Read Ebook: Harper's Round Table March 3 1896 by Various

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Ebook has 508 lines and 29895 words, and 11 pages

"One thousandth of one per cent. If the book sells a hundred thousand copies at a credit a copy, they will send me a nice, juicy check for one lousy credit."

Jackson scowled. "They're cheating you."

"Clem said it was the standard rate for a first book."

Jackson shook his head. "Just because we don't have interstellar ships and are confined to our own solar system, they treat us as though we were ignorant savages. They're cheating you high, wide, and handsome."

"Maybe," said McLeod. "But if they really wanted to cheat me, they could just pirate the book. Th waiting for her enemy.

In all this time Jack Leverett showed a steadiness and coolness beyond his years. Once Jerry O'Brien said to him,

"Youngster, if you flinch, depend upon it, your father shall know it."

"All right," answered Jack; "and if I don't flinch I want my mother to know it."

As the vessels came grinding together Jerry O'Brien, leaping on the taffrail, shouted, "I will be the first man to board--and follow me!"

"Drat the boy!" was Jerry's involuntary exclamation as he scrambled to his feet.

"But I will give her a prize master who, although not very old, can sail a schooner or any other craft--John Leverett, there," said Jerry. "And he will take her in, you may be sure."

Oh, how Jack's heart beat with delight at these words!

Soon they were heading up the river, and when, under a fair wind, they made a quick run to Machias, the May moon made the heavens glorious. Jack Leverett thought the happiest moment of his life had come when they cast anchor amid the thunder of cheers from the people assembled along the shores.

But there was a happier moment yet in store for him. A week afterward Jack and Jerry O'Brien entered Squire Leverett's study, where sat the Squire and Madam Leverett. The mother uttered a cry of joy and clasped her boy in her arms. Then Jerry O'Brien, taking him by the hand, led him to the Squire.

"Sir," he said, "here is your brave boy. You have reason to be proud of him. I have been promised two things when the navy of the Colonies is formed. One is a Captain's commission for myself, and the other is a midshipman's commission for this lad. He is born for the sea, and to make a landsman of him would be like putting a mackerel in a barnyard to scratch for his living."

The Squire, too moved to speak, silently took one of Jack's hands in both of his, and Madam Leverett, falling on her boy's neck, cried, "How happy am I to have such a boy to give to my country!"

GRANT'S TROUBLESOME SOLDIER.

General Grant used to tell a story of a soldier in a certain regiment during the war who was continually bothering him by asking favors. Grant one day said to him, "Look here; I believe you are the most troublesome man in the Union army."

The man quickly replied, "Why, that's funny, sir!"

"Funny; how do you make it out funny?"

"Because it is just what the enemy says about you."

LONDON.

DEAR JACK,--When I left off my letter to you last night it was nearly ten o'clock, but almost broad daylight. What do you think of that? It's the queerest thing you ever saw. The clock and the sun don't seem to gee over here at all. You can read after nine o'clock without any gas-light at all. Pop says it's a special British arrangement, because London is such an interesting place and so many people can only stay a few days that they like to keep it lit up as long as they can. I'd heard before that the sun never sat on the British Empire but I never knew it was so long about setting in England. The hall-porter on our floor says it makes up for it in winter though by rising about midday and setting ten minutes later. If that's so how it must whiz across the sky. I'd rather like to see it then. He says too that last winter they had a fog so thick that people had to dig their way through it with spades, and he told another boy that it was a regular business in winter for boys and men who couldn't get other work to do to go about the city and shovel the fog off the front door steps and walks just as snow-shovellers do in New York. It must be fun living here then.

It took us about four hours to get here and two to find our baggage after we got here because the porters had put some of it with the B baggage and Aunt Sarah's trunk had wandered off among the C's. The station was crowded with hacks and omnibuses and people and almost every hack was engaged. Finally Pop managed to get a cab they called a four-wheeler. It looked scarcely big enough for two but as we got into it it sort of stretched and by the time the driver had us packed in we had seven people in it, Pop, Mamma, Aunt Sarah, the two children, the nurse and me. How we ever managed it I don't know, but we did, and then instead of sending the baggage to the hotel by an express-wagon the cabman put it all on top of the cab, two Saratoga trunks, three steamer trunks, a bath-tub, four bundles of rugs, two hat-boxes, three dress-suit cases and the hamper--and all for one horse! I didn't believe the horse could move us, but the minute the driver chirruped to him off he started like a regular race-horse and I tell you it was exciting. There we seven people were, cooped up inside with all those trunks piled up on the little bit of a roof right over our heads being galloped around corners as if we were playing snap-the-whip, darting in and out between policemen, lamp-posts and omnibuses. Mamma and Aunt Sarah were scared to death. They weren't afraid we'd tip over but they had half a notion that the roof might cave in and let all that baggage down on us; and I think Pop felt uneasy too because he tried several times to tell the driver to go slow, but he couldn't because he was wedged in so tight.

It wasn't possible to see much, we went so fast, but we did catch a glimpse of a fearfully dirty river as we crossed it and Pop said he guessed it was the Thames and it turned out to be so later on, and the bridge we were on led right up to the houses of Pollyment, I think they're called and I tell you they're beautiful. They look good enough to put on a mantel piece. Two minutes later we got here and Pop managed to pull us out of the carriage and get the baggage taken into a hotel by a man who was dressed up as gorgissly as a drum major, and all that cab cost was three dollars! Pop says he couldn't have got off for less than ten in New York and the driver cheated him into the bargain!

When he paid the cabby Pop told him he'd driven too fast and the man said he hadn't at all. "Aren't you afraid you'll run into somebody?" asked Pop. "No," said the man, "I'm afraid somebody'll run into me." Which is why he tore so to keep out of the way of the cabs behind him.

I can't say I think much of the hotels here. They're very handsome to look at, but its hard work getting anything at 'em. The people here behaved so that Pop thought we'd been landed at Buckingham Palace by mistake, and asked if he might see the Queen and apologize for intruding, but the man never laughed a bit; just turned away tired. We got our rooms finally though and there isn't a bed in one of 'em without a canopy over it and all the wash-stands have bottles of patent tooth-powders on 'em with signs saying if you open this bottle it'll cost you a shilling. I opened two of 'em before I saw the sign and Pop says I'm out fifty cents for my curiosity, but I don't mind. It'll go on the bill and he'll pay it.

We're off now to see the Tower of London. The next time I write I'll tell you all about it. I wish Sandboys was here. It would do these English hall-boys good to see how Sandboys does his work. It would take one of them English boys a year to carry up as much ice-water as Sandboys does in a night, but then they've got as much work as they can do looking after their buttons. I should think it would be a day's work buttoning up a hall-boy's coat over here. Ours has sixty between his chin and his waist.

Yours ever BOB.

THE VOYAGE OF HIRAM AND DAVE.

BY A. J. ENSIGN.

George Whittingham was staring at a Billingsgate fish-woman. She was glaring at George, and treating him to some of that wonderfully abusive language known to all Englishmen as "Billingsgate." George was just about to repeat the expedient of a noted English wit, and call her a "miserable isosceles triangle, a beastly rectangular parallelopipedon," when some one pulled his coat sleeve and said,

"Mr. George, let 'er alone; she can beat you at that every time."

George whirled around at the sound of a familiar voice, and exclaimed: "Hiram Wardell! Well, what on earth are you doing in London?"

"Tryin' to find out how to get home, Mr. George. Me and Dave Hulick here ain't in London on a tour, I can tell you, and we don't want to stay here either."

"Then it's lucky for you that my father is in the consular service here. I guess he can help you two boys. But, say, this is a funny case, isn't it? Only a year ago you fellows were taking me out fishing off Joppa, and now--How did you get here, anyhow?"

"Well, Mr. George, this ain't a very good place for story-telling. Can't we go where it's quiet?"

"You two boys come to my father's office with me," said George, "and then you can tell him and me the story at the same time. I think that will be the best way to manage it."

So the well-dressed young gentleman, accompanied by the two rude-looking New Jersey "beach-combers," set off through the jostling, bustling London crowds toward Mr. Whittingham's office in Cheapside. George's father was at his desk, and expressed his readiness to listen to the story of the two boys, whom he was surprised to see in London. Hiram Wardell, when bidden to go on with his narrative, hung his head and twisted his cap nervously in his long red fingers.

"Go on, Hi," said his companion; "ye got to tell it, an' ye might as well start an' git through."

Hiram straightened himself up with a jerk, ran the red fingers through his shock of dust-brown hair, and began: "Well, sir, I s'pose we two boys is a pair o' fools, an' that's the truth. But we'll know better nex' time. You see, it ain't very much of a country down there on the Jersey coast, except in the summer, when the city people is there, an' then what is it? Only drivin' a hack, or takin' a gentleman out fishin', or somethin' o' that sort. So Dave an' I this spring got mighty tired o' the whole business, an' we made up our minds that we'd got to git out. So one day we was a-settin' on the beach talkin' about it, an' Dave he says to me to look at a schooner wot was goin' down to the south'ard. An' he says to me, wot was the matter with goin' to New York an' shippin' on one o' them schooners an' goin' to the West Injies, or Savannah, or Halifax, or some sich place? Right off it seemed to me that was about the finest scheme I'd ever heard of. But we didn't have much money betwixt--only sixty-four cents--an' the question were how to git to New York. First off, Dave thought it would be the best way for him to take the money an' go to York, an' when he'd earned enough to send for me. But I was mistrustful o' bein' left behind an' seein' Dave wave his hat at me some day from the deck o' one o' them schooners goin' South."

Mr. Whittingham lay back in his chair and shook with laughter, while Dave Hulick looked at Hiram with a countenance full of solemn reproach.

"Well, you know you'd 'a' done it, Dave," said Hiram, as he continued with his story. "After talkin' the thing over for a good while, I proposed that we pervision Dave's father's smallest fishin' skiff with them sixty-four cents an' sail for York. Dave he said it weren't fair for him to furnish twenty-eight cents an' the boat, an' me only thirty-six cents. But I told him the boat didn't cost him nothin', an' he had to allow that I was tellin' the truth; so he agreed to my plan. I ain't a-goin' to stop to tell you all the botheration we had a-gettin' them pervisions an' gettin' 'em stored ready for shippin'. Land sakes! Folks was so mighty curious that I 'most lost my wits inventin' answers for all their questions."

"All about sixty-four cents' worth of provisions?" inquired Mr. Whittingham, who could not conceal his amusement.

"Jest that, sir, an' nothin' else," replied Hiram, gravely. "Well, at last everything was all ready, an' bright an' 'arly one fine mornin' we slipped out an' down to the beach. Of course it wasn't no great shakes of a matter for us two boys to launch the boat an' get out through the surf. Mr. George he knows that, 'cause he's often gone out with us. Well, when we got out there wasn't enough wind to sail, the ocean bein' as smooth as one o' the plate-glass winders in Bill Smock's drug-store. So we had to get to work an' row. There was other boats goin' out, an' my sakes alive! what a lot of questions we had to answer! Seems to me there wasn't any reason for 'em, either, 'cause we boys often went out fishin'. But anyhow we pulled along till we got well to the north'ard o' Joppa an' out o' reach o' questions, an' then Dave he struck work. 'Blowed if I'm goin' to row all the way to York,' says he. Didn't you, Dave?"

"That's wot I said," was Dave's laconic answer.

"We set the mast an' sail, an' let her drift. It was a putty middlin' hot day, an' along in the early afternoon, when we hadn't got more'n five or six miles to the north'ard, I reckon both of us fell asleep. I don't know how long we was asleep, but I know what woke us up. The blamed boat turned turtle."

"What--upset?" exclaimed Mr. Whittingham.

"Yes, sir, upset. You see, there was a kind of a squall, an' we, bein' asleep, didn't get no notice of't till we was in the water. Well, I climbed up on to the bottom o' the boat, an' Dave he hung on to me an' grumbled. 'Nice sort o' doin's,' says Dave; 'there's that sixty-four cents' worth o' good grub gone to feed the fish.' An' then I says to Dave to shut up his all-fired nonsense, and be glad that we wasn't gone along with the grub. Then I got out my big red handkercher an' waved it. There was a small coastin' schooner ratchin' along not more'n a mile away. The squall had died down to a good breeze, an' she was a hustlin'. She didn't see us, though. Well, sir, we hung on to the bottom o' that there boat till putty nigh sundown, an' all the time we was a-driftin' further an' further out to sea. About then this here Dave he woke up an' says, 'Here comes a big wessel right at us.' Sure enough, there was a full-rigged ship what had just cast off her tug an' was a-makin' sail. She was a-headin' so's to come within a hundred yards of us. So I got the handkercher out again an' waved it, and when she got putty near we both yelled. The ship hove to an' lowered a boat, an' in a few minutes we was aboard o' her. We told the skipper our story an' he laffed. He wasn't putty when he laffed, either, because his teeth was all out in front an' his nose was broke. 'So you was bound to New York, was you?' says he. 'Well, now you're bound to London.' I didn't want to go to London, but this here Dave--he don't know much, sir--he said he'd jest as leave go to London on a ship as the West Injies on a schooner. So to make the story short, sir, we two lunatics--'cause that's ezackly what we was--shipped on to that there wessel as green hands."

Hiram paused a moment, overcome by the flood of his melancholy recollections.

"I hope, sir," he continued, gravely, "that you was never a green hand on a ship. A green hand don't know how to do nothin', an' one o' the mates tells him to do it, an' then yells, 'I'll l'arn ye, ye slob!' An' he allus teaches him with his fist or his foot or a belayin'-pin. I bin punched, kicked, an' knocked down all the way from off Long Beach to the North Foreland. I was taught to furl a royal off Davis South Shoal with a kick in the ribs. I had a long splice, a short splice, an eye splice, an' a black eye punched into me off George's Bank. I got the science o' heavin' to in a gale o' wind kicked clean through me off Cape Race. I learned how to heave the log off Sable Island by bein' hove down the forehatch head fust,'cause I didn't know how to do 't. I got a fust-class chart o' the North Atlantic Ocean hammered on to my body in black an' blue, an' ef ever I git lost out there again, it'll be because the Jersey coast has lost its anchor an' gone adrift. An' now, sir, here's Dave an' me; we don't want to go South on to a schooner no more. All we wants to do is to git back to Joppa, let our fathers lick us, an' then settle down to cod-fishin' an' peace an' quiet for the rest of our lives."

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