Читать книгу Westy Martin on the Mississippi - Percy Keese Fitzhugh - Страница 8

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“Gosh, it sure is funny the way things happen,” Westy said quite vehemently as he flung his hat into the hall closet.

“Why, funny?” queried Mr. Martin, just taking his place at the dining-room table.

Westy told him in a few words of his conversation with Mr. Cole. “He didn’t mention about old Brower but I know that was on his mind,” he said, thoughtfully. “Do you know, Dad, I’d give anything if I knew where I could find Norrie and tell him what people are saying about him here. Gosh, it’s terrible now, with Brower dead. To hear Mr. Cole talk, you’d think that Norrie and Trainor had murdered him—anyway, you’d think that Norrie was a criminal. It isn’t right!”

“Don’t you suppose that Norris can read the papers,” Mr. Martin reminded him. “He must know it all by this time, wherever they are.”

“Thank goodness, we’re leaving Friday,” sighed Mrs. Martin as they began the meal. “I’m really getting tired of hearing it, sorry as I feel for the boys’ mothers. I think it’s affected Westy worse than anyone. He actually looks haggard.”

“Why wouldn’t I?” Westy asked. “I blame myself, sort of—no, I don’t either—not now. Not after I talked to Mr. Cole. Gosh, with a father like that I wouldn’t blame Norrie for doing anything—outside of stealing. Anyway, I wish I could leave Bridgeboro miles behind until summer.”

“Maybe you can,” smiled Mrs. Martin significantly. “Peek under your plate, Westy. There’s a letter in Major Winton’s handwriting.”

Westy’s face beamed as he shoved the plate aside and saw the familiar handwriting on the white envelope. “It’s from St. Louis,” he said happily. “I bet—I bet....” He tore it open and spread it out.

“Go on,” laughed Mr. Martin, “let’s hear the worst.”

Westy smiled at his father and read aloud:

Dear Young Martin:

This is the last chance I’ll have to write for quite some time as we’re starting down the big stream on that inspection tour I told you of. We’re scheduled to steam off Monday next.

Now, read this carefully and see what your father thinks about letting you come. Following lines are written merely for inducement.

A Mr. C. J. Curran of St. Louis who has just left for a year’s vacation in Italy, has offered his graceful looking yacht, the Atlantis, for any service the government sees fit during this flood period along the river. Incidentally, Uncle Sam has ordered me to use it for our tour.

There will be a small company of us and room enough for you as my guest. You can follow me around and keep your eyes open and any young chap with as strong an engineering kink as you have ought to get a heap of experience and useful knowledge out of the trip. Nothing ventured, nothing gained.

Am still at the Malone and will still be here until Monday at dawn. Now then, send me a brief wire and I’ll be watching out for you. Also tell your father that I’ll send you home in plenty of time to rest up before school opens.

Best wishes to your parents and hoping to see you on Sunday—

Winton.

Westy whistled with delight and read the letter again to himself. When he looked up it was to see his parents exchanging favorable glances and his heart leaped expectantly. Was this to be his chance to get away?

His mother nodded. “That’s nice of the major, Westy,” she said. “He surely takes an interest in you.”

“He’s pretty keen about having you go along, isn’t he, son,” Mr. Martin said.

Westy did not miss the softness of his father’s tones. He raised his head, his eyes shining expectantly. “Gosh, and if he says he’ll send me home in time, he’ll send me home! May I—gosh, will you?”

Mr. Martin put down his knife and fork and smiled. “I suppose there’s no real reason why I shouldn’t say yes, son. And now that this other affair’s cut you up so, why, I guess it will do you good to get away.”

“Boy, you’re great!” Westy’s eyes glistened. “If Mr. Cole was like you—well, Norrie would be here now to go with me. Major Winton would even make room for him, I bet.”

“I bet,” said Mr. Martin.

“And Norris could have gone with you if we had known the way things were with him,” said Mrs. Martin. “I would have even been willing to pay his carfare out there myself rather than have happen what has happened. Somehow we always think of those things when it’s too late.”

“It’s just as I said before,” Westy said, “it’s funny the way things happen. I sure didn’t think that Major Winton liked me enough to write me an invitation. Gosh, when he asked me about going just before I left for home and I told him I thought Dad wouldn’t like it—well, I just decided; he wouldn’t ask again. If I got out there, all right and if I didn’t all right—that’s the way he is with most everybody. But he must like me to write me, huh?”

“He likes you because you generally accomplish what you set out to do,” said Mr. Martin. “That’s what he told me, so keep up your reputation with him, son.”

“Leave it to me, Dad,” Westy said determinedly. “Leave it to me.”