Guilt of the Brass Thieves by Mildred Augustine Wirt (book series for 12 year olds txt) 📖

TREADING WATER, THE GIRL SHOUTED FOR HELP.
“Guilt of the Brass Thieves” (See Page 170)

Dedicated
to
ASA WIRT

“This is the limit! The very limit!” Giving his leather suitcase an impatient kick, Anthony Parker began to pace up and down the creaking old dock.

His daughter Penny, who stood in the shadow of a shed out of the hot afternoon sun, grinned at him with good humor and understanding.

“Oh, take it easy, Dad,” she advised. “After all, this is a vacation and we have two weeks before us. Isn’t the river beautiful?”

“What’s beautiful about it?” her father growled.

However, he turned to gaze at a zigzag group of sailboats tacking gracefully along the far rippled shore. Not a quarter of a mile away, a ferryboat churned the blue water to whip cream foam as it steamed upstream.

“Are you certain this is the dock where we were to meet Mr. Gandiss?” Penny asked after a moment. “It seems queer he would fail us, for it’s nearly five o’clock now. We’ve waited almost an hour.”

Ceasing the restless pacing, Mr. Parker, publisher of the Riverview Star, a daily newspaper, searched his pockets and found a crumpled letter.

Reviewing it at a glance, he said: “Four o’clock was the hour Mr. Gandiss promised to meet us at dock fourteen.”

“This is number fourteen,” Penny confirmed, pointing to the numbers plainly visible on the shed. “Obviously something happened to Mr. Gandiss. Perhaps he forgot.”

“A nice thing!” muttered the publisher. “Here he invites us to spend two weeks at his island home and then fails to meet us! Does he expect us to swim to the island?”

Penny, a slim, blue-eyed girl with shoulder length bob which the wind tossed about at will, wandered to the edge of the dock.

“That must be Shadow Island over there,” she observed, indicating a dot of green land which arched from the water like the curving back of a turtle. “It must be nearly a mile away.”

“The question is, how much longer are we to wait?” Mr. Parker glanced again at his watch. “It’s starting to cloud up, and may rain in another half hour. Why not taxi into town? What’s the name of this one-horse dump, anyhow?”

“Our tickets read ‘Tate’s Beach.’”

“Well, Tate’s Beach must do without us this summer,” Mr. Parker snapped, picking up his suitcase. “I’ve had my fill of this! We’ll spend the night in a hotel, then start for Riverview on the early morning train.”

“Do you know Mr. Gandiss well?” Penny inquired, stalling for time.

“He advertises in the Star, and we played golf together occasionally when he came to Riverview. I must have been crazy to accept an invitation to come here!”

“Oh, we’ll have a good time if only we can get to the island, Dad.”

“I can’t figure out exactly why Gandiss invited us,” Mr. Parker added thoughtfully. “He has something in mind besides entertainment, but what it is, I haven’t been able to guess.”

“How about hiring a boat?” Penny suggested.

Her father debated, then shook his head. “No, if Gandiss doesn’t think enough of his guests to meet them, then he can do without us. Come on, we’re leaving!”

Never noted for an even temper or patience, the publisher strode down the dock.

“Wait, Dad!” Penny called excitedly. “I think someone may be coming for us now!”

A mahogany motorboat with glittering brasswork, approached at high speed from the direction of Shadow Island. As Penny and her father hopefully watched, it swerved toward their dock, and the motor was throttled.

“That’s not Mr. Gandiss,” the publisher said, observing a sandy-haired, freckled youth at the steering wheel.

Nevertheless, suitcase in hand, he waited for the boat.

The craft came in smoothly, and the young man at the wheel leaped out and made fast to a dock post.

“You’re Anthony Parker!” he exclaimed, greeting Penny’s father, and bestowing an apologetic smile upon them both. “I’m Jack—Jack Gandiss.”

“Harvey Gandiss’ son?” Mr. Parker inquired, his annoyance melting.

“A chip off the old block,” the boy grinned. “Hope I haven’t kept you waiting long.”

“Well, we had just about given up,” Mr. Parker admitted truthfully.

“I’m sure sorry, sir. I promised my father I would meet you sharp at four. Fact is, I was out on the river with some friends, and didn’t realize how late it was. We were practicing for the trophy sailboat race.”

Penny’s blue eyes sparkled with interest. An excellent swimmer, she too enjoyed sailing and all water sports. However, she had never competed in a race.

“Suppose we get along to the island,” Mr. Parker interposed, glancing at the sky. “I don’t like the look of those clouds.”

“Oh, it won’t rain for hours,” Jack said carelessly. “Those clouds are moving slowly and we’ll reach the island within ten minutes.”

Helping Penny and Mr. Parker into the motorboat, he stowed the luggage under the seat and then cast off. In a sweeping circle, the craft sped past a canbuoy which marked a shoal, and out into the swift current.

Penny held tightly to her straw hat to keep it from being blown downstream. A stiff breeze churned the waves which spanked hard against the bow of the boat.

“My father was sorry he couldn’t meet you himself!” Jack hurled at them above the whistle of the wind. “He was held up at the airplane factory—labor trouble or something of the sort.”

Mr. Parker nodded, his good humor entirely restored. Settling comfortably in the leather seat, he focused his gaze on distant Shadow Island.

“Good fishing around here?” he inquired.

“The best ever. You’ll like it, sir.”

Jack was nearly seventeen, with light hair and steel blue eyes. His white trousers were none too well pressed and the sleeves of an old sweater bore smears of grease. Steering the boat with finger-tip control, he deliberately cut through the highest of the waves, treating his passengers to a series of jolts.

Some distance away, a ferryboat, the River Queen, glided smoothly along, its railings thronged with people. In the pilot house, a girl who might have been sixteen, stood at the wheel.

“Look, Dad!” Penny exclaimed. “A girl is handling that big boat!”

“Sally Barker,” Jack informed disparagingly. “She’s the daughter of Captain Barker who owns the River Queen. A brat if ever there was one!”

“She certainly has that ferryboat eating out of her hand,” Mr. Parker commented admiringly.

“Oh, she handles a boat well enough. Why shouldn’t she? The captain started teaching her about the river when she was only three years old. He taught her all she knows about sailboat racing, too.”

Jack’s tone of voice left no doubt that he considered Sally Barker completely beneath his notice. As the two boats drew fairly close together, the girl in the pilot house waved, but he pretended not to see.

“You said something about a sailboat race when we were at the dock,” Penny reminded him eagerly. “Is it an annual affair?”

Jack nodded, swerving to avoid a floating log. “Sally won the trophy last year. Before that I held it. This year I am planning on winning it back.”

“Oh, I see,” Penny commented dryly.

“That’s not why I dislike Sally,” Jack said to correct any misapprehension she might have gained. “It’s just—well, she’s so sure of herself—so blamed stubborn. And it’s an insult to Tate’s Beach the way she flaunts the trophy aboard that cheap old ferryboat!”

“How do you mean?” Mr. Parker inquired, his curiosity aroused.

Jack did not reply, for just then the engine coughed. The boat plowed on a few feet, and the motor cut off again.

“Now what?” Jack exclaimed, alarmed.

Even as he spoke, the engine died completely.

“Sounds to me as if we’re out of gas,” observed Mr. Parker. “How is your supply?”

A stricken look came upon Jack’s wind-tanned face. “I forgot to fill the tank before I left the island,” he confessed ruefully. “My father told me to be sure to do it, but I started off in such a hurry.”

“Haven’t you an extra can of fuel aboard?” Mr. Parker asked, trying to hide his annoyance.

Jack shook his head, gazing gloomily toward the distant island. The current had caught the boat and was carrying it downstream, away from the Gandiss estate.

“Nothing to do then, but get out the oars. And it will be a long, hard row.”

“Oars?” Jack echoed weakly. “We haven’t any aboard and no anchor either.”

Mr. Parker was too disgusted to speak. A man who demanded efficiency and responsibility in his own newspaper plant, he had no patience with those negligent of their duties. Because he and Penny were to be guests of the Gandiss family, he made an effort not to blame Jack for the mishap.

“I—I’m terribly sorry,” the boy stammered. “But we shouldn’t be stranded here long. We’ll soon be picked up.”

Hopefully, Jack gazed toward the nearest shore. No small boats were visible. The ferry, plying her regular passenger route, now was far upstream.

Although the sun still shone brightly, clouds frequently blocked it from view. Waves slapped higher against the drifting boat and the river took on a dark cast.

Neither Penny nor her father spoke of the increasing certainty of rain. However, they watched the shifting clouds uneasily. Soon there was no more sun, and the river waters became inky black.

Presently the wind died completely and a dead calm held the boat. But not for many minutes. Soon a ripple of breeze ruffled the water, and far upstream a haze of rain blotted out the shoreline.

“Here it comes!” Mr. Parker said tersely, buttoning up his coat.

The next instant, wind and rain struck the little boat in full force. Penny’s hat was swept from