Stormy Voyage Sandy Steele Adventures #3

CHAPTER FOUR

A Plot Discovered “Pleased to meet you, boys. My name is John Kennedy.” He adjusted his coat lapels and turned to look out at the loading docks again. “See that boat out there? That’s one of mine. The James Kennedy . Named after my father, boys. He founded the family shipping line.” A shadow passed over the man’s normally ruddy and pleasant features. “I guess I was too busy watching the James Kennedy loading to notice that confounded bucket was getting set to whack my head off.” Mr. Kennedy shot them a sly look. “Like to go aboard her?” “Would we!” “I’ll say!” Smiling, Mr. Kennedy led the way toward the long narrow ore freighter. Loading operations had been completed by the time they reached the dock, so they were allowed to proceed with little danger. They walked in awe beneath the now silent ore chutes, conscious as never before of their great size. Then, when they had come abreast of the James Kennedy ’s wheelhouse and superstructure in the after part of the ship, their host said genially, “All right now, boys—hop to it. Down the ramp there and wait for me.” As Sandy’s feet struck the slightly grimy steel deck, he noticed that the crewmen were busily covering up the load of ore that had just been deposited in the vessel’s holds. For a moment, he watched them. Then he gave a start. The man who was directing them was the same short, powerfully built man that they had seen coming out of John Steele’s field-testing shack a little earlier. “Oh, ho,” said Mr. Kennedy, observing Sandy’s gesture. “So you know Captain West, eh?” “Not exactly, sir. But I do remember seeing him coming out of my father’s field station only a few minutes ago.” “Your father’s field sta—” Mr. Kennedy struck his hands together sharply. “Why, of course! How could I have missed the resemblance! You’re John Steele’s son, aren’t you?” Sandy nodded proudly, and Mr. Kennedy rambled on, beaming: “Nothing like having your life saved by your friend’s son. Sort of keeps it in the family. And I certainly must tell John Steele what a fine boy he has! Ah, that’s it—down that ladder there. Smells like we’re just in time, boys.” Still chuckling, Mr. Kennedy gingerly followed Sandy and Jerry as they clambered down a narrow, steep, iron stairway that led into a cabin fitted with a long table having benches on either side. A few of the crewmen in faded blue shirts and dungarees were already seated, eating. They smiled at the two youths. “This is the galley, boys,” Mr. Kennedy said. “Ah, here’s Cookie.” Sandy and Jerry burst out laughing as the little man shuffled into the galley, and then, seeing them, threw up his hands in mock horror and made a dive as though to save the platters of food on the table from destruction. “S.O.S.,” he wailed, “S.O.S. Save Our Suppers!” “All right, Cookie,” Mr. Kennedy chuckled. “That’ll be enough. How about rustling up a feed for my two young friends? This lad here,” he started to say, looking at Sandy. But then, seeing Sandy blush, he went on: “This lad here has just done the Kennedy Shipping Line a great favor. Show him how we treat our friends, Cookie.” “Aye, aye, sir,” Cookie said, bobbing his bald head and grinning. He shuffled off, and when he returned, he almost staggered under the burden of the platter he held. Boy, Sandy and Jerry thought, eying the platter hungrily, Mr. Kennedy sure does treat his friends well! There were thick, juicy steaks and plates of French fried potatoes, pitchers of cold milk and plates of hot rolls and hard, cold butter—and, after dinner, two kinds of pie and plenty of ice cream. “Boy, oh, boy,” Jerry James said weakly, after he had at last put down his fork. “I’d say that meal was worth the drive from California—even if we didn’t get jobs in the mines.” “Jobs?” Mr. Kennedy said. “Mines?” “Yes, sir,” Sandy put in. “You see, Dad thought that he’d be able to land us summer jobs. That’s why Jerry and I drove all the way from Valley View, where we live. But when we got here, Dad told us that work was so slow in the mines there just weren’t any jobs.” As he spoke, Sandy’s good spirits began to drop a little. So did Jerry’s. For the moment, in the excitement of the events following the incident with the ore bucket, they had forgotten all about their disappointment. But now they realized once more that they were stranded 2,000 miles from home, without a job and just enough money to take them right back where they’d started from. Mr. Kennedy looked at them soberly. “That is too bad,” he said. “But what your father says about the mines is true, Sandy.” He frowned. “How I wish it were not! Listen, boys, and I’ll let you in on a little business secret.” They leaned toward him, and Mr. Kennedy went on. “This boat, the James Kennedy , is making one of my firm’s last runs down the lakes to Buffalo.” He shook his head. “There’s just nothing to be done about this low-grade-ore situation, and I’ve decided to sell the shipping line.” He grimaced. “In fact, I’m selling out to my worst competitor, not the sort of fellow I’d like to sit down to dinner with, boys. But he’s made me an offer, and I’m taking it. “That’s business, boys. So, you young fellows have the rather doubtful honor of sitting in the galley of the last of the Kennedy boats to—” Mr. Kennedy’s mouth came open and he brought his clenched hand down on the table with a crash that startled Sandy and Jerry. “Why not?” he said, smiling at them. “Why not what, sir?” Sandy asked in polite puzzlement. “Why not sign on a pair of young huskies from California as a sort of small reward for saving this leathery old skin of mine—that’s what!” Sandy Steele drew a sharp breath of joy and Jerry James had to keep from jumping on the mess table to dance a jig. “You don’t mean it, sir!” Sandy gasped. “Certainly, I mean it. Why, wouldn’t you boys rather see the Great Lakes from the decks of a long boat than from the bottom of some dusty old ore digging?” “Would we!” Jerry shouted. “Just ask us, that’s all—just ask us!” “I already have,” Mr. Kennedy said, chuckling. He was obviously enjoying the sensation his offer had created. “Well, then, we accept,” Sandy Steele said quickly. “When do we start?” “You can come aboard tonight, if you like. In fact, you probably should. The James Kennedy is shoving off in the morning. You’d better not take any chances on missing her.” “Right,” Sandy said, grinning in delight at his friend Jerry. Then, his face fell and he exclaimed, “Dad! We promised Dad we’d have dinner with him!” Mr. Kennedy glanced at his watch. “Why, it’s only six o’clock,” he said. “If I know John Steele, he’ll be working well past that.” Looking up, he said, “Don’t tell me two deck hands like yourselves are going to object to eating a second dinner?” Jerry James grinned sheepishly. “Well, sir, if you put it that way—I guess not. In fact,” he said, rubbing his stomach gently, “I’m not quite as full as I thought I was.” “I thought so,” Mr. Kennedy said, getting to his feet and leading the way out of the galley. “Now,” he continued, puffing at the exertion of climbing the ladder topside, “you boys had better get your things together and report back here to Captain West. He’ll be notified that you’re shipping aboard. Captain West’s one of the finest skippers on the Kennedy Line.” They walked together to the lake shore. At the end of the dock, Sandy could see a handsome, well-kept limousine—not flashy and loaded with chrome, like Pepper March’s. “I’m driving back to Buffalo, boys,” Mr. Kennedy told them. “Getting too old to weather those Great Lakes storms, I guess. I’ve sailed the Kennedy boats since I was fifteen, but now....” His voice trailed off and his kindly face saddened. “Well, now, I guess things are changing. The Kennedy boats will soon be the Chadwick boats. By the time I get home, I suppose Paul Chadwick will have the whole deal drawn up and waiting for my signature.” He held out his hand. “Goodbye, boys. Have a happy voyage—and remember to give your father my best, Sandy.” He turned and walked slowly to the car and the chauffeur who held a rear door open for him. He was a mournful figure as he got in the back and drove off in silence. Sandy and Jerry waved as the car departed, and then Sandy said through clenched teeth, “Oh, how I hope Dad can locate some high-grade ore deposits!” “Me, too!” Jerry James exclaimed. “I’d hate to see a fine old gentleman like Mr. Kennedy forced to sell his shipping line.” “And to someone he doesn’t trust!” Sandy added, his face serious and his voice grim. “Come on, Jerry, we’d better hurry if we want to get to Dad’s place before dark.” CHAPTER FOUR A Plot Discovered “Now, supposing I tell you my good news?” The speaker was John Steele. He asked his question as he and Sandy and Jerry carried their loaded trays from the cafeteria-style mess hall to their table on a terrace outdoors overlooking the lake. Ever since the two youths had rejoined Sandy’s father—almost bumping into Captain West as he came out of the field shack for the second time that day—they had been eagerly recounting their good fortune. Sandy’s father had been delighted to hear that his old friend John Kennedy had signed on his son and Jerry for the Duluth-to-Buffalo run. At one point, when he asked Sandy how they had met Mr. Kennedy, Sandy flushed and looked away. Jerry James had proudly jumped into the breach. “Sandy saved Mr. Kennedy’s life, Mr. Steele,” Jerry had said. Then, of course, nothing would do but that Jerry should relate the entire episode while John Steele listened with shining eyes. At last, Mr. Steele had proposed dinner. Now, as he said, “Supposing I tell you my good news?” Sandy was glad to have someone change the subject. “Sure, Dad,” he said. “Fire away.” John Steele drew a deep breath. “I’ve discovered some high-grade ore deposits,” he said. For the second time that day, Sandy and Jerry felt a wild thrill of joy. For a day that had started out so badly, things were indeed looking up! “Wonderful, Dad, wonderful! Where?” “Not too far from Lake Superior. Of course, they’ll have to run the railroad spur a bit farther inland, but that’s really no problem.” John Steele’s voice took on a note of pride. “Matter of fact, these deposits are rather rich. Sixty per cent iron content, I’d say—maybe even more.” “What a day, huh, Jerry? Just think, this means that Mr. Kennedy may not have to sell his lake boats, after all.” “That’s right, son. If this vein is as rich as I think it is, he may even have to build a few more boats—to take care of the load.” Sandy Steele’s eyes sparkled with excitement. “Dad,” he burst out, “I’ve got a great idea!” “What’s that, Sandy?” “Where can I get in touch with Mr. Kennedy? He was leaving for Buffalo.” “Why, I would say he’s heading for Minneapolis first. He won’t be there until quite late. Why, Sandy—what do you have in mind?” “I’m going to put in a long-distance call and tell him the good news! After all, he’s been pretty good to Jerry and me. This is the least we can do for him.” “I’d say you’ve been pretty helpful already, Sandy,” Mr. Steele drawled. Then, smiling, he went on, “But you don’t need to worry. That’s all been taken care of. Captain West has been informed, and he will tell Mr. Kennedy.” “Oh,” Sandy said, a note of doubt mingling with the disappointment in his voice. “Sandy!” John Steele’s voice was sharp. “What did you mean by that ‘Oh’? You make it sound as though Captain West is not to be trusted.” “Oh, no, sir,” Sandy rushed on, embarrassed. “Nothing of the kind. I don’t even know him, Dad—except by sight. And I’ve heard Mr. Kennedy himself say that Captain West was a very fine skipper.” “He is that,” Sandy’s father said, relaxing. “I guess I misunderstood you, son.” “Anyway,” Jerry James put in, “it will all be in the newspapers, won’t it, Mr. Steele?” “Not exactly, Jerry. You see, these things take weeks, even after you’ve made your initial discovery. Not that I’m not certain of these deposits. Far from it! I’ve never been more so. But there is always a certain amount of time before a report is properly nailed down—firmly enough for the newspapers to print it, that is.” “But what you’ve discovered today, Dad—that’s enough to make Mr. Kennedy change his mind about selling?” “It certainly is!” “Good,” Sandy said. Then, laying down his knife and fork, he leaned back in his chair with a sigh. He brushed back his cowlick and looked sorrowfully at the slice of roast beef remaining on his plate. “Honestly,” he said, “I don’t think I’ve got room for another single ounce.” “Well, well,” Jerry James said, apologetically, as he reached over and speared the morsel with his fork. “I think that I just might be able to handle it.” The unbelievably long silhouette of the James Kennedy lay long and dark like a great sea serpent against the looming bulk of the ore dock as Sandy Steele and Jerry James returned to the lake shore. They carried suitcases in which they had hurriedly stuffed the few things they’d be needing for shipboard life. Each had put in soap and comb and toothpaste and toothbrushes and two sets of dungarees for working hours, plus a good pair of slacks and a sport shirt for those days when they hoped to go ashore in Great Lakes ports like Detroit or Cleveland. They had disposed of Old Faithful easily enough. Sandy’s father had been pleased to take charge of Jerry’s jalopy while they were gone. It was just what he needed for the short trips between his field shack and the ore borings. As the two friends walked up the James Kennedy ’s ramp, their feet were dragging just a trifle. They had had a long and eventful day, and they were tired. When they stepped on deck, Jerry lost his balance and stumbled. Sandy had to shoot out an arm to keep him from falling. Suddenly, out of the dark, a voice growled, “Late, ain’cha?” Sandy stopped dead, his hand still grasping Jerry’s arm. He heard a low snicker, and then the voice said, “Jumpy, too, ain’cha?” “Well, no,” Sandy Steele said slowly, his eyes searching the darkness. “Where are you?” “Over here.” As their eyes became accustomed to the darkness, the two youths made out the figure of a tall man seated on a canvas chair. He leaned back against the bulkhead and stared at them from unfriendly eyes. “I guess you two are Ma Kennedy’s little chicks,” he sneered. “That right?” Sandy Steele felt a quick rush of anger. But he controlled himself and said, “We’re the men Mr. Kennedy signed on, if that’s what you mean.” “Men!” The tall man slapped his feet on the deck and cackled. “‘Men,’ he says! Ain’t that a hot one?” He glared at them. “Which one of you’s named Steele?” “I am,” Sandy said. “Go down below and report to the skipper. He’s waiting for you. First deck down, first cabin to starboard.” “To starboard?” Sandy repeated, and then, remembering that he was aboard ship, he blushed in the dark. The tall man’s cackle of derision didn’t help his self-control any. But Sandy resolved to ignore the man. With a reassuring squeeze of Jerry’s arm, he left his friend and clambered below. Going down the ladder, Sandy Steele hoped the unfriendly tall man would not make Jerry a target for his ridicule. Jerry James was good-natured enough, but he did have a hair-trigger temper. When Sandy reached Captain West’s cabin, he stopped and knocked. “Come in,” a gruff voice called, and Sandy pulled the heavy bulkhead open and stepped inside a small, dimly lighted room. Captain West was seated at a desk. He had his back to the door, but he swung around when Sandy entered. Sandy noticed that he still hadn’t shaved. Apparently he had been writing a letter, for he laid down a fountain pen with the air of a man who has been interrupted. “Who are you?” Captain West growled, even though Sandy was sure that he had recognized him. “Sandy Steele is my name, sir.” “Oh, you’re one of the two kids old man Kennedy—” Captain West stopped and ran a thick stubby hand across his lips. “How well do you know Kennedy?” he snapped. Sandy was taken aback. “I don’t understand you, sir.” “Don’t play dumb with me, Steele. You know what I mean. Are you a relative of his, or something? A nephew, maybe?” “No, sir. I met him today for the first time.” Captain West showed his disbelief. His thin lips parted and he started to laugh. It wasn’t a friendly laugh. Listening to it made Sandy feel anything but good-humored. “C’mon, kid.” Captain West stared. “Let’s have the truth. What’s your connection with Old Man Kennedy?” Sandy Steele was furious inwardly. He hadn’t liked the way the tall man topside had referred to Mr. Kennedy, but to hear Captain West—the valued skipper of the Kennedy Shipping Line—going on in the same disrespectful tone, well, that was going too far. “I am telling the truth, Captain,” Sandy said coldly. “I only met Mr. Kennedy today, and that was by accident.” Captain West raised his thick, dark eyebrows quizzically, and Sandy, with great reluctance, launched into the tale of the ore bucket. When he had finished, he found, to his amazement, that Captain West was regarding him with what could only be disgust! “So that’s the answer,” Captain West muttered. With a sort of displeasure, he swung around and began writing again. “All right, Steele,” he said over his shoulder. “Mr. Briggs will show you and the other boy to your quarters. And you can report to Cookie in the morning.” “Cookie!” Sandy Steele couldn’t believe his ears. Before he could stop himself, he had taken two quick steps around to the side of Captain West’s desk. With swift, reddening anger, Captain West threw down his fountain pen and slapped two hairy paws over the letter he’d been writing. “Are you insubordinate already?” he shouted. “Who do you think you are, questioning a skipper’s orders like that? D’ya think I’m going to let a pair of punk kids the likes of you work topside where the men are? Not on your life! You’ll report to the galley where you belong, and leave the men’s work to the men. Now, get out of my sight!” Sandy Steele felt himself going hot and cold by turns. He clenched and unclenched his fists as he stood there, looking down into the little piggish eyes of Captain West. They seemed to gleam wickedly in the reflected light of the desk lamp. Finally, with a low, mumbled “Aye, aye, sir,” Sandy Steele turned slowly around and left. Abovedeck, he found Mr. Briggs. Apparently, he had not bothered to make game of Jerry, for the two of them stood against the rail gazing out at the moon that had just begun to rise over Lake Superior. In the light of the moonlight shimmering on the water, Mr. Briggs got a look at Sandy’s whitened face. “Ho, ho,” he cackled. “Skipper gave you the rough side of his tongue, eh? Well, you’ll get used to it. Here, let me show you two below.” They went down, down and down, to the lowest hold, and as they descended the ladder, Sandy Steele wondered to himself if he could ever possibly get used to an insulting man like Captain West. He was thinking the same thing as he and Jerry tumbled wearily into the bunks which occupied almost all the space in their tiny cabin. Jerry slept below, and Sandy above. The more Sandy thought of Captain West, the more convinced he became that he and Jerry should leave the ship before the James Kennedy cast off her moorings and got under way. But, no, he thought again, that would be too much like quitting. Still, what were they to do? For some unexplained reason, Captain West despised them and was determined to make their voyage as unpleasant as he could. But why? Sandy could not understand it. He forced his tired brain to go over all the events of the day. He could recall seeing Captain West twice at his father’s field station. Then, he had seen him again when Mr. Kennedy brought them aboard ship. Apart from that, he had never seen the man before. Suddenly, in a tiny corner of Sandy Steele’s brain, a light flashed. Astounded, unable to believe what he remembered seeing, Sandy shot erect. His head struck the overhead a painful blow, and below him Jerry James sputtered out of a sound sleep. “Sandy! Sandy, what happened?” “I just hit my head, but never mind that, Jerry,” Sandy whispered. “Listen, remember when Mr. Kennedy was saying so sadly that the Kennedy boats would have another name soon?” “Yes?” “Can you remember the other name?” “Sure. It was Chadwick. He said he was completing a deal with Paul Chadwick.” Jerry James heard a sharp hiss above him, and then the rustling of bedclothes. Then, to his surprise, a pair of long, lean-muscled legs dropped down in front of his eyes. In the next instant, Sandy Steele was crouching in his underwear alongside Jerry’s bunk, whispering excitedly. “Chadwick! That’s it! Listen, Jerry, when I came in to Captain West’s cabin tonight, I interrupted him as he was writing a letter. I didn’t mean to see who it was addressed to, but I did.” Sandy paused dramatically. “It was addressed to Mr. Paul Chadwick!” For a long second, there was a silence in the little cabin, a silence broken only by the heavy breathing of the two youths. Then, as Jerry James scrambled quickly from his bunk, Sandy whispered, “We’ve got to get out of here and warn Mr. Kennedy, Jerry. I’m positive that Captain West is working for the Chadwick shipping interests, and against Mr. Kennedy. He’ll never tell Mr. Kennedy about the deposits Dad discovered! And Mr. Kennedy will go right ahead and sell his boats for practically nothing!” “You’re right, Sandy,” Jerry whispered, hastily pulling on his dungaree pants. “Good thing you found out about Captain West before it was too late. Our ship doesn’t sail until to—” Jerry James cut short his sentence with a groan. In their mad rush to get dressed, Sandy and Jerry had not noticed the steady shuddering of the James Kennedy ’s sides. They had paid no heed to the regular throbbing of her motors. The James Kennedy had put out on Lake Superior ten minutes ago. CHAPTER FIVE A New Friend In the morning, there was no time to make further plans, as the two friends had promised each other before they finally dropped off to sleep. They were awakened by the sound of Cookie’s voice as the little man leaned in the door of their cabin and cried, “Up and at ’em, boys, up and at ’em! It’s five o’clock, and that’s the time to rise and shine!” Still sleepy-eyed, Sandy and Jerry tumbled out of their bunks and stood looking at Cookie with blank expressions on their faces. Cookie returned their stare with a toothless grin. “Don’t rightly know where you are, hey, boys? Well, you’re aboard the James Kennedy and right now we’re out in the middle of Lake Superior.” He cocked a twinkling eye at them and flashed another one of his smiles, and the youths were heartened to find someone, at least, who seemed to want to be friendly with them. “Go ahead and wash up,” Cookie said. “Be in the galley in fifteen minutes and I’ll have your breakfasts ready. In fact, you might just have the time to go topside and see the sun come up.” Then he was gone. Sandy and Jerry obediently headed for the washroom. There, they sloshed cold water on their faces and brushed their teeth. That made them feel better. By the time they had grasped the handrail of the ladder leading abovedeck, they had recovered their normal high spirits. “Shucks,” Jerry said. “I don’t see what we got so riled up about last night. We’ll be in Buffalo in plenty of time to warn Mr. Kennedy.” “You’re right, Jerry,” Sandy said. “That’s what I was thinking, too. Funny how you forget that a boat can make good time because it’s moving in a straight line. Driving in an automobile, Mr. Kennedy will have to go through six or seven states.” “Sure. And don’t forget that a boat keeps moving all the time, like a railroad train. In a car, you have to stop to get some sleep or eat.” It was still dark as they came out on deck. Far out in front of them, they could see the bulk of the forward superstructure—the navigation bridge and the deck gang’s quarters—rearing out of the black. Beneath their feet they felt the steady throbbing of the James Kennedy ’s engines. All around them, for miles and miles, stretched the flat, black surface of Lake Superior. Ahead of them, for they were sailing due east, there was a light rosy glow that heralded the rising of the sun. Even then, as they looked, a line of horizon was beginning to take shape. “Isn’t it something?” Sandy whispered. “Here we are, thousands of miles inland. Yet, it’s just like sailing on an ocean.” Sandy Steele stretched his neck and stood on his tiptoes and turned slowly around. “You can’t see anything but water,” he said. “Boy, what a country!” Jerry James breathed. The two youths fell silent. Carefully, they looked away from each other, for neither one wished to betray the strong emotions that held him at that moment. Their feelings were a mixture of pride and love of country and a certain awe in the presence of its beauty and grandeur. “Hey,” Jerry said, suddenly breaking the spell. “What’s that light out there?” He pointed and Sandy Steele’s eyes followed his finger. “I’ll bet it’s another lake boat,” Sandy said. “Sure! That’s what it is. And there’s another one. There must be a half dozen of them, Jerry.” Jerry James chuckled. “Say,” he said, “this lake’s a regular freeway, isn’t it?” Sandy nodded. “I think I hear Cookie calling us, Jerry,” he said. “Let’s go below.” On their way down, Sandy went on, “We’d better keep what we know about Captain West a secret. We’ll wait until we get to Buffalo to telephone Mr. Kennedy. Of course, if we’re delayed or a storm comes up, we’ll have to think of something else. Who knows? Maybe we’ll stop in Detroit or some other Great Lakes port, and we can call him from there.” “Right,” Jerry said, and then, “Hey, do you smell what I smell?” Sandy did, indeed, and the eyes of both of them went wide with wonder at the sight of the breakfast Cookie had set up for them on a tiny table at the end of his gleaming, spotless, aluminum galley. “Eat hearty, boys,” Cookie said, bobbing his bald head in the direction of the ham and eggs and stacks of toast and jars of jelly. “Plenty more where that came from.” “Boy,” Jerry said, “do you always eat like this?” “On the Kennedy boats, you do,” Cookie said. “Of course, almost all of the lake boats feed good. But there ain’t any to compare with the old white K Line.” Cookie’s face darkened. “Now, if you was aboard a Chadwicker, I don’t think you’d be chowing down so good.” “How’s that, Cookie?” Jerry said, squaring himself away to attack his fourth egg. “Humph!” Cookie grunted, as he started to sharpen a long thin knife. After a series of expert, clashing strokes against the sharpening steel he held in his hand, he bent over a haunch of bacon on his board and began to slice it down. “Chadwick’s the cheapest line on the lakes, that’s why,” he went on. “And I ought to know. Sailed on the Chadwickers for five years, I did. And not a night went by that I didn’t have to count the eggs and hand the keys to the icebox over to the skipper.” Jerry chortled at the notion of a crestfallen Cookie locking up his beloved icebox for the night. “Boy,” he said, forgetting himself, “that’s one more reason why we’ve got to stop Mr. Kennedy from selling—” Sandy Steele’s foot moved swiftly under the table, and Jerry clutched his ankle with a surprised expression of pain on his face. “Hey, that hurt!” he started to say, but then, remembering their secret, he flushed in embarrassment. Cookie had whirled and was looking at them with an expression of bewilderment. “Selling?” he repeated. “Did you say selling?” “Oh, no,” Jerry choked, his face getting redder and redder. “I said sailing . You see,” he rushed on frantically, trying to think of a good story, “what I really meant was....” Poor Jerry. He had begun to flounder, because he wasn’t used to the strain of making up a good lie on the spur of the moment. But just then one of the crewmen came to his rescue. “Hey, Cookie,” he said irritably as he poked his head inside the galley. “When do we eat? I’ve been sitting out here for five minutes.” To the great relief of both Jerry and Sandy, Cookie instantly forgot his question and turned to covering his grill with sizzling slices of bacon and gently popping eggs. “All right, boys,” he said. “Turn to.” For the next hour or so, Sandy and Jerry flew back and forth between the mess hall and the galley, bringing the breakfasts of the crewmen and clearing the dirty dishes away. Then, when breakfast was over, Cookie set them to work washing the dishes. When this was done, Cookie opened a cupboard and took out a bucket and mop together with a long-handled, T-shaped instrument that looked something like a window washer’s rubber blade. “Know what this is, Jerry?” he said, grinning. Jerry James shook his head. “This here’s what they call a squeegee. And she’s going to be your sweetheart until we get to Buffalo.” Sandy laughed at the look of displeasure on his chum’s face, as Cookie gave them a demonstration of how the squeegee is handled. First he filled the bucket with soapy water. This he sloshed over the deck in the mess hall. Then, with the motion of a man raking a lawn, he worked the squeegee across the deck. The rubbery blade made squeaking noises as it moved. “That’s how the squeegee got its name,” Cookie said. “Hear it? Squee ... gee ... squee ... gee....” He winked at Sandy. “Now, you, Sandy, you go over the deck with this mop after Jerry’s finished. Do the same in the galley. And remember, you do this after every meal.” “Every meal!” Jerry exclaimed. “That’s right, boy. A ship’s galley has to be as clean as a hospital. You’ve got men living aboard ship in close quarters and you can’t take any chances with dirt and germs. Now, turn to!” They turned to. And by the time they had gotten the mess hall and the galley sparkling again to Cookie’s liking, it was time for lunch! They had to go through the same process again, and Jerry James moaned, “Honestly, Sandy, the water in this bucket is probably the only water we’ll see until we get to Buffalo!” But the second time they went through their round of chores, they moved with more speed because they were more practiced. By a little after four o’clock, they had finished. Cookie ran an approving eye over their handiwork, and said, “Good job, boys. What say we go topside and have a talk while I smoke my pipe?” They were only too glad to agree. Up above, they noticed that Captain West was standing at the starboard rail, talking to his mate, Mr. Briggs. The skipper scowled when he saw the boys. He spoke quickly to his mate, and Mr. Briggs hurried over to them. As he came up, Sandy saw that he did not look so fierce by daylight as he had seemed at night. In fact, his chin was a trifle weak and he had the worried air of a man who suffers from indigestion. “You,” Mr. Briggs said, aiming a dirty fingernail at Sandy. “Skipper wants you.” Sandy nodded and followed him to Captain West. “Ain’t I seen you and your friend somewheres before?” the captain asked. Sandy nodded. He knew that he shouldn’t have, but he couldn’t help himself. He was not fond of Captain West. The skipper’s eyes flashed and his face reddened and his hand came up involuntarily. But he held it back, and snarled, “When I ask a question, I want it answered out loud! And when you talk to me, you say ’Sir.’ Now, answer my question.” “Yes, sir,” Sandy said evenly. “You saw us in front of my father’s testing station.” “Your father’s testing—” Captain West began to repeat, puzzled. But then his face cleared, and he said, “So that’s it! Certainly, your name’s Steele, too.” Now, a look of cunning crept into his face. He softened his voice. “Young fellow, perhaps I was a bit hard on you last night. Step over here to the rail for a moment. I want to ask you a few questions.” Sandy followed him.

Related documents

• Troubled Waters Sandy Steele Adventures #6#54349
• Black Treasure Sandy Steele Adventures #1#54302
• Charley Laurel: A Story of Adventure by Sea and Land#40908
• Travels and Adventures of Monsieur Violet#40979
• The Master of Mrs. Chilvers: An Improbable Comedy#27826