Dorothy on a House Boat

“What seest thou, lad? Is aught wrong beyond already?”

“No. Oh! come back to table, Mrs. Roemer. I’ll tell you. I’d just got fixed, you know, to do a lot of hard work – both kinds. Now comes this silly thing! I suppose Mrs. Calvert must have let Dolly ask me else she wouldn’t have done it. It seems some simpleton or other, likely as not that Mr. Ford – ”

“Call no names, son!” warned Hans, disposing of a great mouthful, to promptly reprimand the angry youth. Hans was a man of peace. He hated nothing so much as ill temper.

Jim said no more, but his wrath cooling began to eat his dinner with a zeal that made up for lost time. Having finished he went out saying:

“I’ll finish my job when I come back. I’m off now for the Shop.”

He always spoke of the smithy under the Great Balm of Gilead Tree as if it began with a capital letter. The old man who called himself a “blacksmith” – and was, in fact, a good one – and dwelt in the place stood to eager James Barlow as the type of everything good and great. He was sure, as he hurried along the road, that Mr. Seth would agree with him in regard to Dorothy’s telegram.

“Hello, Jim! What’s up? You look excited,” was the blacksmith’s greeting as the lad’s shadow darkened the smithy entrance.

“Read that, will you, Mr. Winters?”

The gentleman put on his “reading specs,” adjusted the yellow slip of paper conveniently, and exclaimed:

“Good enough! Mistress Betty has allowed the darling to accept it then! First rate. Well?”

Then he looked up inquiringly, surprised by the impatience of the boy’s expression.

“Well – of course I sha’n’t go. The idea of loafing for another two, three months is – ridiculous! And what fool would give such a thing as a house-boat to a chit of a girl like our Dorothy?”

Mr. Seth laughed and pointed to the settee.

“Sit down, chap, and cool off. The world is as full of fools as it is of wise men. Which is which depends upon the point of view. I’m sorry to have you number me amongst the first; because I happen to be the stupid man who gave the ‘Water Lily’ and its belongings to little Dorothy. I knew she’d make good use of it, if her aunt would let her accept the gift, and she flatters you, I think, by inviting you to come and engineer the craft. You’ll go, of course.”

Jim did sit down then, rather suddenly, while his face reddened with shame, remembering what he had just called the wise man before him. Finally, he faltered:

“I know next to nothing about a steam engine.”

“I thought you had a good idea of the matter. Not as a trained expert, of course, but enough to manage a simple affair like the one in question. Dr. Sterling told me that you were often pottering about the machine shops in Newburgh and had picked up some good notions about steam and its force. He thought you might, eventually, turn your attention to such a line of work. From the beginning I had you in mind as helping Dolly to carry out her pleasant autumn plans.”

“I’d likely enough blow up the whole concern – through dumb ignorance. And – and – I was going to study double hard. I do want to get to college next year!”

“This trip will help you. I wish I could take it myself, though I couldn’t manage even a tiny engine. Besides, lad, as I understand, the ‘Water Lily’ doesn’t wholly depend upon steam for her ‘power.’ She – but you’ll find out in two minutes of inspection more than I can suggest in an hour. If you take the seven-thirty train to New York, to-morrow morning, you can reach Baltimore by three in the afternoon, easily enough. ‘James Barlow. Been given house-boat. You’re engineer. Be Union Station, three, Wednesday.’ Signed: ‘Dorothy.’”

This was the short dispatch which Mr. Winters now re-read, aloud, with the comment:

“The child is learning to condense. She’s got this message down to the regulation ten-words-for-a-quarter.”

Then he crossed to the bookcase and began to select certain volumes from its shelves, while Jim watched eagerly, almost hungrily. One after another, these were the beloved books whose contents he had hoped to master during the weeks to come. To see them now from the outside only was fresh disappointment and he rose to leave, saying:

“Well, if I must I must an’ no bones about it. I wouldn’t stir hand nor foot, ’cept it’s Mrs. Calvert and – ”

“Don’t leave out Dolly Doodles, boy! She was your first friend among us all, and your first little teacher in the art of spelling. Oh! I know. Of course, such a boy as you would have learned, anyway, but ‘Praise the bridge that carries you safe over.’ Dorothy was the first ‘bridge’ between you and these volumes, in those far-back days when you both picked strawberries on Miranda Stott’s truck-farm. There. I think these will be all you can do justice to before you come back. There’s an old ‘telescope’ satchel of mine in the inner closet that will hold them nicely. Fetch it and be off with you.”

“Those – why, those are your own best beloved books! Would you trust them with me away from home? Will they be of any use on a house-boat?”

“Yes, yes, you ‘doubting Thomas.’ Now – how much money have you on hand?”

“Ten dollars. I’d saved it for a lexicon and some – some other things.”

“This bulky fellow is a lexicon I used in my youth; and since Latin is a ‘dead language’ it’s as much alive and as helpful now as ever. That book is my parting gift to you; and ten dollars is sufficient for your fare and a day’s needs. good-bye.”

All the time he had been talking Mr. Winters had been deftly packing the calf-bound volumes in the shabby “telescope,” and now strapped it securely. Then he held out his hand with a cheerful smile lighting his fine face, and remarking:

“When you see my dear ones just say everything good to them and say I said it. Good-bye.”

Jim hurried away lest his friend should see the moisture that suddenly filled his eyes. He “hated good-byes” and could never get used to partings. So he fairly ran over the road to the gates of Deerhurst and worked off his troublesome emotion by hoeing every vestige of a weed from the broad driveways on its grounds. He toiled so swiftly and so well that old Hans felt himself relieved of the task and quietly went to sleep in his chair by the lodge door.

Gradually, too, the house-boat idea began to interest him. He had but a vague notion of what such a craft was like and found himself thinking about it with considerable pleasure. So that when, at three o’clock the next afternoon, he stepped down from the train at Union Station he was his old, eager, good-natured self.

“Hello, Doll!”

“O Jim! The three weeks since I saw you seems an age! Isn’t it just glorious? I’m so glad!”

With that the impulsive girl threw her arms around the lad’s neck and tip-toed upwards to reach his brown cheek with her lips. Only to find her arms unclasped and herself set down with considerable energy.

“Quit that, girlie. Makes me look like a fool!”

“I should think it did. Your face is as red – as red! Aren’t you glad to see me, again?” demanded Miss Dorothy, folding her arms and standing firmly before him.

She looked so pretty, so bewitching, that some passers-by smiled, at which poor Jim’s face turned even a deeper crimson and he picked up his luggage to go forward with the crowd.

“But aren’t you glad, Jim?” she again mischievously asked, playfully obstructing his progress.

“Oh! bother! Course. But boys can be glad without such silly kissin’. I don’t know what ails girls, anyway, likin’ so to make a feller look ridic’lous.”

Dorothy laughed and now marched along beside him, contenting herself by a clasp of his burdened arms.

“Jim, you’re a dear. But you’re cross. I can always tell when you’re that by your ‘relapsing into the vernacular,’ as I read in Aunt Betty’s book. Never mind, Jim, I’m in trouble!”

“Shucks! I’d never dream it!”

They had climbed the iron stairway leading to the street above and were now waiting for a street-car to carry them to Bellvieu. So Jim set down his heavy telescope and light bag of clothing to rest his arms, while old Ephraim approached from the rear. He had gone with his “li’l miss” to meet the newcomer but had kept out of sight until now.

“Howdy, Marse Jim. Howdy.”

Then he picked up the bag of books and shrugged his shoulders at its weight. Setting it back on the sidewalk he raised his hand and beckoned small Methuselah, half-hiding behind a pillar of the building. That youngster came tremblingly forward. He was attired in his livery, that he had been forbidden to wear when “off duty,” or save when in attendance upon “Miss Betty.” But having been so recently promoted to the glory of a uniform he appeared in it whenever possible.

On this trip to the station he had lingered till his grandfather had already boarded the street-car and too late for him to be sent home to change. Now he cowered before Ephraim’s frown and fear of what would happen when they two were alone together in the “harness room” of the old stable. On its walls reposed other whips than those used for Mrs. Calvert’s horses.

“Yeah, chile. Tote dem valeeshes home. Doan’ yo let no grass grow, nudder, whiles yo’ doin’ it. I’ll tend to yo’ case bimeby. I ain’ gwine fo’get.”

Then he put the little fellow aboard the first car that came by, hoisted the luggage after him, and had to join in the mirth the child’s appearance afforded – with his scrawny body half-buried beneath the livery “made to grow in.”

Jim was laughing, too, yet anxious over the disappearance of his books, and explained to Dorothy: