Читать книгу The Mutiny of the Flying Spray - Arthur Hunt Chute - Страница 8
ОглавлениеBOUND TO GET THERE
On a Saturday night, Tug resigned as president of the “Argonauts.” Early the following Sunday morning, long before anybody was awake, there came a loud rapping at our front door. As my room was downstairs, I got up to answer the knock.
On drawing back the bolt, there was Tug waiting on the step, wearing the same rig which we donned for our week-end sailing trips.
“For great Caesar’s sake, what are ye doin’, togged out like that for, at this time o’ morning?”
I thought at first that this was only another of Tug’s innumerable jokes, but there was a grim look about him, which I had often noted when Exeter had us fellows backed up against the five-yard line. Somehow, that look in his eye convinced me that the boy who would have made a funnism out of a funeral was for once in deadly earnest.
“Get your sailing togs on, Laurie, and come along.”
“Where’ll I come?” I inquired, somewhat incredulous.
“Never mind fool questions, step lively and do as I tell you.”
When I reappeared in a rough suit, with oilskins over my arm, he said:
“Have you got any money?”
“Fifty dollars.”
“All right, bring that.”
More mystified than ever, I obeyed, and together we set out toward South Street, a three-mile walk from my boarding house.
As we swung along together, Tug sounded me out as to the seriousness of my intentions to join the gold rush.
“Do you really mean business, or have you just allowed yourself to be swept off of your feet like all the rest of the ninnies?”
“I guess I’m as serious as you,” I answered hotly.
“All right, then, why haven’t you made good? You’re still marking time in New York, aren’t you? Acting as a poor little quill pusher, when you might be helping yourself to large slices of real life!”
“You’ve got no cause to preach.”
“That’s just what I’m coming to. We fellows can keep on preparing and preparing till the cows come home. The only guys that get there are those who’ll take a chance, the plungers. You believe that, don’t you?”
“Aye.”
“Well, so do I. And I’ve made up my mind that if we two are going to do anything, we’ve got to begin to take a plunge. Everlasting shivering on the brink ain’t good enough.”
“But what’s a man going to do, if he hasn’t got the money?”
“Money! Aw, you make me sick, Laurie. Like every other rich man’s son, you’re always whining, money, money, money.
“Did the first guys that crossed the Atlantic book a passage? Did the first of the pioneers overland buy a ticket? No, Sir, not on your tintype. They put up their dukes, and paid the price by fighting their way through. That’s what we’re going to do. At least, if you’re game to stand by me.”
“I’m with you, Tug, till Hell freezes. But spit it out, how in the world do you expect to do it? If we can’t work our way as sailors, if we can’t afford to buy a ticket, and if we can’t join the overland trail, how then, in the name of Mike, are we going to do it?”
“Do you trust me, Laurie?”
“No one standing in shoe leather I’d trust more, Tug.”
“You wouldn’t be afraid to follow me?”
“I’d follow you to Van Diemen’s Land.”
“All right, that settles it.”
But in spite of assurances, I was still nonplused.
“But, how——”
“Never mind buts and hows, here’s the craft that starts the first lap of our journey.”
We had arrived at the end of the pier, where we kept our catboat. I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry as Tug pointed down at the little cockleshell.
“To California in that!” I exclaimed aghast.
“Don’t be a fool, ye start in a rowboat to get to a liner, don’t ye?”
“Yea.”
“All right, then, hop aboard and step the mast.”
Thoroughly incredulous, I did as I was bidden, and so, without further ado, we stood out toward Governor’s Island, about the most inconspicuous departure imaginable for our golden Odyssey.
