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Read Ebook: Among the River Pirates: A Skippy Dare Mystery Story by Fitzhugh Percy Keese Fogel Seymour Illustrator
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Ebook has 894 lines and 46007 words, and 18 pages
AMONG THE RIVER PIRATES
The shabby old motor boat moved slowly up the river towing an equally shabby old barge. Dilapidated and unpainted as the hull was, the engine was well muffled--suspiciously well muffled--and the disreputable looking craft moved through the water with all the noiseless dignity of a yacht.
A ferry-boat paused midway of the long tow rope and its commuters, crowded on the forward deck, watched this slow-moving procession with some show of annoyance. Not a few impatient remarks rose loud and clear above the hum of the restless crowd, directed at the head of a man seated in the stern of the boat, calmly puffing on a pipe. Aft on the barge, a young boy was wrestling heroically with the tiller, trying to keep the lumbering hulk head on.
Slowly they crawled upstream. On their left was the precipitous Jersey shore, and on their right the towering buildings of the great city. Over the water the late afternoon sun spread a warm, mellow glow and touched with gold the myriad windows of the clustering skyscrapers across the river.
A smile lighted up his lined, weary features, a smile of pride in ownership.
"She ain't so bad fer the old battle-axe that she is, hey Skippy?" he called to the boy.
The boy's tousled head appeared from around the battered cabin.
The man laughed, then listened for a moment to a significant sound emanating from the muffled engine.
"That there front cylinder's missin' agin, Skippy," he shouted. "Loop 'er in that there ring; the tide's runnin' out now so she'll stand upstream. Set 'er even 'n' come aboard here."
The boy nodded obediently and with an end of rope fastened the old tiller to a rusty ring. Then, hurrying forward, he jumped into the water and grasping the taut tow line, pulled himself hand over hand and scrambled over the stern of the launch.
The father put out a large, work-worn hand and helped him in with a tenderness that was surprising in one so rough and uncouth looking.
"Gimme that there shirt and them shoes while I hang 'em near the engine," he said, his voice soft with affection. "Ye'll be gettin' a bad throat agin." He made no demand for the boy's trousers, which were the only other article of apparel that the little fellow wore.
Having spread the clothing to dry and adjusted the rebellious motor, the man returned to the stern. He relighted his pipe and sat down with an arm about his son.
"I'll steer her fer a while, Pop," said Skippy.
For a few minutes there was silence.
"Yer glad we're goin' straight?" the man asked with a sudden move of his arm on the boy's shoulder.
Skippy's eyes widened and he looked up at his parent, hesitantly.
Skippy nodded gravely.
"An'll that help me t' be honest when I grow up, too," he asked eagerly, "an' be like--like a gentleman even?"
"But we're gonna carry garbage an' ashes on her," said Skippy. "That ain't so clean exactly, is it, Pop?"
"Garbage an' ashes'll bring in clean money, Skippy--that's what I'm talkin' about--clean money. Since yer ma died I ain't had many real honest like jobs. It's been hard ter git 'em with yer needin' me with yer so much counta yer bad throat. Anyways the money come easier an' quicker on my jobs even if it was dirty an' now I'm all through with gettin' it shady like."
"An' my throat's lots better'n it usta be, Pop," said Skippy eagerly. "I ain't had a bad one for three months'n over."
"Sure, I know. Everthin'll be jake now with us goin' straight. Ol' Flint, let him have his dirty money an' his fine yacht. It's a wonder he gets so generous an' sells me such a good scow fer three hunderd smackers. Everybody says he's such a money-pincher he'd even try makin' money on a rusty nail."
"Sure. He boosted her hisself when I tells him I wants a good scow. An' he oughta know, him that owns more scows'n he can count."
"Gee, three hunnerd dollars--real money," mused the boy.
"Sure, but not for no scow like this one. Brand new ones cost four times that. Big Joe Tully paid Ol' Flint five hunderd fer his an' Joe cleaned up two thousand bucks on the first year. He tole me that fer a fact."
"But ain't Big Joe Tully doin' sumpin' for Mr. Flint now?" Skippy asked.
"Gee, I know you will, Pop," said the boy, with shining eyes. "You're not like--well, you're different from old Mr. Flint an' that Big Joe."
The father ran his hand over his son's tousled head and gripped a handful of the straight brown hair affectionately.
"That cabin ain't goin' ter make us no bad little shack, hey Skippy?" he said nodding toward the little square shelter aft.
"She's swell inside--for a barge, I mean. Three bunks an' a nice oil stove an' a table an' chairs. Gee, that's a regular home, huh Pop? Even there's a kerosene lamp."
"Sure. Yer can read books an' be nice and comfortable in there nights. That paint job," he said, scrutinizing it thoughtfully; "I ain't so fond uv that there red, rusty color. It's kinda gloomy. Well, we can repaint her sometime when we're makin' money. Blamed if that launch across stream ain't headin' straight this way."
"It's the harbor inspectors, Pop. Whadja s'pose...."
"Well, I got my license all ready, if that's what they're after. Anyways, we ain't got no stuff aboard, so we should worry."
Skippy wondered and shivered a little. His father's services in the employ of the rich, unscrupulous Josiah Flint had brought a certain instinctive fear of all uniformed officials and the harbor inspectors were no exception. It was difficult for him to believe even now that these uniformed men meant no harm to his father.
Skippy had lived in the shadow of the law a little too long.
Skippy watched as the green, shining launch swept alongside and stopped. He was instantly reassured, however, when its occupants smiled genially at him and then at his father.
"Well, if it ain't Toby Dare himself," said one of the men, heartily. "Buy her lately, Dare?"
"Jes' yesterday, Inspector Jones," said Skippy's father, proudly. "An' I ain't a-goin' ter put nothin' on her but what I'll be glad ter show ter anybody what asks."
Inspector Jones' bland face became serious.
"Big Joe Tully said the same thing when he bought his scow, Dare," he said. "I wouldn't make promises too soon."
Toby Dare's eyes turned fondly on his son.
"Big Joe Tully ain't got no boy like my Skippy ter fetch up," he said with firm resolve.
"Good for you, Dare," the inspector smiled. "Skippy's worth keeping out of trouble for. But see that you keep him in mind when you're tempted. Most o' you birds that start a new leaf stub your toes."
Inspector Jones beamed upon the smiling Skippy, then casually glanced toward the barge.
"Yere," said Toby exultantly. "That was my wife's name when she was a girl. She died when Skippy was born. I thought mebbe the name'd bring me luck."
The inspector nodded sympathetically.
"Got any contracts lined up?" he asked.
"Two," said Toby proudly. "An' it ain't bad fer a start. I'm ter haul garbage an' ashes from the island."
"Good for you, Dare. Well, we'll look her over and pass on her, then let you beat it."
Toby Dare looked exultantly at his son as the trim green launch chugged off to circle the barge. It was a look of triumph and of high hopes for the future.
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