Billy Topsail & Company: A Story for Boys

Archie gazed into the rainy day.

“What do you see?” his father asked, in a way half bantering, half grave.

“Your ships and wharves, sir.”

“Some day,” said Sir Archibald, “they will be yours.”

“I wish you wouldn’t say that, dad–at least, not just in that way,” said Archie, turning away from the window. “It sort of frightens me.”

Sir Archibald laughed and clapped him on the back. “You know what I mean,” said he.

“You mean that the firm has a name,” said Archie. “You mean that the name must never be disgraced. I know what you mean.”

Sir Archibald nodded.

“I hope,” said Archie, the suspicion of a quaver in his voice and a tremble in his lower lip, “that I’ll never disgrace it.”

“Nor the name of the little firm that goes into business this day,” said Sir Archibald.

Archie’s solemn face broke into a smile of amusement and surprise. “Why, dad,” said he, “it hasn’t got a name.”

“Armstrong & Company, Junior?”

“Armstrong, Topsail, Grimm & Company,” said Archie, promptly.

“Good luck to it!” wished Sir Archibald.

“No; that’s not it at all,” said Archie. “Billy Topsail schemed this thing out. Wish luck to the firm of Topsail, Armstrong, Grimm & Company.”

“Build the firm,” said Sir Archibald, “upon hard work and fair play.”

Archie hurriedly said they would–and vanished.

“Son is growing up,” thought Sir Archibald, when the boy had gone. “Son is decidedly growing up. Well, well!” he sighed; “son is growing up and in far more trouble than he dreams of. It’s a big investment, too. However,” he thought, well pleased and cheerful again, “let him go ahead and learn his daddy’s business. And I’ll back him,” he declared, speaking aloud in his enthusiastic faith. “By Jove! I’ll back him to win!”

At the foot of the stairway Archie collided full tilt with two men who were engaged in intimate conversation as they passed the door. The one was George Rumm, skipper of the Black Eagle– a timid, weak-mouthed, shifty-eyed man, with an obsequious drawl in his voice, a diffident manner, and, altogether, a loose, weak way. The other was old Tom Tulk of Twillingate. Archie leaped back with an apology to Skipper George. The boy had no word to say to Tom Tulk of Twillingate. Tom Tulk was notoriously a rascal whom the law was eager to catch but could never quite satisfactorily lay hands on. It did not occur to Archie that no wise skipper would put heads mysteriously together in a public place with old Tom Tulk of Twillingate. The boy was too full of his own concerns to take note of anything.

“Hello, Skipper George!” he cried, buoyantly. “I’ll see you on the French Shore.”

“Goin’ north?” Skipper George drawled.

“Tradin’,” said Archie.

Skipper George started. Tom Tulk scowled. “Goin’ aboard the Black Eagle?” asked Skipper George.

“Tradin’ on my own hook, Skipper George,” said Archie; “and I’m bound to cut your throat on the Shore.”

Tom Tulk and Skipper George exchanged glances as Archie darted away. There was something of relief in Skipper George’s eyes–a relieved and teasing little smile. But Tom Tulk was frankly angry.

“The little shaver!” said he, in disgust.

It was written in the book of the future that Skipper George Rumm and Archie Armstrong should fall in with each other on the north coast before the summer was over.

CHAPTER XXV

In Which Notorious Tom Tulk o’ Twillingate and the Skipper of the “Black Eagle” Put Their Heads Together Over a Glass of Rum in the Cabin of a French Shore Trader

There was never a more notorious rascal in Newfoundland than old Tom Tulk of Twillingate. There was never a cleverer rascal–never a man who could devise new villainies as fast and execute them as neatly. The law had never laid hands on him. At any rate not for a crime of importance. He had been clapped in jail once, but merely for debt; and he had carried this off with flying colours by pushing past the startled usher in church and squatting his great flabby bulk in the governor’s pew of the next Sunday morning. He was a thief, a chronic bankrupt, a counterfeiter, an illicit liquor seller. It was all perfectly well known; but not once had a constable brought an offense home to him. He had once been arrested for theft, it is true, and taken to St. John’s by the constables; but on the way he had stolen a watch from one and put it in the pocket of the other, thereby involving both in far more trouble than they could subsequently involve him.

Add to these evil propensities a deformed body and a crimson countenance and you have the shadow of an idea of old Tom Tulk.

George Rumm and Tom Tulk boarded the Black Eagle in the rain and sought the shelter of her little cabin. The cook had made a fire for the skipper; the cabin was warm and quiet. Tom Tulk closed the door with caution and glanced up to see that the skylights were tight. Skipper George produced the bottle and glasses.

“Now, Skipper George,” said Tom Tulk, as he tipped the bottle, “’tis a mint o’ money an’ fair easy t’ make.”

“I’m not likin’ the job,” the skipper complained. “I’m not likin’ the job at all.”

“’Tis an easy one,” Tom Tulk maintained, “an’ ’tis well paid when ’tis done.”

Skipper George scowled in objection.

“Ye’ve a soft heart for man’s work,” said Tom, with a bit of a sneer.

Skipper George laughed. “Is you thinkin’ t’ drive me by makin’ fun o’ me?” he asked.

“I’m thinkin’ nothin’,” Tom Tulk replied, “but t’ show you how it can be done. Will you listen t’ me?”

“Not me!” George Rumm declared.

Tom Tulk observed, however, that the skipper’s ears were wide open.

“Not me!” Skipper George repeated, with a loud thump on the table. “No, sir! I’ll have nothin’ t’ do with it!”

Tom Tulk fancied that the skipper’s ears were a little bit wider than before; he was not at all deceived by this show of righteousness on the part of a weak man.

“Well, well!” he sighed. “Say no more about it.”

“I’m not denyin’,” said Skipper George, “that it could be done. I’m not denyin’ that it would be easy work. But I tells you, Tom Tulk, that I’ll have nothin’ t’ do with it. I’m an honest man, Tom Tulk, an’ I’d thank you t’ remember it.”

“Well, well!” Tom Tulk sighed again. “There’s many a man in this harbour would jump at the chance; but there’s never another so honest that I could trust him.”

“Many a man, if you like,” Skipper George growled; “but not me.”

“No, no,” Tom Tulk agreed, with a covert little sneer and grin; “not you.”

“’Tis a prison offense, man!”

“If you’re cotched,” Tom Tulk laughed. “An’ tell me, George Rumm, is I ever been cotched?”