Jack Harvey's Adventures: or, The Rival Campers Among the Oyster Pirates. Smith Ruel Perley

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      Young Mr. Jenkins sprang from his chair, with an exclamation of delight. He stepped up to the boy and seized him by an arm.

      “Say!” he cried; “you’re in earnest now – none of your tricks – do you mean it, really?”

      The boy nodded.

      “We’ve got two chances,” he said.

      Young Mr. Jenkins gave a whistle of amazement.

      “Two chances open on the same voyage!” he exclaimed. “I never knew of that before, and just before sailing. How do you account for it – somebody taken sick?”

      “That’s it,” said the boy.

      Young Mr. Jenkins walked slowly back to his seat, looked sharply at Harvey from the comers of his eyes, and spoke earnestly.

      “Say, Mr. Harvey,” he said, “I’m not sure, but I believe I could get that chance for you. You played in great luck when I saw you throw that heaving line to the vessel there, this afternoon. I’ll swear to Captain Scroop that you’re all right, and I know you could make good. Do you know I’ve taken a sort of liking to you; and I tell you what, you and I’ll ship for one month and I’ll see you through. Why, they’re all like brothers here, the captain and his men. We’ll have a gorgeous time, see how the fishing is done, come back in a month and have twenty-five dollars apiece to show for it. And then you’ll have had a real sea experience – something to talk about when you get home. It’s the chance of a life-time.”

      Taken all by surprise by the offer, and withal against his better judgment, Jack Harvey found a strange allurement in the suggestion. At no time in all his life could it have been held forth so opportunely. He thought of his father and mother, on the ocean, to be gone for six months. He knew, too, what his father would say, when he should tell him of it later; how the bluff, careless, elder Harvey would throw back his head, and laugh, and vow he was the same sort when he was a youth.

      How strangely, too, events that had taken place in Benton coincided favourably with his already half-formed intention to take the chance. He recalled, in a flash, the hour of leaving there, with his father and mother, for Baltimore; how Henry Burns’s aunt, with whom he had been boarding, had asked when he would return; how Harvey’s mother had answered that she hoped yet to persuade the boy to accompany them to Europe; and how Miss Matilda Burns had said, then, she should expect him when he arrived – no sooner – and had remarked, smiling, that if he didn’t come back at all she should know he had gone to Europe.

      “It’s only for a month, you know,” suggested young Mr. Jenkins, almost as though he had been reading Harvey’s thoughts.

      Harvey sat for a moment, thinking hard.

      “Isn’t it pretty cold down there in the bay this time of year?” he asked.

      “Why, bless you, no,” replied Mr. Jenkins, laughing at the suggestion. “Don’t you know you’re in the South, now, my boy? This is the coldest day, right now, that we’ll have till January. And if we have a touch of winter – which isn’t likely – why, there’s a good, comfortable cabin to warm up in.”

      “Are we sure to get back in a month?”

      “Joe, when are you due back here?” called Mr. Jenkins.

      “Middle of December,” came the reply.

      “I’m most inclined to try it,” said Harvey, hesitatingly.

      Mr. Jenkins slapped him on the back, then shook his hand warmly.

      “You’re the right sort,” he said. “We’ll have a lark.”

      And Harvey knew from that moment that, for better or worse, be it a foolish venture or not, he was in for it.

      “What do I need to get for the trip?” he asked. “Guess I’d better step up into the town and buy some boots and oil-skins.”

      A look of determination came into the face of Mr. Jenkins. It was as if he had made up his mind that Harvey should have no opportunity now of backing out.

      “No, you don’t need to,” he said. “The captain’s got all that stuff, and he buys at wholesale, and you can get it cheaper of him. Wait till to-morrow, anyway, and if he can’t fit you, we’ll go ashore.”

      Harvey gave a start of surprise. He hadn’t counted on spending this night aboard the schooner.

      “Do you mean to stay here to-night?” he asked.

      “Why, sure,” responded young Mr. Jenkins. “Good chance to try it on and see how you like it. We’ll just roll up here, and you’ll swear you were never more comfortable in all your life.”

      “Well,” answered Harvey, “I’ll try it. You’re sure the captain will ship us, though?”

      “Oh, you can take what that boy Joe says for gospel,” answered young Mr. Jenkins. “He knows.”

      “Then I’ll step out on deck and bring down that little hand-bag of mine,” said Harvey. “I left it forward by the rail when I came aboard. It’s got a comb and brush and a tooth-brush and a change of underwear in it.”

      Harvey ascended the ladder and walked out on deck. It was a glorious night, the sky studded with thousands of stars. The air was chilly, but Harvey was warmly dressed, and the crisp air was invigorating after his stay in the cabin. He went forward, wondering, in his somewhat confused state of mind, what his chums in Benton would think of it if they could know where he was, and what he contemplated doing.

      “I only wish Henry Burns was going along,” he thought. “Well, I’ll have something to tell him next time I see him.”

      He little thought under what strange circumstances they would next meet.

      Hardly had Harvey left the cabin, when young Mr. Jenkins sprang into the galley, leering at the boy Joe, and digging that stolid youngster facetiously in the ribs.

      “Oh, that’s rich!” he chuckled. “What do you say, Joey – a pretty hair-brush and comb and a tooth-brush aboard an oyster dredger? You’ll have to tell old Haley to get a mirror – a French-plate, gold-leaf mirror – for Mr. Harvey. Oh, he’d do it, all right. He’ll – ah, ha, ha – oh jimminy Christmas! Isn’t that rich?”

      The boy, Joe, turned toward Mr. Jenkins, somewhat angrily.

      “You think you’re smart,” he muttered. “You’ll get come up with, one of these days. What did you get him for? He ain’t the right sort. He’s got folks as will make trouble. I’ll bet the old man won’t stand for him.”

      “Look here, you,” exclaimed Mr. Jenkins, seizing the boy, roughly, “you shut up! Who asked you to tell me what to do? Don’t I know my business? Don’t I know old Scroop, too, as much as you do? Of course he’ll stand for him – when I tell him a few things. You leave that to me, and don’t you go interfering, or I’ll hand you something you’ll feel for a week.”

      The boy shrank back, and relapsed into stolid silence.

      “Where’s that pen and ink?” inquired Jenkins.

      The boy pointed to a locker.

      Taking a faded wallet from his pocket, Mr. СКАЧАТЬ