Tides of Barnegat eBook

Francis Hopkinson Smith
This eBook from the Gutenberg Project consists of approximately 373 pages of information about Tides of Barnegat.

Tides of Barnegat eBook

Francis Hopkinson Smith
This eBook from the Gutenberg Project consists of approximately 373 pages of information about Tides of Barnegat.

“Yes; he’s the captain’s son.  Been dead for years.  Died some’er’s out in Brazil, so I’ve heard my father say.  Had fever or something.”

The Swede walked on in silence for some minutes.  Then he stopped, faced Tod, took hold of the lapel of his coat, and said slowly, as he peered into his eyes: 

“He ain’t dead, no more’n you and I be.  I worked for him for two years.  He run the mines on a percentage.  I got here last week, and he sent me down to find out how the land lay.  If the woman was dead I was to say nothing and come back.  If she was alive I was to tell the captain, his father, where a letter could reach him.  They had some bad blood ’twixt ’em, but he didn’t tell me what it was about.  He may come home here to live, or he may go back to the mines; it’s just how the old man takes it.  That’s what I’ve got to say to him.  How do you think he’ll take it?”

For a moment Tod made no reply.  He was trying to make up his mind what part of the story was true and what part was skilfully put together to provide, perhaps, additional suppers.  The improbability of the whole affair struck him with unusual force.  Raising hopes of a long-lost son in the breast of a father was an old dodge and often meant the raising of money.

“Well, I can’t say,” Tod answered carelessly; he had his own opinion now of the stranger.  “You’ll have to see the captain about that.  If the man’s alive it’s rather funny he ain’t showed up all these years.”

“Well, keep mum ’bout it, will ye, till I talk to him?  Here comes one o’ your men.”

Green’s figure now loomed up out of the mist.

“Where away, Tod?” the approaching surfman cried when he joined the two.

“Captain wants me to look after the yawl,” answered Tod.

“It’s all right,” cried Green; “I just left it.  Went down a-purpose.  Who’s yer friend?”

“A man the cap’n sent along to lend a hand.  This is Sam Green,” and he turned to the Swede and nodded to his brother surfman.

The two shook hands.  The stranger had not volunteered his name and Tod had not asked for it.  Names go for little among men who obey orders; they serve merely as labels and are useful in a payroll, but they do not add to the value of the owner or help his standing in any way.  “Shorty” or “Fatty” or “Big Mike” is all sufficient.  What the man can do and how he does it, is more important.

“No use goin’ to the inlet,” continued Green.  “I’ll report to the captain.  Come along back.  I tell ye it’s gettin’ thick,” and he looked out across the breakers, only the froth line showing in the dim twilight.

The three turned and retraced their steps.

Tod quickened his pace and stepped into the house ahead of the others.  Not only did he intend to tell the captain of what he had heard, but he intended to tell him at once.

Captain Holt was in his private room, sitting at his desk, busy over his monthly report.  A swinging kerosene lamp hanging from the ceiling threw a light full on his ruddy face framed in a fringe of gray whiskers.  Tod stepped in and closed the door behind him.

Copyrights
Project Gutenberg
Tides of Barnegat from Project Gutenberg. Public domain.