Chapter 14

IN WHICH TOM DISAPPEARS FROM SIGHT

When Bob awoke the next morning it was to a gray world. The open ports were rimmed with tiny drops of moisture and the mist swirled in like films of smoke. He got out of bed, traversed the cabin, thrust open the hatch and put his head out of doors. The morning was warm and still, so still that the voice of some one on the wharf hundreds of feet away sounded close at hand, so still that the lapping of the water against the hull, usually unnoted, seemed a veritable clamor. The deck, cockpit floor, cabin roof, all surfaces were covered with miniature pools, and Bob’s hands, clasping the doorway, came away wringing wet.

There was nothing to be seen in any direction, save that now and then, as the mist momentarily lessened, the upper part of the mast and rigging of a sloop moored some thirty feet away from the Vagabond became dimly visible. It was as though some mischievous giant had in the night, with a sweep of his hand, sponged everything out of existence, everything save the Vagabond and the little fog-rimmed pool of water in which she sat. It was wonderful and uncanny. It was also very damp, and Bob, standing at the cabin entrance, gazing blankly about him, felt the tiny particles of moisture, blown on a light southwest breath from the ocean, settling on his face and damping his pyjamas until they began to cling to him. He beat a retreat to the cabin, drawing the doors closed behind him, and proceeded to awaken his companions by the simple expedient of pulling the bedclothes off them.

“Get up and look at the fog,” he commanded. “It’s all over the shop and so thick you can cut it with a knife—any knife, even Dan’s!”

“That’s all right,” muttered Tom, striving to keep warm by bringing his knees up to his chin, “you cut me a slice, Bob, and toast it lightly on both sides.”

“Want any butter?” asked Bob solicitously.

“There isn’t any,” answered Tom sleepily.

“Isn’t any?” cried Dan, waking up very suddenly. “What the dickens are we going to do for breakfast?”

“There’s some lard,” murmured Tom.

Dan leaped out of his berth and rolled Tom onto the floor.

“Here, you! Are you telling the truth? Isn’t there really any butter for breakfast?”

“Not a bit,” answered Tom cheerfully. “We ran out of it yesterday noon and I forgot to get any last night. Butter’s very unhealthy, though, Dan; it gives a fellow boils. I read in a paper just the other day that we eat too much butter and grease. We really oughtn’t, you know.”

“I vote we make Tommy go and get some,” said Nelson, yawning and sitting up on the edge of his berth.

“Oh, I’ll go,” replied Tom, climbing to his feet, “if you think you must have it. It is bad for you, though, honest! Look at Dan’s complexion already! It’s awful! For his sake, Nel, supposing we leave butter out for a few days.”

“My complexion!” jeered Dan. “Look at your own, Tommy!”

“I have a perfect complexion,” said Tom gravely. “It is like peaches and cream. Yours is like—like apple sauce.” He bolted for the toilet room and got the door fastened behind him before Dan could reach him.

“Looks to me as though we were here for a while,” observed Nelson, glancing through a port at the impenetrable grayness outside. “We can’t go chugging around the place in this fog.”

“Maybe it will burn off after a time,” said Bob. “If we get to Newport before dark we can spend the night there. What’s the good of hurrying, anyhow? We haven’t got to get anywhere at any particular time.”

“Well, there’s Dan to think of. He’s homesick and wants to get to New York, you know.”

“The only thing I want to get is breakfast,” answered Dan. “And I intend to have butter with it, too. Tommy’s got to hike out and find some.”

“I won’t!” cried Tom from behind the partition. “I’m cook and don’t have to run errands.”

“We’ll see about that,” returned Dan grimly. Tom, who had begun to splash water in the basin again, ceased operations for a moment.

“I won’t, I won’t!” he called gleefully. “I’ve mutinied. Down with the captain! I’m going to scuttle the ship in a minute. Anyone seen the scuttle?”

“No, but several persons are going to see your finish when you come out,” answered Dan. “We’re going to string you to the yardarm.”

“There isn’t any!”

“Then we’ll keel-haul you, whatever that is.”

“I demand to be put in chains. Then I can’t go for butter.”

“We really ought to have a brig,” said Nelson.

“What’s that?” asked Tom anxiously. “Can you eat it?”

“It’s a place where they confine sailors that don’t behave themselves, a sort of prison cell.”

“How would the ice box do?” Bob asked.

“Huh,” answered Dan, “that would be a prison cell on us; Tommy would eat up everything in there and then we’d have to knock the box to pieces to get him out.”

“Well,” said Tom in an aggrieved voice, “if I can’t be put in chains I refuse to mutiny.”

So he went for butter instead. Bob volunteered to start breakfast and Tom got into the tender and paddled off into the fog on his errand.

“If I get lost,” he called, “you must blow the whistle so I’ll know where to find you.”

“All right,” Nelson answered. “Only you’ll have to let us know.”

“Sure; I’ll send you a telegram.” And Tom disappeared whistling gayly.

The others finished dressing, and then, while Bob started the fire, found the bacon and sliced bread, made the coffee and set the table, Dan and Nelson pulled the deck awning out of the locker and set about spreading it over the stanchions. It had not been used before on the present trip and it took them some time to solve the intricacies of it. But finally it was in place, Dan had wiped the chairs and seat until they were comparatively dry and Nelson had tended to the lanterns. By that time breakfast was ready and Tom had been gone a full half hour.

“How far is the store?” asked Dan impatiently.

“Oh, just a little ways,” said Bob. “Maybe, though, it wasn’t open when he got there.”

“More likely he’s gone and got lost in the fog,” said Nelson anxiously. “If he doesn’t show up pretty soon, let’s eat. I’m starving.”

So, when ten minutes more had passed without Tom’s appearance, the three sat down to breakfast. By that time Dan was so hungry that he didn’t care whether there was any butter or not. They finished the meal and returned to the deck.

“Maybe we’d better start the whistle,” suggested Dan.

“If we call out it will do just as well,” said Bob. “Come on, all together!”

“O Tommy!” they yelled. There was no answer. They tried again and still again.

“Oh, let him alone,” said Dan disgustedly. “He’ll find his way back when he gets ready. I dare say he’s found a candy store.”

“Well, we’ll leave some breakfast for him,” said Bob. “Come on down and let’s get the things washed up. I vote we have luncheon on shore.”

The fog held steadily. Now and then voices reached them or the creaking of a boom as some small craft tried to work her way out of the harbor. But for the most part the silence was as thick as the fog which rolled in across the island. The awning was some protection, but it didn’t keep the cockpit dry by any manner of means, and so they got into their oilskins. When five bells had struck below Nelson got worried and tried the whistle. After the third or fourth blast a voice hailed them from off to starboard.

“Hello, there! What’s the matter?” was the inquiry.

“One of our fellows has gone ashore and hasn’t come back,” answered Nelson. “We thought maybe he had got lost in the fog. Where are you?”

“On the steamboat wharf,” was the reply.

“On the steamboat wharf!” muttered Nelson, looking perplexedly about him into the mist. “But the wharf ought to be in the opposite direction, Bob!”

“Pshaw!” answered Bob. “The tide’s swung the boat around, that’s what’s happened.”

“And Tommy’s gone off across the harbor!” chuckled Dan, “looking for butter!”

“What’s over there, I wonder?” asked Nelson.

“I don’t know,” Bob replied, “but it’s a good mile across in a straight line.”

“And Tommy was never able to row straight in his life,” laughed Dan. “Oh, well, he’ll get onto himself after a while and come back.”

“He’s been gone long enough already to have rowed over there and back two or three times,” said Bob uneasily. “Toot your old whistle some more, Nel.”

And Nelson obeyed, blowing the whistle at intervals for the next hour and only ceasing when the air pressure gave out. And Tom refused to show up.

At twelve they began to think of luncheon.

“Wherever he is,” said Dan, “he’s safe enough. Trust Tommy to look after himself! I dare say he’s toasting himself in front of someone’s stove and eating caramels. So I say we go ashore and find some luncheon. Something tells me that it is approaching the hour.”

“Don’t happen to know how we’re going to get ashore, do you?” asked Nelson. Dan’s face fell.

“Thunder! That’s so; Tommy’s got the boat. Can’t we pull up anchor and chug over to the wharf?”

“I don’t want to try it,” was the reply. “We might make it all right and we might not. There are two or three small boats between here and there and I don’t want any bills for damages. Let’s see what there is in the larder.”

They went down together and rummaged.

“Here’s bacon,” said Nelson, “and plenty of bread.”

“And potatoes,” added Dan. “And cereal, although I never tried it for luncheon.”

“And jam and jelly,” said Bob, “and a can of peaches.”

“And cheese,” continued Dan.

“And one egg,” said Nelson.

“Saved!” cried Dan. “Here’s three cans of corned-beef hash! Oh, yum, yum! Me for the corned beef!”

“Oh, we’ve got plenty of stuff here,” said Nelson cheerfully. “We’ll have some boiled potatoes and hash, tea, bread, cheese, and jam. What more could we want?”

“Well,” answered Dan, “far be it from me to throw cold asparagus on your menu, Nel, but it does seem that a tiny pat of butter would help a little, now doesn’t it?”

“Remember what Tom told you about your complexion,” said Nelson severely.

“I wonder if he’ll find any luncheon?” said Dan.

“Maybe he’s more concerned just now with breakfast,” said Bob. “As far as we know he hasn’t had that yet!”

“Poor old Tommikins,” muttered Dan. “And he so fond of eating, too! I really believe that if Tommy missed two meals in succession he’d die of starvation.”

“Well, let’s get busy,” said Nelson. “We’ll help you, Bob.”

“All right; there’s the potatoes and here’s the knife. Peel them thin, now. By the way, how would they taste fried?”

“Oh, great!” cried Dan, smacking his lips. “Say, I believe this old fog makes a fellow hungrier than anything else!”

“Fried it is, then,” answered Bob. “There’s plenty of lard. Find the can opener, Dan, and yank the lid off of one of those cans of hash.”

“We never got a can opener!” exclaimed Nelson. “I forgot all about it. Use the old potato knife, Dan.”

“All right. Say, this is great fun, isn’t it? Wow!”

“Cut yourself?” asked Nelson.

“Oh, not much. Next time I see a store I’m going to buy an opener if it costs ten cents! Thunder!”

The can slipped out of his hands and went skimming across the oilcloth floor. Luckily the top was only half off and very little of the contents was spilled. Dan rescued it, seated himself on the steps and, placing it firmly between his knees, sawed away at the tin.

“There you are!” he said triumphantly. “It smells mighty good, too! Hurry up, Nel, with those potatoes, or I’ll perish before your very eyes.”

“Where’s the lard?” asked Bob. “Tommy said there was lots of it. Look in the ice box, Bob.”

“Here it is: ‘Leaf Lard,’ whatever that is.”

“Got any water on for tea, Bob?” asked Nelson.

“No, put some in the kettle, will you? I’ll cut these potatoes up, what you’ve left of them; I rather think we’d get more if I fried the skins!”

“Oh, you run away and play,” answered Nelson. “They’re peeled to the Queen’s taste.”

“Perhaps the Queen had more potatoes than we have,” was the answer. “You get out of here, Dan, you’re in the way.”

“Well, I’ll go up and discover Tommy.”

“You’ll set the table,” said Nelson, “that’s what you’ll do.”

“Sure! How do you do it?”

“Put the cloth on and I’ll come and help you,” answered Nelson.

“Aye, aye, sir! A sailor’s life for me!”

Twenty minutes later they were seated around the table on which steamed a dish of corned-beef hash, nicely browned about the edges, a dish of hashed brown potatoes, and three cups of very strong tea. There was bread, too, and cheese in a little crockery jar, and jam and crackers. Dan uttered a sigh of content as he piled his plate.

“Tommy doesn’t know what he’s missing,” he said.

“I wish to goodness he’d show up,” said Bob. “Is it clearing up any, Dan?”

“Not so you’d notice it,” replied that youth who had been up on deck a moment before. “It’s as thick as ever and maybe thicker.”

“Well, Tommy’ll turn up all right, I guess,” said Nelson.

“When he does I’ll bet he will be hungry enough to eat raw dog,” said Dan. “Gee, but this hash is swell! Who’s got the bread?”

“Have some butter, won’t you, Dan?” begged Nelson.

“Well, I should say not! With my complexion? What are you thinking about? Say, how would a little lard taste on the bread, fellows?”

“You might try it,” answered Bob. “I dare say it wouldn’t be any worse than some butter I’ve met.”

They were very hungry, very merry, and very noisy, and as a consequence of the latter fact they did not hear the sound of oars outside or of feet on the deck, nothing, in fact, until some one stumbled wearily down the steps and appeared at the stateroom door.

“Tommy!” cried Dan, and——

“Tommy!” echoed Bob and Nelson.

Tommy, very tired looking and extremely damp, dragged himself across the floor and sank onto the edge of a bunk, staring famishedly at the table.

“Haven’t you got through breakfast yet?” he asked weakly.

“For goodness sake, Tommy,” exclaimed Nelson, “where have you been?”

“Been!” answered Tom with a suggestion of returning spirit, as he drew from his pocket a misshapen object wrapped in brown paper and tossed it onto the table, “I’ve been after your blamed old bu-bu-bu-butter!”