Blow the Man Down by Holman Day (read the beginning after the end novel .TXT) 📖

those already filed she was spending her time explaining her limitations to later arrivals.
Captain Mayo stood at one side and looked on for a few moments. A gentle nudge on his elbow called his attention to an elderly man with stringy whiskers, who thus solicited his notice. The man held a folded paper gingerly by one corner, exhibiting profound respect for his minute burden.
"You ain't one of these yachting dudes--you're a skipper, ain't you?" asked the man.
"Yes, sir."
"Well, then, I can talk to you, as one officer to another--and glad to meet one of my own breed. I'm first mate of the schooner _Polly_. Mr. Speed is my name."
Captain Mayo nodded.
"And I need help and advice. This is the first tele-graft I ever had in my hands. I'd rather be aholt of an iced halyard in a no'easter! I've been sent ashore to telegraft it, and now she says she won't stick it onto the wire, however it is they do the blasted trick."
Captain Mayo had already noticed that the messengers from the yachts were killing time by teasing the flustered young woman; it was good-humored badinage, but it was effectively blocking progress at that end of the line.
He felt a "native's" instinctive impulse to go to the relief of the young woman who was being baited by the merrymakers; the responsibility of his own errand prompted him to help her clear decks. But he waited, hoping that the yachtsmen would go about their business.
"From the _Polly_, Mr. Speed?" he inquired, amiably. "Is the Polly in the harbor? I didn't notice her in the fog."
"Reckon you know her, by the way you speak of her," replied the gratified Mr. Speed.
"I ought to, sir. She was built at Mayoport by my great-grandfather before the Mayo yards began to turn out ships."
"Well, I swanny! Be you a Mayo?"
The captain bowed and smiled at the enthusiasm displayed by Mr. Speed.
"By ginger! that sort of puts you right into _our_ fambly, so to speak!" The mate surveyed him with interest and with increasing confidence. "I'm in a mess, Cap'n Mayo, and I need advice and comfort, I reckon. I was headed on a straight tack toward my regular duty, and all of a sudden I found myself jibed and in stays, and I'm there now and drifting. Seeing that your folks built the _Polly_, I consider that you're in the fambly, and that Proverdunce put you right here to-night in this telegraft office. Do you know Cap'n Epps Candage?"
Mayo shook his head.
"Or his girl, Polly, named for the _Polly?_"
"No, I must confess."
"Well, it may be just as well for ye that ye don't," said Oakum Otie, twisting his straggly beard into a spill and blinking nervously. "There I was, headed straight and keeping true course, and then she looked at me and there was a tremble in her voice and tears in her eyes--and the next thing I knowed I was here in this telegraft place with this!" He held up the folded paper and his hand shook.
Captain Mayo did not understand, and therefore he made no remarks.
"There was a song old Ephrum Wack used to sing," went on Mr. Speed, getting more confidential and making sure that the other men in the room were too much occupied to listen. "Chorus went:
"I ain't afeard of the raging sea,
Nor critters that's in it, whatever they be.
But a witch of a woman is what skeers me!
"There I've been, standing by Cap'n Epps in the whole dingdo, and she got me one side and looked at me and says a few things with a quiver in her voice and her eyes all wet and shiny and"--he paused and looked down at the paper with bewilderment that was rather pitiful--"and I walked right over all common sense and shipboard rules and discipline and everything and came here, fetching this to be stuck on to the wire, or whatever they do with telegrafts. But," he added, a waver in his tones, "she is so lord-awful pretty, I couldn't help it!"
Still did Captain Mayo refrain from comment or question.
"The question now is, had I ought to," demanded Mr. Speed. "I'm taking you into the fambly on my own responsibility. You're a captain, you're a native, and I need good advice. Had I ought to?"
"I'm afraid you'll have to excuse me, sir. The matter seems to be private, and, furthermore, I don't know what you're talking about."
"She says it's to the milliner so that the milliner will hold the job open. But I'm suspicioning that it's roundabout to the beau that's in love with her. That's the style of women. Cap'n Epps shanghaied her to get her away from that fellow. Now she has got it worked around so that she is going back. But there's a beau in it instead of a milliner. She wouldn't be so anxious to get word to a milliner. That's my idee, and I reckon it's yours, too."
"I really have no ideas on the subject," returned Captain Mayo. "But if you have promised a young lady to send a telegram for her I would certainly keep that promise if I were in your place."
The next moment he regretted his rather impetuous advice, for Mr. Speed slapped the paper against a hard palm and blurted out: "That's all I wanted! Course and bearings from an a-number-one adviser. New, how'll I go to work to send this thing?"
"I have been figuring on that matter for the last few minutes, myself," acknowledged the captain. "It's about time to have a little action in this place."
He was obliged to elbow his way through the group of men who surrounded the telegraph operator. Oakum Otie followed on his heels, resolved to study at close range the mystery of telegraphing, realizing what he needed for his own instruction.
"These telegrams are important and they must go at ore, madam," Mayo informed the flustered young woman.
"I can't send them. I am bothered so much I can't do anything," she stammered.
"Oh, forget your business, skipper," advised one of the party.
"It is not my business, sir." He laid the packet of messages before the operator on her little counter and tapped his finger on them. "They must go," he repeated.
"In their turn," warned the yachtsman, showing that he resented this intrusion. "And after the party is over!"
"I intended to confine my conversation to this young lady," said Mayo. He turned and faced them. "But I have been here long enough to see that you gentlemen are interfering with the business of this office. Perhaps your messages are not important. Mine are."
The yachtsman was not sober nor was he judicious. "Go back to your job, young fellow," he advised. "You are horning in among gentlemen."
"So am I," squawked Mr. Speed, with weather eye out for clouds of any sort.
Captain Mayo gave his supporter a glance of mingled astonishment and relish. "We'd better not have any words about the matter, gentlemen,'' he suggested, mildly.
"Certainly not," stated the spokesman. "If you'll pass on there'll be no words--or anything else."
"Then we'll dispense with words!" The quick anger of youth flared in Mayo. The air of the man rather than his words had offended deeply. "You'd like to have this room to yourself so that you can attend to your business, I presume?" he asked the operator.
"Yes, I would."
Oakum Otie laid his folded paper upon the packet of Captain Mayo.
"You will leave the room gentlemen," advised the captain.
Mr. Speed thrust out his bony elbows and cracked his hard fists together. "I have never liked dudes," he stated. "I have been brought up that way. All my training with Cap'n Epps has been that way."
"How do you fit into this thing?" demanded one of the yachtsmen.
"About like this," averred Mr. Speed. He grabbed the young man by both shoulders and ran him out into the night before anybody could interfere. Then Mr. Speed reappeared promptly and inquired, "Which one goes next?"
"I think they will all go," said the captain.
"Come on," urged one of the party. "We can't afford to get into a brawl with natives."
"You bet you can't," retorted Oakum Otie. "I hain't hove bunches of shingles all my life for nothing!"
Mayo said nothing more. But after the yachtsmen had looked him over they went out, making the affair a subject for ridicule.
"Hope I done right and showed to you that I was thankful for good advice," suggested Mr. Speed, seeking commendation.
"Just a bit hasty, sir."
"Maybe, but there's nothing like handing folks a sample just to show up the quality of the whole piece."
"I thank you--both of you," said the grateful operator.
"You'd better lock your door," advised Mayo. "Men are thoughtless when they have nothing to do except play."
"I am so grateful! And I'm going to break an office rule," volunteered the girl. "I shall send off your telegrams first."
"And I hope you can tuck that little one in second--it won't take up much room!" pleaded Oakum Otie. "It's to help an awful pretty girl--looks are a good deal like yours!"
"I'll attend to it," promised the young woman, blushing.
Outside in the village street Mr. Speed wiped his rough palm against the leg of his trousers and offered his hand to the captain. "I'll have to say good-by to you here, sir. I've got a little errunting to do--fig o' terbacker and a box of stror'b'ries. I confess to a terrible tooth for stror'b'ries. When the hanker ketches me and I can't get to stror'b'ries my stror'b'ry mark shows up behind my ear. I hope I have done right in sending off that tele-graft for her--but it's too bad that a landlubber beau is going to get such a pretty girl." Then Oakum Otie sighed and melted away into the foggy gloom.
When Captain Mayo was half-way down the harbor, on his way back to the yacht, he was confronted by a spectacle which startled him. The fog was suddenly painted with a ruddy flare which spread high and flamed steadily. His first fears suggested that a vessel was on fire. The _Olenia_ lay in that direction. He commanded his men to pull hard.
When he burst out of the mists into the zone of the illumination his misgivings were allayed, but his curiosity was roused.
A dozen yacht tenders flocked in a flotilla near the stern of a rusty old schooner. All the tenders were burning Coston lights, and from several boats yachtsmen were sending off rockets which striped the pall of fog with bizarre colorings.
The stern of the schooner was well lighted up by the torches, and Mayo saw her name, though he did not need that name to assure him of her identity; she was the venerable _Polly_.
The light which flamed about her, showing up her rig and lines, was weirdly unreal and more than ever did she seem like a ghost ship. The thick curtain of the mist caught up the flare of the torches and reflected it upon her from the skies, and she was limned in fantastic fashion from truck to water-line. Shadows of men in the tenders were thrown against the fog-screen in grotesque outline, and a spirit crew appeared to be toiling in the top-hamper of the old schooner.
Captain Mayo ordered his men to hold water and the tender drifted close to the flotilla. He spied a yacht skipper whom he had known when both were in the coasting trade.
"What's the idea, Duncan?"
His acquaintance grinned. "Serenade for old Epps Candage's girl--handed to her over his head." He pointed upward.
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