Читать книгу Tom Swift and his Flying Boat or The Castaways of the Giant Iceberg - Howard R Garis - Страница 5
ОглавлениеAMAN DELE
“Now, bless my inmost thoughts! what do you think of that?” Mr. Damon demanded, and burst into another great laugh. “Isn’t it a fact that the very strangest things happen to me? I never imagined that day when I fed that starving Icelander that he was rich and would die and leave me a fortune. We were both young men then.”
“Why,” said Mr. Swift, warmly, “this is wonderful, Damon! It surely is an instance of casting your bread on the waters and getting it back after many days.”
“With interest!” chuckled the visitor. “For all I did was to feed Aman Dele and help him find himself——”
“With your usual kindness,” broke in Tom, likewise with enthusiasm.
“Tut, tut!” exclaimed Wakefield Damon, with a gesture of dismissal. “Let me tell you more about that Dele. We sat there in the coffee house and stared at each other and neither of us knew how to make the other understand what he wanted to say. But finally I got it in my head that the first thing was to find out where the fellow came from—what part of the world, you know.”
“Quite true,” murmured Mr. Swift. “That was bright of you.”
“Bless my brain-pan! I should say so,” cried Mr. Damon, with another laugh. “I grabbed him again and led him to the nearest library. He was more scared than ever, if possible. But I got out a big book of maps and we sat down to look them over. This at last made him know I was a friend.
“Dele couldn’t read the names of the countries we looked at; but I knew by his shining eyes that he recognized the shape of some of them. He knew the British Isles. Then we turned the leaves to Sweden and Norway and he began to jabber that strange tongue of his. Then we hit little Denmark, and I was sure we were getting warm,” and once more Mr. Damon broke into laughter.
“But we had turned the pages so fast at first that we skipped Greenland and Iceland and Dele kept shaking his head at every country I showed him. But I was sure it must have a close connection with Denmark, wherever his country lay. So we went back to the beginning and all of a sudden he let out a howl.
“Bless my outlines! he acted tickled to death to see the map of Iceland. Until that time I had had an idea it was as deserted a place as Upper Greenland,” went on Mr. Damon. “Well, bless my pocket atlas! I had spotted the land he had come from, I was sure. So I went to the librarian and told him the fix I was in and he actually guessed that Dele was one of those folk who talked like the old Norsemen—like Eric the Red, and Leif Ericksen, and those other Norsemen who swept the seas clean in the old days.
“So we found a couple of books with passages printed in them in Old Norse. When Dele saw them he was tickled pink. He read them as though they were the last edition of the sporting extra!” and Mr. Damon began to laugh once more.
“Bless my antiques! but it seemed to me he was as far behind the times as the rudder of Noah’s ark.”
“What did you do with him?” asked Mr. Barton Swift, much amused.
“Well, you know, I couldn’t turn him adrift. Besides, by that time we had learned to understand each other a little by signs. I borrowed the books and we took them to my rooms. In a few days I had learned half a dozen Icelandic words (I’ve forgotten ’em all now) and Aman Dele had learned how to order ham and eggs and a cup of coffee in restaurant English,” and Damon went off into another loud burst of laughter.
“So we got on pretty well. And by and by he showed me the money he carried. And then, bless my pocketbook, I was bowled over! I, thinking he was as poor as a church mouse all the time! Bless my exchange! When we got that Danish money turned into American coin of the realm, it seemed he had thousands of dollars.”
“That was an experience,” commented Tom’s father.
“Yes, indeed. He stayed with me until he learned to know the ropes and could speak fair English. He traveled all over the country and came back to visit me again. He was urgent that I should go to Iceland with him. Said there was no part of America as fine as the place he lived. He objected to the States because we didn’t have reindeer pulling our street cars instead of horses. This was before the age of the trolley, you know.
“Bless my antlers! wouldn’t that have looked fine? Cars dragged by reindeer! Well, I could not go home with him, and all through these years he has written me, off and on, to try to get me to take the journey to his little home town. Now he’s left me this fortune. But, you see, he’s fixed it so that I must finally visit his home if I am to enjoy his legacy.”
“That is awfully interesting, Mr. Damon. But why don’t you go right along and get the treasure chest alone?” Tom asked.
“Bless my brassbound luggage!” cried Mr. Damon. “Go alone to Iceland? I don’t believe I could ever find it!”
The Swifts laughed at that joke; but Tom continued to shake his head. And it was a most decided shake, at that.
“Iceland is perfectly civilized. The only danger you run is being cheated by hotel keepers and travelers’ agents.”
“But, Tom, the treasure!”
“You don’t even know how much it is,” chuckled the young inventor. “Perhaps it isn’t large enough to divide in half even! It maybe won’t pay you for going alone, let alone paying me. And I’m a sight too busy to go so far away from Shopton right now.”
“I’ll guarantee you that the treasure is a big one. How much will you want to leave what you are doing and go with me?” demanded their strange friend, with much earnestness.
“I tell you it can’t be done!” and Tom continued to wag his head negatively.
“You’ve got something so important that you cannot possibly go with me?” It was plain that Mr. Wakefield Damon was going to be vastly disappointed.
“Perhaps. Father and I were just talking over a scheme that greatly interests me, I admit. But there is another thing that stays me at this time. Mr. Nestor—perhaps you have heard it?—is very ill. I would not want to go away now. You know, Mary Nestor would feel—rightly so, I think—that I was neglecting her if I left for Iceland at this time.”
“Bless my doctor’s book!” growled the disappointed Mr. Damon. “What is the matter with all the doctors nowadays? Don’t any of them know enough to help Mary’s father? I was over to see him myself last week. Looks to me as though the medicos were just experimenting with him. I’m thankful to say I seldom have any need for medicine or doctors.”
“I fancy the physicians are puzzled about Mr. Nestor’s case,” said Mr. Barton Swift thoughtfully. “But they have sent for a specialist to come up from New York. We may learn shortly more about what is the matter with him. This New York doctor has had wonderful success. They say the cures he has to his credit are almost miraculous.”
Mr. Damon looked rather gloomy. But he expressed sympathy for Mary’s father.
“He’s a fine man. I wish him well. But I’m mighty sorry if his sickness stands in the way of your going with me, Tom,” he grumbled.
“Oh, I might find other reasons, too,” declared Tom, smiling.
“Bless my pocketbook, Tom! name your own price,” cried his eccentric friend.
“It can’t be done, I tell you. You go on to Iceland. When you get back I may have something to show you that you will agree was quite worth my while.”
Even to Mr. Damon the young inventor was not ready to talk about his plans for the flying boat that so engrossed his mind. The visitor remained to dinner; but Tom did not once mention this particular topic which he had been discussing with his father previous to Mr. Damon’s appearance.
The latter, seeing he could not have his way with his young friend in the matter of the voyage to Iceland, did not sulk. As usual he cheerfully—and noisily—discussed plans for the voyage, blessing almost everything and everybody that might be connected with the proposed journey.
“I shall start next week, go to Denmark, and from there take ship to Iceland. I’ve found out already that is the way to do. But I hate traveling alone, as you both know. And I shall want to get back again as soon as possible, for I am curious about this new thing you are studying about, Tom. Will it be a land, water, or air marvel?”
But Tom refused to be drawn into any discussion at all about his idea. “Wait!” was all he would say to his old friend.
