CHAPTER VI

THE “GREYHOUND” FLOATS AGAIN

The rage of Richard knew no bounds when he discovered the topmast of the _Greyhound_, with the little tri-colored flag still flaunting upon it, rising but a few feet above the waves of the Hudson. There she had floated, as gayly and as buoyantly as a swan, only an hour before. But there was no one near to hear his exclamations of wrath and disappointment, as he beheld the ruin of all his hopes for that day. I am sorry to add that he swore roundly; but a boy who could associate with rowdies and blacklegs would not be too nice to use profane language.

While he was still venting his impotent frenzy, Ben arrived at the wharf. The boatman had not discovered the calamity which had befallen the _Greyhound_ till he reached the wharf, for the gloomy expression of Bertha still haunted his mind, and he was wondering what had happened to cover with shadows the face which was wont to be all sunshine. When he raised his eyes from the ground, and looked off upon the water--as an old sailor always does when he first comes near the sea, or on deck from below--he saw the flaunting flag of the _Greyhound_, fifteen feet lower down than when he had last looked upon it, and he appeared to be quite as much surprised as Richard.

“Ben, who did that?” roared Richard, as the boatman moved out to the end of the wharf.

He was almost bursting with anger and vexation; and no doubt his mind was filled with suspicions and conjectures in regard to the author of this mischief, for he had already come to the conclusion that it had an author, as the _Greyhound_ would never have done so mean a thing as to sink without assistance.

Ben was an elderly man, and he had always been treated with consideration and respect by Mr. Grant and all his household; therefore he felt that the tone with which “Mr. Richard” addressed him was not proper or even tolerable.

“I don’t know, Mr. Richard,” replied the boatman, in a gruff, man-of-war tone, and without even condescending to express any regret or surprise at the singular event.

“If I knew who did it, I would kill him!” foamed Richard.

“Then it is lucky for him that you don’t know,” added Ben, rather coolly.

“She didn’t sink herself.”

“I didn’t say she did, Mr. Richard.”

“Then who did it?”

“I don’t know.”

“Yes, you do know; and if you don’t tell me, I’ll hold you responsible for it,” said Richard with an emphasis which ought to have produced a startling effect upon the old boatman.

But it did not appear to produce any effect; for Ben hitched up his long blue trousers, turned upon his heel, and slowly walked off.

“Why don’t you answer me, Ben?”

“I haven’t anything to say, Mr. Richard,” replied the old man, continuing his walk up the wharf.

“How dare you turn your back upon me in that manner? Come back here, and answer my questions.”

As Ben would not come back, Richard went to him, and, with clinched fists, placed himself in front of the old boatman, as though he meant to thrash him on the spot for his impudence. If Richard had been himself, as his hump-backed namesake declared he was on a certain occasion, he would not have ventured into this belligerent attitude. He was beside himself with passion, and there was neither wisdom nor discretion left in him.

“Mr. Richard,” said the boatman, after he had deliberately surveyed the youngster from head to foot for a moment, “you are my employer’s son, and I don’t want to harm you; but I don’t allow anyone to insult me. I am a poor man, but there isn’t anybody in the world that is rich enough to insult me. Now, get out of my way.”

“Tell me who sunk that boat!”

The great, broad hand of the old boatman suddenly dropped upon the shoulder of the youngster, a vigorous shaking followed, and he was laid upon the ground as gently as a mother would deposit her babe in the cradle. That strong arm was too much for Richard, and when he rose, he placed a respectful distance between himself and the owner of it.

“You did it! I know you did!” growled Richard. “I will pay you for it before you are many days older.”

Ben deigned no reply to this rude speech, but walked up the lawn toward the house. On his way he was met by Bertha, who from her window had discovered the mishap which had befallen the _Greyhound_, as well as witnessed the scene we have just described; and she was coming down to make peace between the parties.

In a few words Ben told her what had happened, assuring her that he was entirely ignorant of the cause of the sinking of the boat.

“Mr. Richard is very angry just now, and I think you had better keep away from him for a time. When he comes to himself, he and I have an account to be squared,” said Ben.

“Don’t be angry with him. He will be sorry for what he has done.”

“Bless you, Miss Bertha, I’m not angry. I couldn’t get angry with a youngster like him if I tried,” added the boatman with a benign smile.

“I hope not.”

“Mr. Richard is a good-hearted boy, and before he began to run with those beggarly rowdies on the other side, he was an honest and well-meaning boy. If I had him on board ship, a thousand miles from the nearest land, I could make a man of him in three days.”

With this encouraging remark, Ben hitched up his trousers again, and continued his walk toward the house. Acting upon the suggestion of the boatman, Bertha decided to let her brother cool off for a while, before she went near him. The sinking of the boat seemed like a providential event to her, since it must prevent the race she so much dreaded. Yet if Richard had the will to associate with dissolute persons, even this accident could not restrain him.

She could not help asking herself, as she sat waiting for Richard’s wrath to subside, what effect the change of fortune would have upon him. If it saved him from the error of his ways, it would be a blessing instead of a misfortune. Her brother was proud, and gloried in the wealth and social position of his father. The rowdies of Whitestone had discovered his weak point, and as long as he paid for the oysters, cigars--and liquors, for aught we know--they were willing to flatter him, and to yield the homage which he so much coveted.

Misfortune had swept away the wealth of his father, and he was placed on a level with those who had before looked up to him. If Mr. Grant had the will, he had no longer the ability to furnish his children with money, as he had done before. But Richard still had a large portion of the fifty dollars left, and he was not disposed to consider any of these questions. They did not even occur to him. His mind was all absorbed by the race.

When she thought a sufficient time had elapsed for Richard to recover his self-possession, Bertha joined him on the wharf, where he still sat, brooding over the ruin of his hopes. He noticed Bertha as she approached, but his interview with Ben had evaporated the violence of his temper, and he permitted her to seat herself by his side without uttering a word.

“Richard, I am sorry you were so rude to Ben. He is an old man, and he has always been very kind to you,” said Bertha in the gentlest tones of peace and affection.

“He had no business to sink my boat then,” muttered Richard.

“He did not do it.”

“How do you know he didn’t?”

“He went down to the railroad station while we were at breakfast, and did not return till after you came on shore. He handed me the letter as I was going up to the house, and then went for his breakfast. He did not come down here again until after you did, and then he found you here. It is impossible that he should have done it.”

“Then you must have done it yourself.”

“No, Richard; I did not. You have had your eyes upon me ever since we landed from the boat.”

“You knew about the race, and wanted to prevent me from going to it.”

“But I did not sink your boat; neither do I know by whom it was done.”

Richard knew that Bertha always spoke the truth, and he would as soon have doubted his own existence as doubted her word. In spite of his theory that she had done it, or caused it to be done, to defeat his plans, he was compelled to believe what she said.

“I don’t understand it, then,” said he, greatly perplexed. “You were the last person on board of her.”

“It is as much a mystery to me as it is to you; but I hope you will give up this race.”

“I can’t do anything else now. I put the money up, and I suppose I have lost it.”

“That is of little consequence.”

“So you say; but the fellows will think I did it to avoid the race.”

“Let them think so; it won’t injure you.”

“But I would give a good deal to know how it was done.”

“Perhaps some boat ran into her while she lay at her moorings. How do you know that Tom Mullen didn’t do it?”

“He wouldn’t do such a thing.”

“He isn’t any too good to do a mean action.”

“If I thought he did do it!” said Richard, as he jumped from the seat, apparently convinced that he did do it. “Where is Ben? I wonder if we can’t raise her, and have the race yet?”

“Do you think Ben would help you now?” asked Bertha, reproachfully.

“I am sorry for what I said to him; but I was fully convinced that he had done the mischief by your order. I will beg his pardon;” and Richard ran up to the house, and made his peace with Ben, which was not a difficult matter, for the old boatman was almost a grandfather to all three of the children.

“Certainly, Mr. Richard, I forgive you with all my heart, and I am glad of the chance to do so, for this thing made me feel worse than it did you. Now we will go down and find out what made the _Greyhound_ go to the bottom,” said Ben, as he led the way to the wharf.

Bertha had returned to the house, to attend to the preparations for Fanny’s party, or possibly she might have objected to any investigations in the direction indicated. Richard did not have the courage to ask Ben to help raise the boat; but when they reached the wharf, the old man went to the boathouse, and brought out sundry coils of rigging, blocks and other gear. Then, with the end of a line in his hand, he stepped into Bertha’s boat with Richard, and sculled off to the place where the _Greyhound_ had sunk.

Fastening the line to the painter of the sunken boat, he sculled back again. On their return to the wharf, they found Noddy there, an anxious observer of their proceedings.

“Noddy, do you know who sunk this boat?” said Richard, who happened to think just then that the little savage had been sitting on the pier during the angry interview between himself and Bertha.

“I expect she sunk herself,” replied he, with one of his wild leers.

“If you know anything about it, tell me at once,” added Richard, sternly.

“I don’t know anything about it.”

“Yes, you do, you little villain!” continued Richard, beginning to get excited.

“Keep cool, Mr. Richard,” interposed the boatman. “We have no time to spare in that manner. Of course the boy don’t know anything about it. Here, you young sculpin, run up and tell John to bring the two plow horses down here as quick as he can.”

Noddy, whose health was now almost restored, ran off toward the stables, chuckling as he went, as if he was glad to escape any further questions.

Ben now sent Richard up into a large tree which grew on the very verge of the water, where, under the old man’s directions, he fastened a block, and passed the long line from the boat through it. Another block was attached near the ground, and the line run through it. By this time the horses had come, and were hitched to the end of the rope.

Richard was deeply interested in the operation, and what he could not understand, the boatman explained to him. The rope was run through the block in the tree so as to pull the boat upward from the bottom of the river.

“Now start up the horses, John, very slowly, and stop quick, when I give the order,” said Ben, as he stepped into the skiff, and paddled out to the mast of the _Greyhound_. “Now, go ahead, John,” shouted he.

The horses pulled, and in a few moments the sailboat was safely landed on the grass by the side of the water. On examination, it was found that the plug in the bottom had been taken out, and greater than ever was the mystery in regard to the author of the mischief; but Richard, elated at the success of the boatman’s labors, had ceased to care who had sunk the boat, so intent was he upon the prospects of the race.

The boat was baled out, and washed out, and half an hour of sunshine restored her to her former condition.

“Ben, I am ever so much obliged to you for what you have done, and all the more sorry for what happened this morning,” said Richard, as the boatman was leaving the _Greyhound_. “You have saved me from disgrace and defeat.”

“Why so?”

“I am going to run the race with Tom Mullen this morning.”

“Are you? If I had known it, I wouldn’t have raised your boat to save her from destruction,” replied Ben, with a sad look.

“Miss Bertha don’t want him to go,” added Noddy, who was seated in the bow of Ben’s boat. “I heard her teasing him to give it up, and he wouldn’t.”

“Shut up, you young monkey!” said Ben. “Boys should be seen, and not heard.”

The old boatman used all the powers of his rude eloquence to dissuade Richard from going; but the latter prated about his faith and his honor, and declared that he must go; and he did go.

“Poor boy!” sighed Ben. “He is a smart, likely, good-hearted fellow, and it is a pity that he should go to ruin.”

“Miss Bertha cried as though her heart would break, trying to make him give up the race. Something awful has happened to Mr. Grant, too,” added Noddy. “I heard Miss Bertha say he had failed, if you know what that means--I don’t.”

“Failed!” gasped old Ben.

“Yes, sir; but Richard would go, and that’s the reason why I pulled the plug out, and sank the boat,” continued Noddy, innocently.