now, that bein’ as good as settled, the next thing to argy is what you’re a-goin’ to do while I’m sailin’ the seas an’ makin’ money for you.”

  “What would you suggest?” I asked.

  “Well, some folks might think you ought to have more schoolin’. How old are you?”

  “Sixteen, sir.”

  “Can you read an’ write, an’ do figgers?”

  “Oh, yes; I’ve finished the public school course,” I replied, smiling at the simple question.

  “Then I guess you’ve had study enough, my lad, and are ready to go to work. I never had much schoolin’ myself, but I’ve managed to hold my own in the world, in spite of the way letters an’ figgers mix up when I look at ‘em. Not but what eddication is a good thing; but all eddication don’t lay in schools. Rubbin’ against the world is what polishes up a man, an’ the feller that keeps his eyes open can learn somethin’ new every day. To be open with you, Sam, I need you pretty bad on the ‘Flipper,’ to keep the books an’ look after the accounts, an’ do writin’ an’ spellin’ when letters has to be writ. On the last trip I put in four days hard work, writin’ a letter that was only three lines long. An’ I’m blamed if the landsman I sent it to didn’t telegraph me for a translation. So, if you’re willin’ to ship with the firm of Perkins & Steele, I’ll make you purser an’ chief clerk.”

  “I should like that!” I answered, eagerly.

  “Then the second p’int’s settled. There’s only one more. The ‘Flipper’ is lyin’ in the harbor at ‘Frisco. When shall we join her, lad?”

  “I’m ready now, sir.”

  “Good. I’ve ordered a wagon to carry us over to the railroad station at four o’clock, so ye see I had a pretty good idea beforehand what sort o’ stuff Mary’s boy was made of. Now let’s go to dinner.”

  CHAPTER 4

  I SHIP ABOARD THE “FLIPPER.”

  When the two-seated spring wagon drew up before the tavern door quite a crowd of idle villagers assembled to see us off, and among them I noticed my father’s old sailor, Ned Britton. Uncle Naboth climbed aboard at once, but I stayed to shake the hands held out to me and to thank the Batteraft people for their hearty wishes for my future prosperity. I think they were sorry to see me go, and I know I felt a sudden pang of regret at parting from the place where I had lived so long and the simple villagers who had been my friends.

  When at last I mounted to the rear seat of the wagon and sat beside my uncle, I was astonished to find Ned Britton established beside the driver.

  “Are you going with us?” I asked.

  The sailor nodded.

  “It’s like this,” remarked Mr. Perkins, as we rolled away from the tavern, “this man belonged to my old partner, Cap’n Steele, an’ stuck to his ship ‘til she went down. Also he’s put himself out to come here an’ tell us the news, and it ain’t every sailor as’ll take the trouble to do such a job. Therefore, Ned Britton bein’ at present without a ship, I’ve asked him to take a berth aboard the ‘Flipper.’”

  “That was kind of you, Uncle,” I said, pleased at this evidence of my relative’s kindly nature.

  “An honest sailor ain’t to be sneezed at,” continued Uncle Naboth, with one of his quaint winks. “If Ned Britton were faithful to the ‘Saracen’ he’ll be faithful to the ‘Flipper.’ An’ that’s the sort o’ man we want.”

  Britton doubtless overheard every word of this eulogy, but he gazed stolidly ahead and paid no attention to my uncle’s words of praise.

  We reached the railway station in ample time for the train, and soon were whirling away on our long journey into the golden West.

  No incident worthy of note occurred on our way across the continent, although I might record a bit of diplomacy on the part of Uncle Naboth that illustrates the peculiar shrewdness I have always found coupled with his native simplicity.

  Just before our train drew into Chicago, where we were to change cars and spend the best part of a day, my uncle slipped into my hand a long, fat pocket-book, saying:

  “Hide that in your pocket, Sam, and button it up tight.”

  “What’s your idea, Uncle Nabe?” I asked.

  “Why, we’re cornin’ to the wickedest city in all the world, accordin’ to the preachers; an’ if it ain’t that, it’s bad enough, in all conscience. There’s robbers an’ hold-up men by the thousands, an’ if one of ‘em got hold of me I’d be busted in half a second. But none of ‘em would think of holdin’ up a boy like you; so the money’s safe in your pocket, if you don’t go an’ lose it.”

  “I’ll try not to do that, sir,” I returned; but all during the day the possession of the big pocket-book made me nervous and uneasy. I constantly felt of my breast to see that the money was still safe, and it is a wonder my actions did not betray to some sly thief the fact that I was concealing the combined wealth of our little party.

  No attempt was made to rob us, however, either at Chicago or during the remainder of the journey to the Pacific coast, and we arrived at our destination safely and in good spirits.

  Uncle Naboth seemed especially pleased to reach San Francisco again.

  “This car travellin’,” he said, “is good enough for landsmen that don’t know of anything better; but I’d rather spend a month at sea than a night in one of them stuffy, dangerous cars, that are likely to run offn the track any minute.”

  Ned Britton and I accompanied Mr. Perkins to a modest but respectable lodging-house near the bay, where we secured rooms and partook of a hearty breakfast. Then we took a long walk, and I got my first sight of the famous “Golden Gate.” I was surprised at the great quantity of shipping in the bay, and as I looked over the hundreds of craft at anchor I wondered curiously which was the “Flipper,” of which I was part owner — the gallant ship whose praises Uncle Naboth had sung so persistently ever since we left Batteraft.

  After luncheon we hired a small boat, and Ned Britton undertook to row us aboard the “Flipper,” which had been hidden from our view by a point of land. I own that after my uncle’s glowing descriptions of her I expected to see a most beautiful schooner, with lines even nobler than those of the grand old “Saracen,” which had been my father’s pride for so many years. So my disappointment may be imagined when we drew up to a grimy looking vessel of some six hundred tons, with discolored sails, weather-worn rigging and a glaring need of fresh paint.

  Ned Britton, however, rested on his oars, studied the ship carefully,
and then slowly nodded his head in approval.

  “Well, what d’ye think o’ her?” asked Uncle Naboth, relapsing into one of his silent chuckles at the expression of my face.

  “She looks rather dirty, sir,” I answered, honestly.

  “The ‘Flipper’ ain’t quite as fresh as a lily in bloom, that’s a fact,” returned my uncle, in no ways discomfited by my remark. “She wasn’t no deebutantee when I bought her, an’ her clothes has got old, and darned and patched, bein’ as we haven’t been near to a Paris dressmaker. But I’ve sailed in her these ten years past, Sam, an’ we’re both as sound as a dollar.”

  “She ought to be fast, sir,” remarked Britton, critically.

  Mr. Perkins laughed — not aloud, but in his silent, distinctly humorous way.

  “She is fast, my lad, w’ich is a virtue in a ship if it ain’t in a woman. And in some other ways, besides, the ‘Flipper’ ain’t to be sneezed at. As for her age, she’s too shy to tell it, but I guess it entitles her to full respect.”

  We now drew alongside, and climbed upon the deck, where my uncle was greeted by a tall, lank man who appeared to my curious eyes to be a good example of a living skeleton. His clothes covered his bones like bags, and so thin and drawn was his face that his expression was one of constant pain.

  “Mom’n’, Cap’n,” said Uncle Naboth, although it was afternoon.

  “Morn’n’, Mr. Perkins,” returned the other, in a sad voice. “Glad to see you back.”

  “Here’s my newy, Sam Steele, whose father were part owner but got lost in a storm awhile ago.”

  “Glad to see you, sir,” said the Captain, giving my hand a melancholy shake.

  “An’ here’s Ned Britton, who once sailed with Cap’n Steele,” continued my uncle. “He’ll sign with us, Cap’n Gay, and I guess you’ll find him A No. 1.”