CHAPTER XIV.
A GREAT MANY THINGS GETTING READY TO COME!
The newspapers from the city brought full accounts of the stranding ofthe "Prudhomme," and of the safety of her passengers and cargo.
The several editors seemed to differ widely in their opinions relatingto the whole affair; but there must have been some twist in the mind ofthe one who excused everybody on the ground that "no pilot, howeverskilful, could work his compass correctly in so dense a fog as that."
None of them had any thing whatever to say of the performances of "TheSwallow." The yacht had been every bit as well handled as the greatsteamship; but then, she had reached her port in safety, and she wassuch a little thing, after all.
Whatever excitement there had been in the village died out as soon as itwas known that the boys were safe; and a good many people began towonder why they had been so much upset about it, anyhow.
Mrs. Lee herself, the very next morning, so far recovered her peace ofmind as to "wonder wot Dab Kinzer's goin' to do wid all de money he gotfor dem bluefish."
"I isn't goin' to ask him," said Dick. "He's capt'in."
As for Dab himself, he did an immense amount of useful sleeping, thatfirst night; but when he awoke in the morning he shortly made adiscovery, and the other boys soon made another. Dab's was, that all thelong hours of daylight and darkness, while he held the tiller of "TheSwallow," he had been thinking as well as steering. He had thereforebeen growing very fast, and would be sure to show it, sooner or later.
Ford and Frank found that Dab had forgotten nothing he had said aboutlearning how to box, and how to talk French; but he did not say a wordto them about another important thing. He talked enough, to be sure; buta great, original idea was beginning to take form in his mind, and hewas not quite ready yet to mention it to any one.
"I guess," he muttered more than once, "I'd better wait till Ham comeshome, and talk to him about it."
As for Frank Harley, Mr. Foster had readily volunteered to visit thesteamship-office in the city, with him, that next day, and see thatevery thing necessary was done with reference to the safe delivery ofhis baggage. At the same time, of course, Mrs. Foster wrote to hersister Mrs. Hart, giving a full account of all that had happened, butsaying that she meant to keep Frank as her own guest for a while, ifMrs. Hart did not seriously object.
That letter made something of a sensation in the Hart family. NeitherMrs. Hart nor her husband thought of making any objection; for, to tellthe truth, it came to them as a welcome relief.
"It's just the best arrangement that could have been made, Maria, allaround," said he. "Write at once, and tell her she may keep him as longas she pleases."
That was very well for them, but the boys hardly felt the same way aboutit. They had been planning to have "all sorts of fun with that youngmissionary," in their own house. He was, as Fuz expressed it, to be "putthrough a regular course of sprouts, and take the Hindu all out of him."
"Never mind, though," said Joe, after the letter came, and the decisionof their parents was declared: "we'll serve him out after we get toGrantley. There won't be anybody to interfere with the fun."
"Well, yes," replied Fuz, "and I'd just as lief not see too much of himbefore that. He won't have any special claim on us, neither, if hedoesn't go there from our house."
That was a queer sort of calculation, but it was only a beginning. Theyhad other talks on the same subject, and the tone of them all had in ita promise of lively times at Grantley for the friendless young strangerfrom India.
Others, however, were thinking of the future, as well as themselves; andJoe and Fuz furnished the subject for more than one animated discussionamong the boys down there by the Long Island shore. Ford Foster gave histwo friends the full benefit of all he knew concerning his cousins.
"It's a good thing for you," he said to Frank, "that the steamer didn'tgo ashore anywhere near their house. They're a pair of born youngwreckers. Just think of the tricks they played on my sister Annie!"
They were all related in Ford's most graphic style, with comments tosuit from his audience. After that conversation, however, it wasremarkable what good attention Dab Kinzer and Frank Harley paid to theirsparring-lessons. It even exceeded the pluck and perseverance with whichDab worked at his French; and Ford was compelled to admit, to him inparticular, "You ought to have a grown-up teacher,--somebody you won'tkill if you make out to get in a hit on him. You're too long in thereach for me, and your arms are too hard."
What between the boxing-gloves and the boat, there could be no questionbut what Frank Harley had landed at the right place to get strong in.
There was plenty of fishing, bathing, riding, boating, boxing: if theyhad worked day and night, they could not have used it all up. Three boystogether can find so much more to do than one can, all alone; and theymade it four as often as they could, for Dick Lee had proved himself thebest kind of company. Frank Harley's East-Indian experience had made himindifferent to the mere question of color, and Ford Foster was too muchof a "man" to forget that long night of gale and fog and danger on board"The Swallow."
It was only a day or two after that perilous "cruise," that Dab Kinzermet his old playmate, Jenny Walters, just in the edge of the village.
"How well you look, Dabney!" remarked the sharp-tongued little lady."Drowning must agree with you."
"Yes," said Dab, "I like it."
"Do you know what a fuss they made over you, when you were gone? Is'pose they'd nothing else to do."
"Jenny," said Dab suddenly, holding out his hand, "you mustn't quarrelwith me any more. Bill Lee told me about your coming down to thelanding. You may say any thing to me you want to."
Jenny colored, and bit her lip; and she would have given her bonnet toknow if Bill Lee had told Dab how very red her eyes were, as she lookeddown the inlet for some sign of "The Swallow." Something had to be said,however; and she said it almost spitefully.
"I don't care, Dabney Kinzer: it did seem dreadful to think of you threeboys being drowned, and you, too, with your new clothes on.Good-morning, Dab."
"She's a right good-hearted girl, if she'd only show it," muttered Dab,as Jenny tripped away; "but she isn't a bit like Annie Foster."
His thoughts must have been on something else than his young-ladyacquaintances, nevertheless; for his next words were, "How I do wish HamMorris would come home!"
There was time enough for that, and Ham was hardly likely to be in ahurry. The days were well employed in his absence; and, as they went by,the Morris homestead went steadily on looking less and less like its oldself, and more and more like a house made for people to live and behappy in. Mrs. Kinzer and her daughters had now settled down in theirnew quarters as completely as if they had never known any others; and itseemed to Dab, now and then, as if they had taken almost too completepossession. His mother had her room, of course; and a big one it was.There could be no objection to that. Then another big one, of the verybest, had to be set apart and fitted up for Ham and Miranda on theirreturn home; and Dab had taken great delight in doing all in his powerto make that room all it could be made. But then Samantha had insistedupon having a separate domain, and Keziah and Pamela had imitated theirelder sister to a fraction.
The "guest-chamber" had to be provided as well, or what would become ofthe good old Long Island notions of hospitality?
Dab said nothing while the partition was under discussion, nor for awhile afterwards; but one day at dinner, just after the coming of aletter from Miranda, announcing the speedy arrival of herself and herhusband, he quietly remarked,--
"Now I can't sleep in Ham's room any longer, I suppose I'll have to goout on the roof. I won't sleep in the garret or in the cellar."
"That will be a good deal as Mrs. Morris says, when she comes," calmlyresponded his mother.
"As Miranda says!" said Dab, with a long breath.
"Miranda?" gasped Samantha and her sisters in chorus.
"Yes, my dears, certainly," said their mother. "This is Mrs. Mor
ris'shouse,--or her husband's,--not mine. All the arrangements I have madeare only temporary. She and Ham both have ideas and wills of their own.I've only done the best I could for the time being."
The girls looked at one another in blank amazement, over the idea ofMrs. Kinzer being any thing less than the mistress of any house shemight happen to be in; but Dabney laid down his knife and fork, with--
"It's all right, then. If Ham and Miranda are to settle it, I think I'lltake the room Sam has now. You needn't take away your books, Sam: I maywant to read some of them, or lend them to Annie. You and Kezi and Melehad better take that upper room back. The smell of the paint's all gonenow, and there's three kinds of carpet on the floor."
"Dabney!" exclaimed Samantha, reproachfully, and with an appealing lookat her mother, who, however, said nothing on either side, and was awoman of too much good sense to take any other view of the matter thanthat she had announced.
Things were again all running on smoothly and pleasantly, before dinnerwas over; but Dab's ideas of how the house should be divided were likelyto result in some changes,--perhaps not precisely the ones he indicated,but such as would give him something better than a choice between thegarret, the cellar, and the roof. At all events, only three days wouldnow intervene before the arrival of the two travellers, and any thing inthe way of further discussion of the room question was manifestly out oforder.
Every thing required for the coming reception was pushed forward by Mrs.Kinzer with all the energy she could bring to bear; and Dab felt calledupon to remark to Pamela,--
"Isn't it wonderful, Mele, how many things she finds to do after everything's done?"
The widow had promised her son-in-law that his house should be "ready"for him, and it was likely to be a good deal more ready than either heor his wife had expected.
Dab Kinzer: A Story of a Growing Boy Page 14
