Captains Courageous by Rudyard Kipling (e manga reader .txt) đ
- Author: Rudyard Kipling
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Then Harvey sat down by the wheel, and sobbed and sobbed as though his heart would break, and a tall woman who had been sitting on a weigh-scale dropped down into the schooner and kissed Dan once on the cheek; for she was his mother, and she had seen the âWeâre Hereâ by the lightning flashes. She took no notice of Harvey till he had recovered himself a little and Disko had told her his story. Then they went to Diskoâs house together as the dawn was breaking; and until the telegraph office was open and he could wire his folk, Harvey Cheyne was perhaps the loneliest boy in all America. But the curious thing was that Disko and Dan seemed to think none the worse of him for crying.
Wouverman was not ready for Diskoâs prices till Disko, sure that the âWeâre Hereâ was at least a week ahead of any other Gloucester boat, had given him a few days to swallow them; so all hands played about the streets, and Long Jack stopped the Rocky Neck trolley, on principle, as be said, till the conductor let him ride free. But Dan went about with his freckled nose in the air, bung-full of mystery and most haughty to his family.
âDan, Iâll hev to lay inter you ef you act this way,â said Troop, pensively. âSence weâve come ashore this time youâve bin a heap too fresh.â
âIâd lay into him naow ef he was mine,â said Uncle Salters, sourly. He and Penn boarded with the Troops.
âOho!â said Dan, shuffling with the accordion round the backyard, ready to leap the fence if the enemy advanced. âDan, youâre welcome to your own judgment, but remember Iâve warned ye. Your own flesh anâ blood haâ warned ye! âTainât any oâ my fault ef youâre mistook, but Iâll be on deck to watch ye. Anâ ez fer yeou, Uncle Salters, Pharaohâs chief butler ainât in it âlongside oâ you! You watch aout anâ wait. Youâll be plowed under like your own blamed clover; but meâDan TroopâIâll flourish like a green bay-tree because I warnât stuck on my own opinion.â
Disko was smoking in all his shore dignity and a pair of beautiful carpet-slippers. âYouâre gettinâ ez crazy as poor Harve. You two go araound gigglinâ anâ squinchinâ anâ kickinâ each other under the table till thereâs no peace in the haouse,â said he.
âThereâs goinâ to be a heap lessâfer some folks,â Dan replied. âYou wait anâ see.â
He and Harvey went out on the trolley to East Gloucester, where they tramped through the bayberry bushes to the lighthouse, and lay down on the big red boulders and laughed themselves hungry. Harvey had shown Dan a telegram, and the two swore to keep silence till the shell burst.
âHarveâs folk?â said Dan, with an unruffled face after supper. âWell, I guess they donât amount to much of anything, or weâd haâ heard from âem by naow. His pop keeps a kind oâ store out West. Maybe heâll give you âs much as five dollars, Dad.â
âWhat did I tell ye?â said Salters. âDonât sputter over your vittles, Dan.â
Whatever his private sorrows may be, a multimillionaire, like any other workingman, should keep abreast of his business. Harvey Cheyne, senior, had gone East late in June to meet a woman broken down, half mad, who dreamed day and night of her son drowning in the gray seas. He had surrounded her with doctors, trained nurses, massage-women, and even faith-cure companions, but they were useless. Mrs. Cheyne lay still and moaned, or talked of her boy by the hour together to any one who would listen. Hope she had none, and who could offer it? All she needed was assurance that drowning did not hurt; and her husband watched to guard lest she should make the experiment. Of his own sorrow he spoke littleâhardly realized the depth of it till he caught himself asking the calendar on his writing-desk, âWhatâs the use of going on?â
There had always lain a pleasant notion at the back of his head that, some day, when he had rounded off everything and the boy had left college, he would take his son to his heart and lead him into his possessions. Then that boy, he argued, as busy fathers do, would instantly become his companion, partner, and ally, and there would follow splendid years of great works carried out togetherâthe old head backing the young fire. Now his boy was deadâlost at sea, as it might have been a Swede sailor from one of Cheyneâs big teaships; the wife dying, or worse; he himself was trodden down by platoons of women and doctors and maids and attendants; worried almost beyond endurance by the shift and change of her poor restless whims; hopeless, with no heart to meet his many enemies.
He had taken the wife to his raw new palace in San Diego, where she and her people occupied a wing of great price, and Cheyne, in a veranda-room, between a secretary and a typewriter, who was also a telegraphist, toiled along wearily from day to day. There was a war of rates among four Western railroads in which he was supposed to be interested; a devastating strike had developed in his lumber camps in Oregon, and the legislature of the State of California, which has no love for its makers, was preparing open war against him.
Ordinarily he would have accepted battle ere it was offered, and have waged a pleasant and unscrupulous campaign. But now he sat limply, his soft black hat pushed forward on to his nose, his big body shrunk inside his loose clothes, staring at his boots or the Chinese junks in the bay, and assenting absently to the secretaryâs questions as he opened the Saturday mail.
Cheyne was wondering how much it would cost to drop everything and pull out. He carried huge insurances, could buy himself royal annuities, and between one of his places in Colorado and a little society (that would do the wife good), say in Washington and the South Carolina islands, a man might forget plans that had come to nothing. On the other handâ
The click of the typewriter stopped; the girl was looking at the secretary, who had turned white.
He passed Cheyne a telegram repeated from San Francisco:
Picked up by fishing schooner âWeâre Hereâ having fallen off boat great times on Banks fishing all well waiting Gloucester Mass care Disko Troop for money or orders wire what shall do and how is Mama Harvey N. Cheyne.
The father let it fall, laid his head down on the roller-top of the shut desk, and breathed heavily. The secretary ran for Mrs. Cheyneâs doctor who found Cheyne pacing to and fro.
âWhatâwhat dâ you think of it? Is it possible? Is there any meaning to it? I canât quite make it out,â he cried.
âI can,â said the doctor. âI lose seven thousand a yearâthatâs all.â He thought of the struggling New York practice he had dropped at Cheyneâs imperious bidding, and returned the telegram with a sigh.
âYou mean youâd tell her? âMay be a fraud?â
âWhatâs the motive?â said the doctor, coolly. âDetectionâs too certain. Itâs the boy sure enough.â
Enter a French maid, impudently, as an indispensable one who is kept on only by large wages.
âMrs. Cheyne she say you must come at once. She think you are seek.â
The master of thirty millions bowed his head meekly and followed Suzanne; and a thin, high voice on the upper landing of the great white-wood square staircase cried: âWhat is it? What has happened?â
No doors could keep out the shriek that rang through the echoing house a moment later, when her husband blurted out the news.
âAnd thatâs all right,â said the doctor, serenely, to the typewriter. âAbout the only medical statement in novels with any truth to it is that joy donât kill, Miss Kinzey.â
âI know it; but weâve a heap to do first.â Miss Kinzey was from Milwaukee, somewhat direct of speech; and as her fancy leaned towards the secretary, she divined there was work in hand. He was looking earnestly at the vast roller-map of America on the wall.
âMilsom, weâre going right across. Private carâstraight throughâBoston. Fix the connections,â shouted Cheyne down the staircase.
âI thought so.â
The secretary turned to the typewriter, and their eyes met (out of that was born a storyânothing to do with this story). She looked inquiringly, doubtful of his resources. He signed to her to move to the Morse as a general brings brigades into action. Then he swept his hand musician-wise through his hair, regarded the ceiling, and set to work, while Miss Kinzeyâs white fingers called up the Continent of America.
âK. H. Wade, Los Angeles The âConstanceâ is at Los Angeles, isnât she, Miss Kinzey?â
âYep.â Miss Kinzey nodded between clicks as the secretary looked at his watch.
âReady? Send âConstance,â private car, here, and arrange for special to leave here Sunday in time to connect with New York Limited at Sixteenth Street, Chicago, Tuesday next.â
Click-lick-lick! âCouldnât you better that?â
âNot on those grades. That gives âem sixty hours from here to Chicago. They wonât gain anything by taking a special east of that. Ready? Also arrange with Lake Shore and Michigan Southern to take âConstanceâ on New York Central and Hudson River Buffalo to Albany, and B. and A. the same Albany to Boston. Indispensable I should reach Boston Wednesday evening. Be sure nothing prevents. Have also wired Canniff, Toucey, and Barnes. âSign, Cheyne.â
Miss Kinzey nodded, and the secretary went on.
âNow then. Canniff, Toucey, and Barnes, of course. Ready? Canniff, Chicago. Please take my private car âConstanceâ from Santa Fe at Sixteenth Street next Tuesday p. m. on N. Y. Limited through to Buffalo and deliver N. Y. C. for Albany.âEver bin to Nâ York, Miss Kinzey? Weâll go some day.âReady? Take car Buffalo to Albany on Limited Tuesday p. m. Thatâs for Toucey.â
âHavenât bin to Noo York, but I know that!â with a toss of the head.
âBeg pardon. Now, Boston and Albany, Barnes, same instructions from Albany through to Boston. Leave three-five P. M. (you neednât wire that); arrive nine-five P. M. Wednesday. That covers everything Wade will do, but it pays to shake up the managers.â
âItâs great,â said Miss Kinzey, with a look of admiration. This was the kind of man she understood and appreciated.
ââTisnât bad,â said Milsom, modestly. âNow, any one but me would have lost thirty hours and spent a week working out the run, instead of handing him over to the Santa Feâ straight through to Chicago.â
âBut see here, about that Noo York Limited. Chauncey Depew himself couldnât hitch his car to her,â Miss Kinzey suggested, recovering herself.
âYes, but this isnât Chauncey. Itâs Cheyneâlightning. It goes.â
âEven so. Guess weâd better wire the boy. Youâve forgotten that, anyhow.â
âIâll ask.â
When he returned with the fatherâs message bidding Harvey meet them in Boston at an appointed hour, he found Miss Kinzey laughing over the keys. Then Milsom laughed too, for the frantic clicks from Los Angeles ran: âWe want to know why-why-why? General uneasiness developed and spreading.â
Ten minutes later Chicago appealed to Miss Kinzey in these words: âIf crime of century is maturing please warn friends in time. We are all getting
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