Captain of the Crew

Trevor stared thoughtfully into the flames, trying to summon up the picture that appeared so delightful to his roommate. After a moment he smiled faintly.

“Yes, I see; yes, I fancy it was comical. But – but wasn’t it awfully brave of Muggins?”

“Awfully,” answered Dick with emphasis as he sat up again, dried his eyes with a towel, and proceeded with his dressing. “Perhaps you’ll find him again.”

But Trevor shook his head sadly.

“No chance of that. Poor Muggins!”

After chapel that morning Professor Wheeler, the principal, arose. “One of the professors while returning through the yard late last evening came across a – a young dog wearing a collar and chain. There are reasons to believe that the animal belongs to one of you, as the professor caught sight of a boy running toward a dormitory.”

A murmur of surprise, amusement, and excitement traveled through the hall. Boys studied each other’s faces questioningly. “He saw you after all!” whispered Dick. “I don’t see how he could,” whispered Trevor.

“There is a rule,” continued the principal, “forbidding the keeping of dogs, or any sort of animals, in the academy buildings.” He paused, and then added grimly: “I will ask the owner of the animal to stand up.”

There was a flutter of excitement; heads turned expectantly for sight of the unlucky youth. Silence reigned save for the whisperings of the boys. But no one arose. The principal waited calmly, patiently, for several minutes.

“Very well,” he said then. “I want every resident of Masters Hall to come to my office at a quarter of nine, prompt.” He moved down the steps and the boys flocked from their seats and hurried out of chapel, laughing, whispering in the throes of a new sensation. Trevor groaned as he arose.

“I fancy it would have been better if I’d ’fessed up,” he said to Dick. “Perhaps he’d have let me off easier. What do you think?”

“Blessed if I know. Anyhow, there’s no harm done so far; you have a right to refuse to incriminate yourself. Only what he wants us at the office for I can’t see, unless he’s going to ask each one of us separately. In that case it’s all up with you.”

“In that case I’ll own up, of course,” said Trevor. “But it’s rather tough getting into another fuss just when I’ve got over that stage-coach business. Maybe it’ll be probation this time.”

“Oh, I guess not,” answered Dick as they crossed the dining-hall. “And it isn’t like Wheels to ask the fellows to tell on each other; and that’s why I can’t understand this office business.”

At the appointed time forty-two youths of various ages and sizes crowded into the principal’s office in Academy Building. The office consists in reality of two rooms, an outer and an inner apartment, the first used by the secretary, the second sacred to Professor Wheeler. The outer room was crowded when the principal entered, and a gasp of surprise went up when it was seen that under one arm he carried a small, wriggling, greatly excited bull puppy, which strove earnestly to reach his face with an eager pink tongue. The principal appeared to appreciate the humor of his entrance, for there was a slight twitch at the corners of his mouth, as though he would have liked to smile. At sight of Muggins Trevor started and made as though to move forward and claim his property, but Dick laid a warning hand on his arm, and he kept his place and watched professor and dog disappear into the inner office. The forty-two youths – or to be strictly truthful – forty of them – gazed wonderingly into each other’s faces while titters of suppressed laughter ran up and down the ranks. Then the principal came out again still with the squirming puppy in his arms, and the titters died away abruptly.

“Are we all here?” he asked. “Supposing you form into, say, three lines across the room here; that’s it; now I can count you. Exactly; forty-two; a full attendance, I see. Kindly give me your attention for a moment.” He held up the puppy, a squirming white mass of legs, tail, and pink tongue. “I have here, as you see, a young dog, of just what breed, age, and previous condition of servitude I am in doubt. But it has, as you will observe, a collar of Hillton crimson and a strong steel chain; possibly we shall be able to identify it by those. Now the owner, or at least the companion at a late hour last night, of this animal is known to room in your dormitory. I have called you together here in order that he may claim his property. I will ask him to do so.”

Each boy viewed his neighbor suspiciously, but none said a word. As before, the principal waited calmly, patiently, for several moments. Then:

“Very well. You will perhaps recollect the saying in regard to Mahomet and the mountain. The mountain having refused to go to Mahomet, Mahomet very sensibly decided to go to the mountain. In this case, as the owner refuses to go to the dog, we will see if the dog will go to the owner.”

Professor deposited the puppy on the floor. Forty-two – or, to be again truthful, forty – youths viewed the animal with apprehension. It was all very clever, of course, and no doubt had a flavor of humor, but – but supposing that silly dog got it into his head that they were his owner! How could they prove that they weren’t? How produce a satisfactory alibi? They stirred uneasily, and frowned at the puppy.

The puppy, meanwhile, sat down and industriously scratched his neck.

But after that a spirit of adventure seized him, and he cast an inquiring glance over the breathless assembly. Then he moved forward and sniffed tentatively at the damp boots of Todd, who stood in the middle of the front line. Todd held his breath and turned pale. But Muggins evidently didn’t fancy wet leather, for he moved off down the line, sniffing here and there, but without enthusiasm. Once he paused and cocked an interrogatory brown eye up at Williams. And it was Williams’s turn to wish himself away. He frowned darkly, threateningly, and Muggins, scenting animosity, turned tail. Williams heaved a sigh of relief.

Muggins now crawled laboriously between the feet of the next youth, and found himself confronted by a second rank of motionless, silent, and unsympathetic persons. He began to feel nervous. He stopped and, pointing his blunt nose toward heaven, howled long and dismally. Some one laughed, and the spell of terror was broken. Even Professor Wheeler smiled, while Muggins, delighted at the evidence of companionship, wagged his tail and began his search anew. Dick and Trevor stood, backs to the wall, in the last of the three lines. Trevor watched the puppy, scowling ferociously. The suspense was awful. He never for an instant doubted that sooner or later Nemesis in the shape of Muggins would find him out. Meanwhile he frowned, clenched his fists, and waited for his doom. His doom when it came came speedily.

Muggins had apparently lost interest in the proceedings, and had begun to whine softly, when suddenly he stopped dead short, and putting his head aloft, twitched the wrinkled end of his pink nose and sniffed suspiciously. One ear went up at an animated angle, and he put his little bullet-shaped head on one side. Professor Wheeler moved softly forward to a point where he could better watch events, and Trevor, after one annihilating glance at the puppy, stared straight before him. Muggins squirmed through the second rank, showing signs of strong excitement. And then —

Then there was a yelp of triumph, of delight, and Muggins was leaping deliriously at Trevor, giving vent to his joy in short explosive barks and gurgling yelps.

“I won’t keep you any longer,” said the principal. “If any of you are late at recitations, you may explain that it was my fault. I will ask Nesbitt to remain for a few minutes.”

And with grins of relief and amusement the forty-one boys crowded forth, leaving Trevor standing there alone, very red in the face, and with the puppy clasped close in his arms. Then the principal and Trevor and Muggins adjourned to the inner room. And there, while Muggins lay curled contentedly against the boy’s breast – simply because he couldn’t be induced to stay anywhere else – Trevor, rather haltingly, explained.

“And you had the dog in your study ever since Saturday?”

“Yes, sir.”

“But how – I can’t understand why no one discovered it. Didn’t the ‘goody’ see it there?”

“No, sir.” And Trevor explained his manner of keeping that worthy person in ignorance. And once or twice during the recital, although Trevor really didn’t do the narrative half justice, the professor concealed his smiles with difficulty. And then, when there was nothing more to be said on Trevor’s side, the principal sat silent for several moments, gazing out of the window. And Trevor took heart.

“Well, the whole case seems to have been one of sudden infatuation between a boy and a dog,” said Professor Wheeler at last, “rather than a preconceived plan to create mischief or transgress the rules. Under the circumstances – But, of course, you understand that the dog can not remain in the grounds?”

“I suppose not, sir.” And the principal smiled at the lad’s dolorous tones.

“No; now I would suggest that you take him to the village and find some one there to look after him for you; I think you can do it; you might try Watson’s stables, back of the Eagle. Then you can see the dog occasionally, though you must promise never to bring him onto school grounds.”

“Yes, sir; thank you, sir.”

“And I think that that will be punishment enough for the case. You may go, Nesbitt. And you may leave the puppy here, if you like, until you have an opportunity to go to the village.”

“Thank you very much, sir,” answered Trevor gratefully.

“By the way, it’s a bulldog, isn’t it?” asked the principal. “Yes, I thought so; that head, you know; very intelligent creature, to be sure.”

And then Trevor placed Muggins on the principal’s big leather couch, with never a doubt but that that was the most appropriate place for him, and sneaked to the door. And when he hurried down the steps of Academy Building, shrill and faint came to his ears the wailing of Muggins.

After dinner, accompanied by Dick, he conveyed the puppy to the village and arranged for his board and room – the latter a comfortable soap-box in the office – at Watson’s livery-stable. And after a heartrending parting the two boys returned to the academy and two o’clock recitations.

“Do you think he’ll be happy there?” asked Trevor wistfully.

“Sure to be,” Dick assured him. “He’ll be as happy as – as a bull pup!”

The following afternoon Carl Cray burst excitedly into the study, where the two were deep in the morrow’s lessons.

“It’s come!” he cried triumphantly. “She’s here!”

“Who’s come?” asked Dick blankly.

“What’s here?” echoed Trevor.

“Why, the ice-yacht – The Sleet!”

CHAPTER XIII

THE VOYAGE OF THE SLEET

The Scene.– The boat-house landing and the river thereabouts.

The Time.– Four-thirty of the following Saturday afternoon.

Characters.– Dick, Trevor, Carl, Stewart, an ice-yacht, chorus of boys on skates.

Chorus: “Heave-o! Now, all together! Heave!”

Carl: “Hang the thing, anyhow! What’s the matter with it?”

Dick: “Well, since you know all about the art of ice-sailing, it strikes me that you ought to be able to raise a little old pillow-sham of a sail like that!”

Trevor: “Let’s pull on this rope and see what happens.”

Chorus: “How’d you like to be the ice-yachtsmen?”

Carl: “That’s the rope! Take hold here, fellows!”

Chorus: “Everybody shove!”

Carl: “There she goes! Make a hitch there, Dick! Jump on, quick! Whoa!”

Chorus: “A-ah!”

The boat catches the wind, starts suddenly up-stream, as suddenly changes its mind, veers about, rams the landing, backs off, charges a group of boys on skates, and then stands motionless with its head into the wind and laughs so that its sail flaps.

It is now discovered that there is room on the yacht for but three fellows at the most, and every one save Carl begs to be allowed to sacrifice his pleasure and remain at home. The choice falls to Stewart, and he joins the chorus with a countenance eloquent of relief. Carl, Dick, and Trevor huddle together on the cockpit, and a portion of the chorus shoves the yacht’s head about. The sail fills, and the yacht glides off up-stream in a strong breeze, to the jeers and biting sarcasms of the chorus, many of whom pretend to weep agonizedly into their handkerchiefs.

The Sleet had been delivered and paid for the preceding Wednesday. She was an old-style boat with a length of sixteen feet and a sail area altogether too small for her size. A new coat of brilliant – and as yet but partly dried – crimson paint hid a multitude of weak places. The cockpit, upholstered with a piece of faded red carpet, was barely large enough to allow the three boys to huddle onto it.

The boat-house and landing, Stewart, and the contemptuous chorus were soon left behind, and The Sleet gained momentum every second. Carl held the tiller, and Dick and Trevor held their breaths. The wind was straight abaft, but the cold made the boys huddle closely together to protect their faces. The academy buildings faded from sight in the gray afternoon haze, and the river stretched cold and bleak before them.

“How fast are we going?” asked Dick.

“I don’t know; pretty well, I guess,” answered Carl. “Fine, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” replied Dick, doubtfully. “Only I don’t think we ought to go far away, you know; eh, Trevor?”

“Oh, let her rip. What’s the difference whether we get killed here or farther up? Pull open the throttle, Carl!”

“Look out for your heads, then; I’m going to swing her across to the other side.”

Carl moved the tiller to starboard, and the yacht tacked toward the farther shore at a truly alarming speed.

“She’s going awful fast, Carl,” gasped Dick.

“Pshaw! this is nothing. If there was only a decent wind – ”

“Wow, Carl, she’s keeling over!” yelled Trevor.

The starboard runner was a whole foot above the ice. The sensation was distinctly unpleasant, and even Carl seemed not to relish it.

“Let’s see,” he muttered. “Oh, yes.” He moved the tiller cautiously, and the flighty runner settled down upon the surface once more.

“That’s better,” gasped Dick. “Let’s turn here and go back, fellows,” he suggested with a fine semblance of carelessness. Carl grinned.

“Dick’s scared silly, Trevor,” he shouted.

“Well, so’m I,” answered Trevor. “And so are you, only you won’t let on. The bally thing goes so fast that it makes you feel funny inside you. But it is fun, Carl. Look out for the bank!”

Over went the tiller again, and the yacht started on the starboard tack. The hills on either side were flying past, and now and then a cluster of houses were seen dimly for an instant, and then was lost to sight.

“What’s that ahead there?” asked Dick. Carl raised his eyes and followed the other’s gaze.

“Ice-yacht,” he answered. “Perhaps they’ll race us.”

“Perhaps they will,” muttered Trevor, “but if you go any faster when you race, I’ll get off the blooming thing and walk.”

“Bully boy!” cried Carl. “Feeling better, aren’t you?”

“Well, I fancy I’ve got some of my breath back, you know. But I don’t mind saying that I’d rather ride on a cyclone than this contrivance. And my feet are like snowballs!”

“So are mine,” echoed Dick. “And all the rest of me. But let’s ask ’em to race, Carl.”

The other yacht, which when first sighted had been a long distance up the river, was now but a short way ahead, and was almost motionless, nose into the wind, as though awaiting the arrival of The Sleet. While the latter boat was still an eighth of a mile distant a form sprang into view on the yacht ahead and a hand waved in challenge. Carl steadied himself on his knees and waved back.

“We’ll race you!” he bawled.

An answering gesture showed that he had been heard, and the figure disappeared. In another moment the two yachts were abreast, and the stranger swung about and took the wind. She had two persons aboard, a man and a woman, both so wrapped from the weather as to be scarcely distinguishable. She was a much larger boat than The Sleet, sloop-rigged, with immaculate white sails and without side-timbers. She wore no paint, but her woodwork was varnished until it shone. Altogether there was scarcely any comparison between the two yachts, so immeasurably superior was the sloop in every detail.

The Sleet meanwhile had gained an eighth of a mile, perhaps, ere the stranger had found the wind, but now the latter came booming after them at a spanking gait, her big sails as stiff as though frozen. Carl grinned.

“It’ll be a mighty short race, my boys. She can sail all around this little triangle. But we’ll give her a go, just the same.” He brought The Sleet closer to the wind, and then began a series of long tacks that sent the boat fairly flying over the ice. But the stranger was already at the same tactics, and ere a mile had passed was abreast of The Sleet, though at the other side of the river, and her crew were waving derisively across.

“Well, if we had as much sail as you have,” growled Carl, “we might be in your class; as it is, we aren’t. But The Sleet is a good goer, all the same.”

The other boat stood across into the middle of the river, and then, as though her former efforts had been but the merest dawdling, bounded away, and was soon but a small white speck far up the ice in the haze.

“Let’s turn back now,” suggested Dick. “It must be getting toward half-past five, and you must remember that we won’t be able to make as fast time going down the river as we have coming up.”

“All right, we’ll turn in a minute.”

And then Carl, whose knowledge of ice-yachting was derived from the hurried perusal of a library book on the subject, cudgeled his brains to recollect how to “go about.” Of course, he might lower the sail and then bring her around, but that would be a most clumsy, unsportsmanlike method, and so not to be seriously considered. Presumably, the thing to do was to luff.

“Stand by to luff!” he bawled. Dick and Trevor stared.

“Stand!” cried Trevor indignantly. “Why, I can’t stand, you idiot. It’s all I can do to hold on as it is!”

“Well, look out for the boom, then. I’m going to bring her about.”

“Who?” asked Trevor innocently. But he got no answer, and the next instant he had forgotten his question, for Carl had thrust the helm hard over without first ascertaining that the sheet was clear. It wasn’t. The result was startling. The wind struck the sail full, and the yacht swung violently to port, tilted almost onto her beam ends. Carl and Trevor went rapidly through space and brought up on the ice yards and yards away, happily uninjured save for minor bruises and scratches, and The Sleet, righting herself, bounded forward with Dick clutching desperately, dazedly, at the port runner-beam.

When the shock had come Dick, like the others, had been thrown from the cockpit, but, by good luck or bad, had encountered the end of the cross-timber, just over the runner, and had seized it and clung to it with no very clear idea as to what it was, and not greatly caring. And now, when he opened his eyes and gazed confusedly about, he found the yacht ringing merrily over the ice and, judging by the feeling, kicking up her heels in delight, and found himself wrapped convulsively about the beam with the wind whistling madly in his ears and blowing his hair helter-skelter, for in his flight through air his cap and he had parted company. He cast a look backward and thought that for an instant he could discern in the gathering darkness two figures. Near at hand the stays ran to the masthead, and he edged himself toward them until he could grasp one in his numbed fingers. Then he was able to gain the support of the mast, somewhat painfully, for he found that his shoulder ached horribly, and that his lip had been cut and was swelling to disconcerting size. By means of the boom, which was swinging agitatedly as though constantly meditating a veer to the other side, he reached the cockpit, and there, stretched once more at length, he studied the situation.

Apparently, there was no immediate danger; the yacht was heading fairly straight up the middle of the river, and although now and then the stern slid this way or that, she was behaving well. But the imperative thing was to stop. Dick tried to undo a rope that looked promising, but his fingers were numb and stiff, despite the woolen gloves that covered them, and refused to act. He peered ahead into the descending darkness. The shore to the left was getting rather too near for comfort, and he seized the tiller, and, half fearful of the result, swung it to the right, with the startling result that the yacht headed more directly toward the threatening shore. Desperately he moved the tiller to the left, and gave a sigh of relief as the boat’s nose swung toward midstream. Encouraged by his success he presently moved the helm back a little, and with the yacht’s head pointing a middle course, again tried to think of some means of bringing his unwelcome voyage to an end. He knew nothing, practically, of yachting on either water or ice, but he knew that if he could get the sail down the boat would eventually stop. Painfully he drew off a glove and sought his pocket-knife. It was not there. He tried all his pockets with the same disappointing result. Then he drew his glove back over his deadened hand, and thought desperately of jumping off and letting The Sleet look after herself. But the prospect of being dashed across the ice at the risk of a broken limb didn’t appeal to him; and besides, he felt in a measure responsible for the safe return of the confounded boat.

“Stand by the ship!” he muttered with an attempt at a grin.

The wind seemed now to be decreasing in force, but The Sleet still charged away into the gathering blackness with breathless speed. At a loss for any better solution, Dick struggled again at the rope, and it seemed that success was about to reward his efforts when there was a sudden jar, followed a second later by a strange sinking sensation, the sound of breaking ice, and then Dick felt the cockpit being lifted up and up, and ere he could grasp anything he was rolled over the edge and plunged downward into icy water.

CHAPTER XIV

DICK TELLS HIS STORY

When Carl and Trevor, bruised and breathless, found their feet and stared about them, The Sleet was already a whisking gray blot in the twilight. Trevor obeyed his first impulse and limping up the ice in the direction of the disappearing boat, called frantically: “Dick! Dick!” Then, realizing the absurdity of his chase after a thing that was probably reeling off half a mile every minute or so, he stopped and came dejectedly back to where Carl was silently rubbing a bruised thigh.

“Dick will be killed!” he cried hoarsely. “What shall we do?”

“Get back to the academy,” said Carl.

“What good will that do?”

“They can telegraph up the river and get some one to look for him. I wonder how far from Hillton we are?”

“I don’t know,” answered Trevor, “but let’s hurry. Which way shall we go?”

“Across the river to the railroad track. Maybe, Trevor, there’s a station between here and Hillton; there ought to be, eh?”

“I don’t know,” sorrowed his companion. “Do you think Dick might have dropped off after we saw him? Maybe, Carl, he’s lying up there on the ice somewhere.”

“I don’t believe so. I think Dick will hold on as long as he can. Perhaps he will manage to get back onto the boat; if he does he ought to be able to stop her; he knows enough to lower the sail, I guess. I dare say he’ll turn up all right before long. The best thing for us to do is to find a telegraph office as soon as we can. Come ahead.”

Somewhat comforted, Trevor limped along and the two gained the river bank and stumbled through the darkness to the railroad track. Down this they tramped, silent for the most part, with feet that had no feeling left in them, and with fingers that ached terribly. How far from the academy they were neither had any idea; perhaps ten miles, perhaps less. As for the time, that at least they knew, for Trevor managed to get his watch out and Carl supplied a match; the hands pointed to twenty minutes of six.

“We ought to be home by seven,” said Carl with attempted cheerfulness. Trevor groaned.