SHANGHAIED.

A Sailor
in Spite of Himself

BY

HARRY CASTLEMON

AUTHOR OF "THE GUNBOAT SERIES," "THE ROD AND GUN SERIES,"

"THE ROCKY MOUNTAIN SERIES," ETC.

PHILADELPHIA

HENRY T. COATES & CO.

1898

Copyright, 1897, by

HENRY T. COATES & CO.

CONTENTS

A SAILOR IN SPITE OF
HIMSELF.

CHAPTER I.
SIMPSON TELLS A SECRET.

"Halloo, Blues! What are you doing out here?"

"What are you Whites doing out here?"

"We came out to see you beaten."

"You did? Then we would advise you to pull ashore immediately, for that is something you will not see this day."

"Won't we, indeed? You'll soon tell a different tale. In less than an hour you will pull off those blue rosettes and throw them overboard."

"On the contrary, in less than an hour the boys who wear those blue rosettes will be cheering the champions of the State."

"Ha! Tell that to the marines. Perhaps they will believe it."

This conversation took place between the occupants of two little sailboats, the Sunbeam and the Firefly, which had been thrown up into the wind and now lay almost motionless side by side, while the boys who made up their passengers and crews lounged on the thwarts, fanning their flushed faces with their hats, and ever and anon turning their eyes toward the shore in an eager, expectant manner, as if they were waiting for something.

From the positions in which the little vessels lay, their crews had a good view of the bay for ten miles on every side, and the sight presented to their gaze was one worth going a long way to see. The water was dotted with small craft of every description—tugs, skiffs, single-oared shells and sailboats, the latter all flying the colors of the Lone Star Yacht Club, and the shore in front of the academy was lined with carriages and people. It was a gala day in Elmwood, and almost every man, woman and child for miles around had come in to witness an event that had been the topic of conversation for weeks—a race between two of the best boat clubs in the State.

Elmwood was situated on an extensive bay which indented the coast of one of our Southern States. It was a wealthy and thriving place, and in spite of the fact that the war was only just over, it boasted of as fine an academy as could be found anywhere. There were two hundred students and more on the rolls, and although you could have picked out from the number any number of lazy, mischievous boys—such fellows intrude themselves everywhere—you could not have found one who did not love the school and all its surroundings. It was no wonder that the institution stood high in the estimation of both scholars and patrons, for the faculty were men who believed in making it a pleasant place for the boys under their charge. Innocent sports of every kind were not only tolerated but encouraged, the professors often taking part in them with as much eagerness as the boys themselves. Just now everything except aquatics was at a discount, and this state of affairs had been brought about by accident.

Among the boys who spent all their spare time upon the bay were two crews who were looked up to by the rest of the students as authorities on all matters pertaining to boats and rowing. The head man of one of these crews was Gus Layton, and the owner and stroke of the other was Bob Nellis, his cousin. The former rowed in a shell called the Mist, while Bob and his men took their daily airings in a beautiful little craft called the Zephyr.

One evening, while the crew of the Mist, who called themselves the champions of Elmwood, were taking a pull on the bay to exercise their muscles and cool their brains after a long siege of study in the school-room, they fell in with Bob Nellis and his men, who were out for the same purpose, and of course a race ensued. The self-styled champions expected to walk away with their opponents very easily, but to their intense chagrin and the overwhelming astonishment of fifty or more students who stood on the shore watching the contestants, the Zephyr went ahead rapidly, and rounded to in front of the academy the winner by more than a dozen lengths. Bob and his crew were so highly elated over the result of the race that they immediately challenged the crew of the Mist to a contest for the championship, which was promptly accepted, and this particular day had been set for the trial.

The excitement began to run high directly. The students at once declared themselves the adherents of one or the other of the rival clubs, and took to wearing rosettes on their jackets. Bob and his men wore a white uniform, and Gus and his men dressed in blue, and by looking at the rosettes a student wore one could tell which side he favored without asking any questions.

For weeks nothing but the race had been talked of. The enthusiasm of the students was so contagious that even their fathers, older brothers, and mothers and sisters became interested. The ladies, old and young, took to wearing rosettes, and manufactured them by the dozen, blue or white, as their fancy and their preference dictated. Mr. Sprague, the father of one of the Mist's crew, purchased a beautiful pitcher and cup, both bearing suitable inscriptions, which were to be presented to the winning crew by the prettiest young lady in Elmwood, and so the young oarsmen had something besides the championship to work for.

The Blues were confident, as they had reason to be. The crew of the Mist handled their oars with a grace and skill that were surprising, and the way they made their light shell dance over the water, when once they settled fairly down to their work, frightened all the other academy boys, who allowed them to claim and boast of the championship without a single contest to prove their superiority. Bob and his men acknowledged that the odds were against them, and devoted every spare moment to preparations for the race. Jack Phillips, the coxswain of the Zephyr, measured off a two-mile course at the upper end of the bay, and twice each day his crew pulled over it in a heavy yawl. They swung Indian clubs and dumb-bells to harden their muscles, ran long races over the road to increase their powers of endurance, and all this while attended regularly to their school duties and kept pace with their classes. They were the favorites among the students by long odds, as any one could have told by counting the rosettes, and it was whispered about among the students that if all the crew of the Mist were like Gus Layton, its owner, there wouldn't have been a blue rosette to be seen. He was the most unpopular boy in school—so very unpopular, indeed, that any of the Blues, when asked why they wore his colors, felt called upon to explain that it was not on his account, but for the sake of Sprague, Haight and Bright, other members of his crew, whom everybody acknowledged to be good fellows. No one, not even his particular crony, said that Gus was a good fellow, and the reason for this will be seen as our story progresses.

"I say, Johnny," exclaimed Tom Thayer, continuing the conversation which we have so unceremoniously interrupted, "you don't want to see Bob Nellis beaten. Let me pull off that blue rosette and give you another that will correctly express your feelings."

Tom Thayer wore a white rosette and held the helm of the Sunbeam, while Johnny Parker wore a blue and was seated at the helm of the Firefly.

"I have no sympathy for Gus, that's a fact," said Johnny, raising his arm to shield the colors that were pinned to his breast. "But there's Sprague, you know; he is my chum."

"I am aware of it," replied Tom; "but with all due respect to you and him, I must say that he is keeping very bad company. He deserves to be beaten."

Johnny had no reply to make to this. It had long been a matter of wonder and discussion among the students that so good a fellow as Sprague should associate with such a scamp as Gus Layton, and as Johnny did not know what to say in defense of his friend's conduct, he brought the Firefly before the wind and filled away for the opposite side of the bay.

"I say, fellows," continued Tom, as soon as the very light wind that was blowing had carried the Firefly a hundred yards or so away, "did you notice how Simpson acted?"

"I was just about to ask the same question," said one of Tom's passengers. "He is almost bursting with some secret or other. Let's call him back and find out what it is. Isn't it strange how that fellow gets hold of every bit of news that's floating about?"

The boy referred to was seated in the Firefly with Johnny Parker. Next to Gus Layton he was the most unpopular boy in school, and the reason was, because he was an incorrigible tale-bearer. His tongue was so unruly that he never could keep a secret, no matter how damaging it might be to others, or even to himself. This unfortunate habit had got him into numberless scrapes, but he never seemed to learn wisdom by his rough experience.

While the conversation we have recorded was being held, Simpson kept twisting about on his seat, smiling and winking at his companions in a way that would have excited the astonishment and mirth of a stranger, but which told the boys present as plainly as words that he knew something which he could hardly keep from telling. By the time the two boats separated his secret had so swelled within him that he could contain it no longer.

"The Whites seem confident," said he, and as he spoke his companions, who had been lounging about the boat in various attitudes, started up quickly to hear what was coming, "but I will bet the contents of the next box I receive from home that the Blues beat them. I'll even bet that the Zephyr is not rowed over two hundred yards of the course," he added, with a knowing shake of his head.

"You will?" exclaimed Johnny.

"Yes, sir. I suppose we are all friends. We all wear the same colors."

"Speak out, Simp," exclaimed one of Johnny's passengers. "You know you can't keep it any longer."

"And it is a wonder he has kept it as long as he has," said another.

"I think I have held my tongue pretty still since you fellows poured that bucket of water over me for telling the professors who it was that knocked the pickets off the fence," replied Simpson. "But I will tell you this, for it is much too good to keep. Bob's oar is cut half in two."

As Simpson said this he leaned back on his elbow in the stern-sheets and looked from one to the other of his companions to see what they thought about it. To say that they were astonished would not half express it. True they had heard of numerous plots, in all of which Simpson was implicated, to injure the Zephyr so that she could not be pulled in the race, but the boat and everything belonging to her had been so closely watched that Bob and his friends were positive that no advantage had been taken of them.

"Yes, sir," repeated Simpson. "Bob's oar will break the very first time he lays out his strength on it."

"Did you cut it?" asked Johnny, as soon as he had recovered from his amazement.

"No, I didn't; but I know who did. It was Mr. Layton, Gus's father."

"Well, now, if that wasn't a pretty piece of business for a man to engage in I wouldn't say so," cried Johnny, indignantly. "Simp, you and the crowd you run with are too contemptible for anything!"

"Oh, now, what's the matter with you?" whined that worthy. "I have a good notion not to tell you another word. Don't you want the Blues to win?"

"How did Mr. Layton get a chance to interfere in this business?" inquired Johnny, without answering Simpson's question. "He is a hundred miles from here."

"I know it, but he has interfered with it, all the same, no matter if he is a thousand. You see, Gus is afraid of Bob, and he never intended to run a fair race. His first idea was to knock a hole in the Zephyr, and we came pretty near carrying it out, too."

"We?" echoed Johnny. "Did you have a hand in it?"

"Of course I did. I watched at the window of the boat-house while Gus went in; but just as I handed him the axe, who should come prowling around but one of the professors, and we had to take to our heels. The next morning Bob found the window of the boat-house open and the axe lying on the floor, and knowing in a moment that something had been going on he set a watch over the building, and we couldn't get near it afterward."

"Well, what has that got to do with the oar that was tampered with?" demanded Johnny, almost fiercely.

"Now I would just like to know what makes you so cross," whined Simpson. "I believe you want our fellows to get beaten."

"Never mind that. Tell me about the oar."

"Ain't I coming to it as fast as I can? The very morning that Bob found the axe in the boat-house he sprung a row-lock while he and his crew were practicing, and thinking he might as well have a new rig while he was about it, he sent to Clifton after another shell and a set of oars. Mr. Layton—he is Bob's uncle and guardian, you know—heard of it through Gus, and countermanded the order as far as the shell was concerned, but wrote to Bob that the oars should be forthcoming. When they were done he wouldn't let the man who made them send them to Bob, but took them to his own house, removed the leather from Bob's oar—he could easily tell it from the rest, because Bob always has his oars made with a larger grip than the others—sawed it half in two, filled up the crack with putty or something, so that it could not be seen, and put the leather on again just as it was before. Then, instead of sending up the oars three or four days ago, as he promised to do, Mr. Layton kept them until the last moment, and they arrived only an hour or two ago, so that Bob had no chance to examine them or practice with them. Oh, his goose is cooked, I tell you, and the Blues are bound to win. Now, what is the matter with you fellows? You don't act as if you were glad at all."

It was easy enough to see that Johnny and his friends were anything but delighted at what they had heard. If one might judge by the expression on their faces they were very much disgusted.

CHAPTER II.
JOHNNY IS DISGUSTED.

"Simp," said Johnny, after trying in vain to find words strong enough to express his feelings, "I've a good notion to duck you in the bay for not telling of this before. Get out of my boat!"

"Oh, now, I can't get out and walk ashore, can I?" whined Simpson.

"That's so; but I can soon put you ashore; and, Simp, don't you ever speak to me as long as you remain at this academy."

"I would like to know what is the matter with you fellows," demanded the culprit, greatly astonished and utterly at a loss to account for so much feeling on Johnny's part. "I am sure I did nothing but what you would have done if you had been in my place."

In his opinion, anything that helped to insure the defeat of a rival was perfectly fair and honorable. He had expected that Johnny and his friends, after listening to his revelation, would be all enthusiasm and admiration for the shrewdness Gus had exhibited in getting to windward of his opponent, but instead of that they all appeared to be very indignant, and Johnny had expressed a desire to throw him overboard. He could not understand it.

"I don't believe you want our fellows to win," repeated Simpson.

"Yes I do, if they can win honorably. But I'll tell you what is a fact: Gus Layton shall not have that silver pitcher. I will blow the whole thing, and in the presence of all the spectators, too."

"Oh, don't do that!" gasped Simpson, almost paralyzed at the thought. "I wouldn't have my name mixed up with this business for anything. Gus would half kill me if he knew what I have told you."

"Don't let that distress you," replied Johnny. "From this time forward no one shall ever hear your name pronounced by me. I shall take no more notice of you and the rest who have a hand in this mean business than if you did not exist."

"I say," suddenly exclaimed one of Johnny's companions, all of whom had listened in silence to this conversation, "Sprague would never row in that boat if he knew what has been going on."

"That's a fact," exclaimed Johnny, an idea striking him. "Let's go over there and stop the whole thing."

"Oh, it is of no use; you can't do it," drawled Simpson. "There they come now."

Five o'clock, the time set for the race, had arrived, and those of the spectators who had come out in boats to obtain a fair view of the contest were beginning to grow restless, and to cast frequent and impatient glances toward the academy grounds. Even as Simpson spoke there was a commotion among the crowd gathered about one of the boat-houses on the beach, the door flew open, and a light shell, propelled by four boys dressed in blue, darted out and moved rapidly up the bay toward the starting-point. It was the Mist. The Blues were on the alert, and the moment their favorites came in sight they were greeted with a clapping of hands, waving of handkerchiefs and prolonged cheers.

While the Mist was taking her position alongside the tug where stood one of the professors who was to act as starter, her rival, the Zephyr, came in sight, her crew pulling a long, sweeping stroke, and feathering their oars as neatly as old men-of-war men selected to row the captain's gig. Then another and louder uproar arose among the spectators, and continued until the Zephyr came up alongside the Mist and the starter stepped into view. While he was getting the boats into position, and giving the crews their final instructions, we will glance rapidly at some scraps of the history of two of the contestants who have an important part to play in our story.

First in meanness, treachery, and almost everything else that is bad, comes Gus Layton, and so we will devote our attention to him. He is, as we have said, Bob's own cousin, a fact that has given rise to much doubtful speculation in the minds of the students, for they do not see how two boys, so widely different in dispositions, tastes and habits, can possibly be connected by ties of blood. He is a cross, sullen-looking boy, with a hooked nose, a low, retreating forehead, and an oily, insinuating manner, which, while it draws some toward him, repels a great many more. He is too lazy to study, and consequently, although he is sixteen years of age, he is in one of the lowest classes in school. He pulls a good oar, is a passable gymnast and ball-player, shows a wonderful faculty for shirking hard work, displays cunning in getting himself out of the numerous scrapes he falls into, and these are about all the accomplishments he possesses.

During the lifetime of Mr. Nellis, Bob's father, Gus had been a sort of protégé of that gentleman, who bestowed on him more care and attention than his own father did. By placing him at the academy Mr. Nellis gave him every advantage for fitting himself for usefulness in after life; and, more than that, he took care to neglect nothing which he thought would add to his comfort and pleasure. Was Bob presented with a new shell, a sailboat, a uniform, or a supply of pocket-money, the same boat which brought them to Elmwood brought a like supply for Gus Layton. Was Bob sent off during the long summer vacation to ramble among the hills of New England, or to fish in the trout streams of the Adirondacks, Gus was never compelled to remain behind. One would suppose that under such circumstances Gus would have been a happy boy, and that he would have felt grateful to the uncle, and that, if he had no affection for his cousin, he would at least have treated him civilly in return for his father's kindness and liberality; but such was not the case. His jealousy made him morose, cross and fretful, and he despised and hated his cousin from the bottom of his heart.

And was this feeling reciprocated by Bob? Not at all. Although, to quote from the students, he did not take much stock in his cousin, he always treated him kindly, and was as cordial and friendly with him as Gus would permit him to be.

Bob's father, even after the war, was looked upon as the wealthiest man in Clifton; but since his death, which occurred a few months previous to the beginning of our story, it had been whispered about that he had but little property, and that little had been willed to his brother-in-law, Mr. Layton, no provision having been made for Bob, who was left as his uncle's ward. Many who had refused to believe this story at first were beginning to put some faith in it now, for Mr. Layton's refusal to allow Bob to purchase a new shell—a thing his father never would have done—and the advice he had of late so often given him that it was high time he was paying less attention to his boating and more to his studies, as he might at no distant day be obliged to earn his bread before he could eat it, made it evident that there was some foundation for the reports that had got abroad. Bob did not know what to make of the situation, and was only waiting for the close of the school year to have a plain talk with his uncle. He wanted to know just where he stood.

Bob Nellis, the owner and stroke of the Zephyr, was a splendid fellow in every respect. Every one said so except Gus Layton and his set. They did not like him, and the reason was because they were jealous of him. He always stood among the first five in his class, and in athletic sports, in which Gus was particularly anxious to excel, Bob was as far ahead of him as he was in his studies. But Bob had been a changed boy of late. He was almost as gloomy as Gus himself. His mother died when he was too young to remember her, and now that his father was gone he was alone in the world. Besides his uncle he had not a relative to whom he could go for advice or assistance, and to apply to him for either he had already made up his mind was quite out of the question. The students all sympathized with Bob in his troubles, and this was another thing that aroused the ire of Gus Layton, who declared he could not see what there was in that pauper to draw the fellows to him. This much to introduce our two principal characters, and to show how they stand with regard to each other and to the world.

While the rival crews were taking their stations and listening to their final instructions, the Firefly, with Johnny Parker at the helm, was making as good use of her time as she possibly could with the very light breeze that was blowing, and presently ran her bow upon the beach.

"Now, Simp, make yourself scarce about here, and remember that henceforth I want to see and hear as little of you as possible," said Johnny, jumping out and running up the bank, waving his handkerchief above his head as he went. "A boy who knows all that you do, and who goes until this late day without telling it to anybody, I have no use for."

"Oh, now, he's going to blow on me!" whined Simpson, his face growing white with alarm. "Come back here, Johnny. Just consider what a mess you will get me into. Call him back, boys!"

"Just consider what a mess Sprague will be in if he rows in that race," replied Johnny, plunging recklessly into the crowd.

The spectators looked after him as he elbowed them right and left, and wondered if he had taken leave of his senses. Johnny was a lively runner for a little fellow, but he had a good distance to go, and the crowd was so dense that he could scarcely work his way through it. Still he succeeded in attracting the attention of his friend Sprague, who, believing that Johnny was urging him to do his best to win the race, gave him a sign of recognition, and then he grasped his oar with a firmer hold, as if to show that he understood him.

While Johnny was yet too far off to make his words heard, he saw the eight rowers suddenly bend their bodies forward, hold their oars poised in the air for a moment, and then dip them so nearly together that they all seemed to strike the water at the same instant. Johnny was too late to stop the race. With a sigh of regret he worked his way out of the crowd, and seating himself upon an elevated part of the shore, where he was comparatively alone, he fixed his eyes upon the Zephyr and waited to see Bob's oar snap in his hand.

The two boats moved away together and for a few yards kept side by side; but it was only for a few yards, for Bob, who had set out to win, and could be satisfied with nothing else than taking the lead at once and keeping it through to the end, put on a desperate spurt, in which he was faithfully backed by his crew, and in less time than it takes to tell it the Mist was behind, and falling further behind every moment. But why did not Bob's oar break? He was rowing with more vigor and determination than Johnny had ever seen him exhibit before, and although the tough piece of wood he held in his hand bent like a whipstock, it never cracked. Surely no oar that had been cut half in two could stand any such outlay of strength. Johnny was completely bewildered, and so were a score of other students, all Gus Layton's friends, who were waiting with a good deal of anxiety and impatience for the catastrophe which Johnny so much dreaded. There was still another who was interested in the matter, and who was just then learning something about it Johnny would have been delighted to know. It was Simpson.

That young gentleman thought from the expression on Johnny's face that he had better take him at his word and make himself scarce about there. Filled with apprehension, and wondering what would become of him if Johnny succeeded in stopping the race, he sprang ashore, ran up the bank, and stationed himself where he could see all that passed. When he saw the boats start off in spite of Johnny's frantic signals he drew a long breath and once more turned his face toward the beach, intending to be on hand to hear what Bob had to say about his broken oar when he came back. In order to avoid the crowd he was obliged to pass close to the academy building, and as he was hurrying along he heard his name pronounced in low and cautious tones. Looking up, he saw one of Gus Layton's right-hand men, Scotty, (quite as often called Friday, for the reason that Gus always looked to him to do any work that he did not feel inclined to do himself), who was leaning half-way out of a third-story window, beckoning eagerly, and at the same time taking care to be seen by no one but the boy below.

"Oh, Simp, don't say a word, but come up here directly," whispered Scotty, in great excitement. "It is all out, and there's bound to be an awful row when the boats get back."

"No!" exclaimed Simpson.

"But I say yes. Some fellow has let the cat out of the bag, and if Gus doesn't have a fight on his hands before he goes to bed I am no prophet. Nellis is just red-hot and still heating."

"Does he—does he know who—" stammered Simpson.

"Yes, he knows all about it. Come up here."

If Johnny Parker had heard this he might have known how to account for Bob's extra strong pulling.

CHAPTER III.
SCOTTY'S PLAN AND HOW IT ENDED.

"I say, Simp," continued Scotty, in the same cautious whisper, "don't you hear me? Come up here. We must get Gus out of this scrape, if there is any way to do it."

Simpson thought no more about the boat-race. Trembling for fear of the exposure that was coming, and the investigation that would be sure to follow close upon the heels of it, in which his name would bear a prominent part, he darted into the building and hurried up the stairs to his dormitory. At the door he met Scotty, whose usually stolid face was all aglow with excitement and triumph. A brilliant thought had just occurred to him.

"Simp," he hurriedly exclaimed, "the only way to get Gus out of this trouble is to destroy the evidence against him."

"What evidence is there?" asked Simpson.

"Why the oar itself—the one Mr. Layton cut for him. You see," added Scotty, so eager to get through with what he had to say that he could scarcely speak plainly, "about half an hour ago, as I was going through the hall, who should come in but Bob Nellis and three or four of his particular friends. Bob carried an oar in his hand, and I saw that it was one of the new ones he had just received, and that the leather had been removed. If I needed any other evidence to convince me that he knew just what had been going on I should have had it in the look his face wore and the words he uttered. I heard him say, as he went up the stairs, 'There's not another boy in school who would have put up with that Gus Layton's meanness as long as I have, and I'm not going to do it any longer. If anything about our boat breaks during the race to-day I shall believe it is because he has tampered with it in spite of our watchfulness, and I shall come back here and expose him in the presence of the professors and of the students.'"

"Well?" said Simpson, when Scotty paused to take breath.

"Well, they went up to their dormitory, and presently I heard a door slammed and locked. They have hidden the oar in their closet; and I propose that, if we can get at it, we take it out and hide it somewhere else. Then we'll watch our chance and tell Gus of what we have done, and suggest to him that if there is any row raised all he has to do is to deny the whole business, for there is no evidence against him—eh?"

"But Gus can't keep a secret, you know," said Simpson, unconsciously making use of almost the very words that one of Johnny's friends had addressed to himself, "and perhaps he has told some of the fellows that his father cut the oar."

"I know he has. He has told you and me and all the rest of his friends; but we will not blow on him."

"I—ah—that is—oh, no, of course not," stammered Simpson, his heart fairly coming up into his mouth when he reflected that he had already committed the secret to half a score of boys who would not countenance any such trickery as this which Gus and his father had been guilty of.

"See here, Simp," said Scotty, looking suspiciously at his friend, "that doesn't come from the heart. Are you White?"

"Not much. I am so Blue it will rub off."

"Then you had better do something to prove it. You must help me get that oar. I have tried all my keys, but none of them will fit the lock. Here's something, however, that will open the way for us," said Scotty, producing from under his jacket a large chisel which he had abstracted from the carpenter's chest. "If you are Blue clear through, as you say you are, take this and burst open the door."

Simpson, eager to prove himself true to his colors, replied by seizing the chisel and running out into the hall, Scotty following close at his heels. A few rapid steps carried them up the stairs to Bob's dormitory, and a few more to the closet in which the telltale oar was hidden. Here Simpson's courage began to fail him, and he felt the strongest desire to back out.

"What will the professors say, I wonder?" said he, making a feeble attempt to force an entrance into the closet.

"We don't care what they say. They'll never find out who did it, for I ain't a-going to tell, I bet you. You will be more likely to tell yourself."

"You don't give me credit for much sense, do you?" said Simpson.

"Well, you have done such things before now, haven't you? That is no way to get in there. Cut the casing around the bolt."

The casing, which was a thin pine board, could not long resist their efforts. A few blows with the chisel brought off a piece of it, and then the lock was no longer an obstacle to them. As the door flew open Scotty seized the oar and hurried away with it, while Simpson, anxious to conceal his work as long as possible, lingered to shut the closet and press the piece of casing he had cut off back into its place. As all the students, and every one else belonging to the academy, were out watching the race, the young scapegraces had the building to themselves and were in no danger of being discovered. They ran quickly down the back stairs and into the carpenter's shop, where the oar was speedily hidden away under a pile of boards.

"It will stay there until doomsday," said Scotty, "for these boards are seldom disturbed."

"Yes," said Simpson, "but I can propose something better for it. Some night, as soon as it becomes dark, I'll take it out and sink it in the bay. Then I would like to see anybody find it."

"That's sensible, although these boards have never been disturbed since I have been to this school. Now, the next thing is to run down to the beach and whisper a word of warning in Gus Layton's ear. Are you up to it?"

"Yes, sir; of course I am."

Scotty and his friend worked to such good advantage that they had plenty of time to do all this, which we have been so long in describing, and to run out on the bank in season to witness the conclusion of the race. They left the shop by different doors, and when they came within sight of the bay saw that the Zephyr had already turned the stakeboat and was well on her way home, while the Mist was so far behind that it was quite impossible for her to make up her lost ground. Bob and his men were still pulling with all the power of which they were capable, saying by their actions as plainly as they could have said it in words that in defeating those who would have beaten them by fraud they were taking all the revenge they desired. Presently Simpson found himself standing near a group of students whom he knew to be Blues, but who, he was surprised to see, had discarded their favorite colors. The subject of Gus Layton's underhanded dealings was being discussed by them in an animated manner. Indeed it had somehow got abroad among the students, and was the only topic of conversation.

"I declare it is a downright shame!" exclaimed Claxton, one of the group, "and it is a great pity it was not known before the race began. If I were Nellis I would make the school too hot for Gus Layton. He's got proof enough against him."

"Ah! but has he, though?" cried Simpson. "Where is it?"

"The oar, my dear fellow—the oar that was cut by Gus Layton's orders. Have you seen anything of it?"

"But perhaps Bob doesn't know where it is."

"Why, he took it into the academy and locked it up."

"I don't suppose it could have been spirited out of that lock-up and hidden somewhere else, could it?" said Simpson, with a look that spoke volumes. "Always be sure of your evidence before you hang a man."

The students were amazed. They looked at each other and at Simpson for a few seconds without speaking, and then the one who had thus far acted as spokesman said, coaxingly:

"Now, Simp, tell us all about it; there's a good fellow. Somehow you have a way of finding out everything that goes on within a mile of the academy. What has become of the oar? Where is it hidden?"

"It is in the carpenter's loft, concealed under a pile of boards," answered Simpson, speaking before he thought. "I declare," he added, mentally, and growing frightened at what he had done, "I have told it, just as Scotty said I would. I say, fellows," he continued, trying to recover himself, "you don't suppose I am green enough to tell every thing I know, do you?"

The cheers, long and loud, which arose at this moment, as the Zephyr flew by the tug on which the judges were standing, put a stop to the effort Simpson was about to make to repair the damage he believed he had done. He was borne with the crowd toward the beach, and joined with it in so heartily applauding the victors that his friend Scotty, had he been there, might have thought he had good reason for believing that he was not as Blue as he professed. Slowly the defeated crew pulled down the home-stretch, and the feeble attempt to cheer them as they passed the judges' stand did not serve as a balm to their wounded feelings. Gus was so filled with rage and jealousy that he could scarcely see what was going on around him. He sent his shell into the boat-house so swiftly that, in spite of the efforts of the coxswain and the rest of the crew, she received injuries which placed her far out of the lists forever, so far as racing was concerned. Hastily dressing himself, he left the boat-house without saying a word to any of his companions. He knew the cause of his defeat. Bob had been warned by somebody, and instead of using the new oars his uncle had sent him he had rowed the race with others which had, on more than one occasion, proved perfectly trustworthy. But who was the traitor? Gus had asked himself this question more than a score of times during the race, and each time, as if in response to the inquiry, the image of a red-headed, cringing youth, with round shoulders and stooping gait, had risen before his mental vision. Gus hurried off to find the original of the image, and was not long about it, for the youth in question was impatient to find him. Gus met him hurrying down the bank toward the boat-house, full of news, which he was eager to communicate.

"Simp," said he, taking the red-headed youth by the lapel of his coat, "a word in your private ear."

He looked all around to make sure that there was no one within hearing, and then fastened his eyes sternly upon the face of the boy before him.

"Simp," said Gus, "did you ever read the fable of a man who found a torpid adder, or some other kind of a serpent, and took it home with him and warmed it, and after he had restored it to life the serpent turned on him and bit him?"

"Oh, now, that doesn't apply to me," said Simpson, fairly shaking in his boots.

"I have been good to you, haven't I?"

"Yes, you have."

"I took you in hand and made friends for you when none of the other fellows would have anything to do with you, because of that tongue of yours—didn't I?"

"Yes, you did."

"Simp, there's a traitor about here somewhere, and I am looking for him. If I can find him I'll—I'll—"

"Well, you can just look farther," whined Simpson, growing more and more alarmed, for he had never seen Gus so utterly overcome with rage as he was at that moment. "You don't see any traitor in me, I can tell you."

"I took you into my confidence and told you that Bob's oar would not hang together while he was pulling two hundred yards, didn't I? Now, did you ever repeat that to anybody?"

"I never did," declared Simpson, as if he were perfectly horrified at the thought. "As sure as I live and breathe, I never whispered it to a living soul!"

"Think again; it got out somehow."

"I don't care if it did; I didn't let it out, as sure as you're a foot high. If the fellows say anything to you about it, deny it and stick to it. Say that you are above all such meanness."

"What good will that do? Bob has got the oar."

"No, he hasn't. I saw him take it up to his dormitory and lock it up, and I went and got Scotty, and he and I stole it out and hid it where no one will ever think of looking for it. I had to cut the door open to get it, too. I wouldn't have run so much risk if I had been a traitor to you, would I? I say again, if they accuse you of trying to win by fraud, deny it up hill and down. They can't bring any evidence against you."

Gus let go Simpson's collar, and stepping back a pace or two looked at him without speaking.

CHAPTER IV.
GUS HAS A BENEFIT.

GUS took a few moments in which to think over this extraordinary proposition. He was well aware that all the students had by this time heard of the meanness of which he had been guilty—if there chanced to be any who were ignorant of it they would not remain long so—and the idea of facing them and saving himself from disgrace by a bold denial was something that had never occurred to him. The audacity of the thing pleased him.

"I declare, Simp," said he, at length, "two heads are better than one, if one is a red-head. I was afraid that the fellows would make things so uncomfortable for me that I would have to leave school; but I have a different opinion now. If Bob says anything about the oar I can say, you know, that he wants to injure me, and ask him to produce his evidence."

"That's the very idea," assented Simpson.

"Don't lisp a word of what you have told me to anyone else," said Gus. "We mustn't let it get out."

"Ah! Trust me for that. Do you think I am a greenhorn?"

Gus, feeling as if a heavy weight had been removed from his shoulders, walked off snapping his fingers, and Simpson stood congratulating himself on his shrewdness—he never thought to give Scotty any credit for it—when, happening to cast his eye toward the academy, he saw a sight that filled him with great consternation.

A crowd of students were coming from the direction of the carpenter's shop, and the foremost of them, Claxton by name, who had acted as spokesman of the group he had met a short time before, carried over his shoulder the identical oar which had been stolen from the closet and so carefully hidden in the lumber-pile. Simpson knew it the instant he put his eyes on it. His under jaw dropped down, and for a moment or two he stood staring at Claxton as if he could hardly make up his mind whether he was awake or dreaming. Then it flashed upon him again that he had done just what Scotty predicted he would do—revealed his complicity in an affair which, should it reach the ears of the faculty, would cause his expulsion from the academy.

"Simp," said an angry voice close at his elbow.

The culprit turned and found Scotty at his side.

"Simp, look there!" said the latter, pointing toward the academy door through which Claxton was just disappearing with the oar. "What did I tell you? You're not a greenhorn, are you?"

"Oh, now, Scotty, you just want to clear out," exclaimed Simpson, who, when taken to task either by the professors or the students, always fell back on the line of defense he had suggested to Gus Layton. "I would like to know why you fellows always pounce upon me when anything goes wrong about the academy?"

"Simply because you know you are the guilty one, that's why. What induced you to tell Claxton where that oar was hidden?"

"I didn't tell him. I haven't spoken to him in a month," declared Simpson, earnestly.

"Then how did he find it out? I didn't tell him."

"I don't know how he found it out. Perhaps he was watching us when we hid the oar."

"That's highly probable," replied Scotty, with a sneer. "Good-bye, Simp; you'll not do to tie to. I have at last satisfied myself of that fact. I don't know what Layton will do to you."

Simpson didn't know, either, and that was what troubled him just then more than anything else. Believing it best to keep out of sight for a while, he made his way out of the academy grounds without being discovered and directed his course toward the village of Elmwood, which lay about a mile distant. Having no other way of passing the time he roamed about the streets until seven o'clock, and then with great reluctance turned his face toward the academy. The buildings were closed at half-past seven, and all the students who were not in their dormitories at that hour were obliged to account for their absence to the professors the next morning.

As Simpson was passing the wharf he saw the little steamer which plied up and down the coast getting under way. The gangplank had been hauled in, the lines cast off, and then, in obedience to some hurried orders, the plank was once more shoved out again and the steamer made fast to the wharf. At the same time a hack, driven at furious speed, came down the road from the direction of the academy, and it was in response to the shouts of the driver and the frantic signals of some one inside that the steamer had delayed her departure. Simpson had a good view of the passenger, who was leaning more than half-way out of the window flourishing his hand-kerchief, and his heart gave a great bound when he saw that it was Gus Layton. He watched him until he was safe on board the vessel, saw the porters take charge of his baggage, and then hurried out of the village with a much lighter heart than he had brought into it.

"Thank goodness he is gone and I am safe!" said Simpson, to himself. "I do not know what the other fellows will do to me, but of one thing I am satisfied—they'll not beat me."

Yes, Gus was gone, and that, too, with the determination of never coming back. His departure had been hastened by something that transpired at the academy shortly after his interview with Simpson. He saw Claxton when he went into the building with the oar, and he noticed, too, that while the Whites still wore their colors, there was not a Blue rosette to be seen. Even Scotty's impudence could not hold out in the face of public opinion so generally and forcibly expressed, and he had thrown aside his Blue rosette; and, furthermore, he seemed anxious to avoid Gus, for when he saw him coming he slipped around the building and out of sight.

"Rats desert a sinking ship," said Gus, enraged at the conduct of his man Friday. "I must be getting low down in the world when such fellows as Scotty go back on me."

As Gus entered the hall he saw Bob and his victorious crew surrounded by a crowd of students, who were congratulating them on their success, and among the most enthusiastic Gus was surprised to see three of his own men, Sprague, Haight and Bright. They seemed to have eyes and ears for no one but the members of the winning crew—there was not one of them who took the least notice of him. Gus knew the meaning of this, and it was more than he could stand. Hastily leaving the academy, he made the best of his way to the boat-house. Pausing a moment to look at the Mist, once his pride and delight, but which now lay in her dock shattered and half-filled with water, Gus passed into a little anteroom, in which the club held their meetings, and sat down to think over his troubles and determine upon some course of action. Scarcely was he seated when the door opened, admitting Sprague, Haight and Bright.

"Well, old fellow," said Sprague, throwing his leg over the table beside which Gus was sitting, "here's a pretty kettle of fish. We're beaten out of sight, and come back to find all sorts of stories and resolutions afloat. The boys have sent you to coventry."

"I am aware of it," said Gus, bitterly. "I saw it very plainly when I was in the hall just now. I have some traitor to thank for this, and I only wish that I could find him. I would give him a lesson he would not soon forget."

"Do you really wish to know who it was that put Bob on his guard?"

"Of course I do!" exclaimed Gus, starting up in his chair. "If you will tell me who it was I will make him repent it in less than five minutes. Who was it?"

"Well, sir," said Sprague, folding his arms and looking Gus squarely in the eye, "I am the fellow! I would do the same thing again, under like circumstances."

Gus was so utterly confounded by this bold and unexpected declaration that he could neither move nor speak. He sat staring blankly at Sprague, hardly able to comprehend that he had heard aright. He showed no inclination to carry out the threat he had just made, for Sprague was two years older than himself, and, furthermore, he had been through some tight places.

"Perhaps I ought to add a word by way of explanation," continued Sprague. "When you told us what your father had done by your request, we three fellows, who are now here, got together and talked the matter over. The only thing that kept us from withdrawing from your crew was the fact that we wanted this matter of the championship decided, and in order that it might be decided fairly we thought that some one had better speak to Bob, and I was the one selected to do it. I mentioned no names, but told him if he was wise he would carefully examine his shell and everything belonging to her before he took her out of the boat-house. I judge he did so, for he rowed the race with his old oars."

"And then you fellows played off on me and let him beat!" said Gus, angrily.

"No, we did not. We pulled our level best. The Zephyrs beat us, and they can beat any crew that can be raised in this academy. Somehow, the part you and your father have played has become known, and there's no one who approves of it, unless it be some contemptible fellow like Simp or Scotty, who has no honor about him. Things look squally, Gus, and I tell you plainly that if you stop here you must make up your mind to swim in the hottest kind of water."

"But I'll not stay here!" cried Gus, suddenly jumping to his feet. "I'll be on my way home in less than an hour!"

Without saying another word to his companions Gus ran out of the boat-house. He hunted up the janitor and sent him for a carriage, and then, hurrying to his dormitory, began packing his wardrobe into his trunk. The news that he was getting ready to leave the academy quickly spread among the students, who, thinking it was a good time to show their opinion of him, went quietly to work to get up a "benefit" for him. Bob and Sprague and a few of the order-loving ones did all they could to prevent it; but seeing that the students were not to be turned from their purpose, they withdrew to their rooms, so that they might not seem by their presence to countenance any such proceeding.

By the time the carriage arrived everything was arranged. When Gus descended the stairs he found the students drawn up four deep on each side of the hall, and so loud were the yells of derision, so deafening the tooting of tin horns and banging of tin pans when he made his appearance, that the horses attached to the hack took fright and Gus came very near being left behind. He did manage, however, to spring upon the steps just as the horses started off, and banging the door after him, he sank down into the farthest corner and stopped his ears with his hands.

"Bob is at the bottom of this," said he to himself when the noise had been left behind, "and if he don't suffer for it it will be because I can't make him. School will be out in a week, and by the time he gets home I will have everything fixed for him. The house his father once owned belongs to my father now, and Bob, while he stays there, shall be reminded of the fact a thousand times a day. But he shall not stay there long. I'll get rid of him somehow. I'll send him so far on the other side of the world that he'll never find his way back again."

This was a plan that Gus had been revolving in his mind for months—ever since the death of Bob's father. He believed that when he had once seen the last of him his troubles would all be over. His cousin had never in his life injured him by word or deed. There was not a single act of his to which Gus could point that was in any way detrimental to him; and yet he hated him—hated him because he was so popular everywhere, especially at the academy; because it came as natural and easy to him as it does to an Indian to hate a white man. The starting-point of this hatred was a fierce quarrel which his father had with Mr. Nellis in the years gone by. It originated over some money which Mr. Nellis, who was at that time a sailor, had placed in the hands of his brother-in-law for safe-keeping. The money disappeared, and not only Mr. Nellis, but everyone else who knew anything of the circumstances, believed that Mr. Layton had appropriated it to his own use.

In process of time Mr. Nellis left the sea and became a prosperous merchant in Clifton, his native village. When he retired from active business he made his brother-in-law his agent, and gave him full control of his affairs. He thought that the breach between them had been closed forever; but no one else thought so—not even Bob, who, boy as he was, believed that Mr. Layton was only awaiting a favorable opportunity to take a terrible revenge on his father. The sequel proved that he was right in this opinion, and that Mr. Layton had been secretly plotting for years to ruin his generous brother-in-law.

Gus, knowing how matters stood—for his father often conferred with him—took up the cudgel against Bob, as he believed himself in honor bound to do, and made his life as unpleasant for him as he could. Now he had a wider field for his operations. Mr. Nellis was out of the way, the property was all in his father's hands, and if Mr. Layton chose to say the word Bob had not where to lay his head. Gus was resolved that his father should say that word, if he could by any means induce him to do so, and if not, he would say it himself, and back it up with actions so effectual that nobody should ever hear of Bob Nellis again. Gus thought of it all the way home, and by the time the spires of Clifton came in sight he had decided upon a plan of operations which promised to do the business for Bob in fine style.

CHAPTER V.
FATHER AND SON.

Clifton was a thriving little place, the centre of a rich farming region, and as all the cotton that was produced in the country for a circle of twenty miles around was shipped at its wharves, it could, at certain seasons of the year, boast of an amount of business that one would hardly expect of so small a town. It was the home of many wealthy gentlemen, and conspicuous among the noble mansions which adorned the hills south of the village stood that which had once been occupied by Mr. Nellis. It was situated in the midst of extensive grounds, away from the noise and bustle of the town, and there Bob was born, and there he had lived, surrounded by every comfort that affection could suggest and money supply. The hunting, too, was fine—so much so that the neighboring planters came from far and near to enjoy it. During the season there was hardly a day passed but that some of the village hunters would be called upon to act as guides to some of those who were bound to fill their game-bags before they went home. A few miles farther out quails were abundant, and squirrel were so thick they were almost a nuisance. Wild turkeys and deer were often brought in, and finally it came about that one of the hunters who belonged in the village discovered something that worked a great change in his fortunes.

Towards home, his home it was now, Gus Layton hurriedly bent his steps as soon as the steamer touched the wharf, leaving his baggage, which he had given into the charge of a drayman, to follow more leisurely. As the ponderous iron gate clanged behind him he looked around with a smile of satisfaction. The last time he entered there he was dependent on the bounty of a man whom he despised; now he was master there, or his father was, which amounted to the same thing.

"And I shall lose no time in making my power felt," thought Gus. "Bob and I have changed places now, and it will do him good to know by experience how I have felt during the last few years of my life. How different the world looks to a rich man! And how different he looks to the world," added Gus, philosophically. "The world sees in him many things to admire that it does not see in a poor man. With horses and dogs, and boats and money and good clothes at my command, I shall occupy a rather higher position here in Clifton than I did few months ago."

Soliloquizing thus, Gus strolled along with the air of a young lord, passing through the wide front door, which stood open, and up the stairs to the library, which he entered without the ceremony of knocking. He found his father there, as he expected, and was not a little surprised at the look of alarm his sudden appearance had called to his face.

Mr. Layton was a little, dried-up man, scarcely larger than the sixteen-year-old boy who stood before him, and the hooked nose and round shoulders, as well as the deprecating, insinuating air which belonged to his son, were particularly noticeable in him, and would have attracted the attention of a stranger at first glance. His eyes were small and sharp, and just now had a wild look in them, and their owner had a habit of turning them from side to side, something after the manner of a frightened deer.

"Why, Augustus," he exclaimed, rising from his chair and approaching his son, "how you startled me! I was not expecting you for a week or two. Is your school out?"

"How are you, governor?" replied Gus, placing a passive hand in his father's eagerly-outstretched palm. "But I say, what's the matter with you? You look like some wild animal that has been driven to bay by the hounds."

"Augustus, hush!" exclaimed his father, quickly. "After all I have done and dared for you I should think you would treat me with more respect."

"Oh, I didn't mean anything, governor; it is merely my way. But really you have changed during the last few months. See how your hands tremble!"

"It is nothing," replied Mr. Layton. "You frightened me by your abrupt entrance; that's all. Is school out?"

"No, nor will it be until next week. You wonder what brought me here, I suppose? Well, the fellows sent me to coventry, and as I couldn't stand that, I came away."

"Coventry? Where's that?"

"I presume they didn't do such things when you went to school. They got mad at me and told me they wouldn't speak to me or notice me any more than they would a crooked stick. That is what is meant by sending one to coventry."

"They were angry, I suppose, because you beat them in the race."

"But as it happens I didn't beat them. Bob found out that his oar was cut, and he and his crew took their old ones and won as easily as falling off a log. You ought to see the style that Bob has been putting on ever since! He feels too big to walk on the ground. By the way, where will he go when school is out?"

"So he beat you at last, did he!" exclaimed Mr. Layton, in great surprise. "How did he find out that the oar was cut?"

"Sprague says he was the guilty party that told him, but I don't believe it. I bet you I will find means to get even with him when he comes home. What are you going to do with Bob?"

"Why, this is the only home he has, and I suppose he will come here."

"Well, then, you will have to take your choice between him and me, for if he stays I shan't."

"But what shall I do with him?" asked Mr. Layton.

"That's for you to decide. Send him to sea—send him anywhere, so long as you get rid of him."

"And what if he refuses to go?"

"Make him go. You do not intend to send him to school next year, do you?"

"His father made no provision for it in his will."

"Then tell him so. Has he any money?"

"There was none left to him."

"Tell him that also. Tell him that he has got his own living to make from this time on, and the sooner he sets about it the better for him, and for us, too," said Gus, rising to his feet and moving toward the door.

"Don't go," said Mr. Layton, hastily. "I have been so lonely with no one to talk to, and now that you have come home you want to run away from me. Sit down."

"Don't worry," replied the dutiful son. "I am not going far. My trunks have arrived and I want to see them brought up stairs."

"I have given you rooms in the south wing over the parlors," said Mr. Layton. "When you have looked at them, tell me how you like them and the way they are furnished."

Gus slammed the door without waiting to hear what his father had to say, and at the head of the stairs met a negro coming up with some of his luggage.

"That trunk and the others go into the north rooms," said Gus.

"Sah?" exclaimed the darky. "Old Moster say dem rooms 'longs to young Moster Nellis."

"And do you hear what I say?" demanded Gus. "I say those trunks go into the north rooms, which belong to me."

"Yes, sah! Yes, sah! Dat's all right, sah!" replied the obsequious darky, and into the north rooms the trunks went.

"That's the first step," said Gus to himself. "What would Bob think, if he knew it?"

One, to have taken a single glance at these apartments, could have told why Gus ordered his trunks taken in there. There were three of them—a sitting-room, bedroom, and a sort of conservatory, which Bob had fitted up as a museum. By the aid of his father and his father's sea-captains he had there gathered together such a supply of curiosities from all quarters of the globe that, the room being unable to contain them all, they had flowed into the others, and filled every nook and corner of them likewise. Here Gus settled himself down with the air of a conqueror. Not because the rooms were any pleasanter or more desirable than others in the house did he select them, but simply because he had determined to show his cousin that their circumstances were exactly reversed—that he was the favored child of fortune now and Bob the poor relation. The curiosities he cared nothing about. Indeed he told himself that when he felt in the right humor he would have them all removed and bundled into the garret as so much useless lumber. He expected to take quiet possession of everything that belonged to Bob, and whether or not he did so we shall presently see.

"Now, boy," said Gus, addressing himself to the negro after he had seen his trunks stowed away to his satisfaction, "what's your name?"

"Sam, sah; dat's my name."

"Well, Sam, I suppose my ponies are in the barn?"

"Yes, sah, de ponies is dar."

"My father has a hostler, I presume?"

"Sah? Oh, yes, sah."

"Then tell him to hitch the ponies to a light buggy and have them at the door in a quarter of an hour. I'll go out and take an airing," said Gus to himself, when the darky had disappeared. "There are a good many people here in Clifton who used to snub me when I was at home last summer, and I want to see if they will do it now."

Having performed his ablutions, Gus proceeded to make his toilet with much more care than usual, but he was ready by the time the carriage was at the door. Taking his seat in the vehicle, he drove through the gate and spent the next hour in exhibiting upon the principal streets of the town the best suit of clothes and the best pair of kid gloves he had ever worn. Bob's fine turnout, which was well known in the village, attracted some attention, but it did not bring Gus any more smiles and bows than he had been wont to receive when he trudged through the streets on foot. The people knew him too well; and, besides, there were some of them (how surprised Gus would have been to know it) who believed he had no business in that fine carriage.

Having shown himself off to his satisfaction, Gus turned the ponies' heads toward the wharves, closely scrutinizing the signs on each side of the street as he passed along. Presently he seemed to discover the one he was in search of, for he drew up to the sidewalk and got out of the carriage. After hitching the ponies he entered the door under the sign and found himself in a small, dingy bar-room, whose only occupant was a gray-headed, dissolute-looking man, with a wooden leg. This personage started up as Gus entered, and hobbling around the counter waited for him to make known his wants, at the same time looking fixedly at him, as if he saw something about him that was familiar.

"Well, Barlow, how are you?" said Gus.

"Now, I swan, I thought I knowed the cut of your jib!" exclaimed the old man, extending across the counter a huge, begrimed paw, which Gus pretended he did not see. He was a gentleman now, and gentlemen did not shake hands with such characters as Barlow. Besides, he had his new kids on and did not want to soil them. "It's young Mr. Layton, isn't it?"

"Yes, Barlow, that's who it is," replied Gus.

"I thought I knowed your face, but them good clothes of your'n rather got the best of me. You're dressed up within an inch of your life, ain't you? You don't look much like the dirty, barefoot boy that I used to see playing about the gutters a few years ago. Your father used to live in that little shanty opposite the breakwater, and was so poor that he used to be glad to come to me to find him a job of stevedorin'. I suppose he would turn up his nose at me now."

Gus had come to Barlow's saloon for a particular purpose, but it was not to discuss such matters as these. He did not like to hear about them, so as soon as he saw a chance he broke in with—

"The wheel of fortune has turned a spoke or two in my favor since I last saw you, that is true. But what is the news here in Clifton? I have been away a year, you know."

"Well, there ain't no news 'cepting that ole Cap'n Nellis has slipped off, and that I suppose you knowed long ago. Folks ain't got done talkin' about it, and never will."

"Rather sudden and mysterious, wasn't it?" asked Gus, carelessly.

"Yes, rather sudden, and mebbe mysterious to them as don't suspect nothing. But I can easy account for it. Howsomever, it ain't no consarn of mine, and I don't meddle with other people's business. Savin' your presence, Mr. 'Gustus, he's the meanest man that ever stepped, is Cap'n Nellis."

"He was the meanest man, you mean," suggested the visitor.

"No, I don't mean anything of the kind," insisted Barlow. "I say he is, 'cause, barring accident that is likely to fall to men in any part of the world, he's as hale and hearty this minute as me and you be, the old villain!"

"Whew!" whistled Gus, opening his eyes in amazement and looking a little alarmed.

"It's a fact, I tell you," declared Barlow, "'cause I know. But if I did see a few things one dark and rainy mornin', and by putting this and that together got at the whole of the story, so that I can tell it to-day as straight as them that done the business, 'tain't no consarn of nobody's, is it? If I had had a hand in the matter he wouldn't ever turn up again, as he is likely to do."

Gus was too astonished to speak. Here was a startling revelation indeed.

CHAPTER VI.
BOB AT HOME.

Before Gus had time to fairly digest what he had heard or to recover himself sufficiently to elicit further information by inquiry, the old man went on:

"Some folks makes a bungle of everything they do, and you just wait and see if that old scamp don't turn up again some day, and before he is wanted, too. But I oughtn't to abuse him before you, seeing that he is your own dead mother's brother."

"Oh, you needn't apologize for that," said Gus, as soon as he could speak. "I hate him as heartily as you do."

"And hain't I got good reason to hate him?" asked Barlow, elevating his wooden leg above the counter. "Just look at that! Wasn't he a nice cove to go and wing me and set me to stumping around on this thing all the rest of my days?"

Gus was well acquainted with the circumstances to which the man referred, and knew that he richly deserved the punishment he had received. In the years gone by Barlow had been a sailor, and had on one occasion shipped on a vessel commanded by Captain Nellis. He was so very turbulent that he was kept in irons almost half his time; and once, just after he was released from a long confinement, he, without the slightest provocation, attacked the mate of the vessel so fiercely, and with such evident intention to do him some serious injury, that the captain, in order to save his officer, disabled the ruffian with a ball from his pistol which shattered the bone and rendered amputation necessary. Barlow never forgave his captain for that; and, moreover, when he once got started on the subject he never seemed to be able to stop talking about it.

"I ask you wasn't he a nice fellow to go and do that?" continued the old man, growing more and more enraged the longer he dwelt upon it. "But for him I might to-day 'a 'been the master of as fine a vessel as ever sailed; but here I am, laid up in ordinary, trying to turn an honest penny by keepin' a sailors' boarding-house."

"And turning many a dishonest one by being a land-shark," thought Gus.

"I hate the whole tribe—every one that bears the name of Nellis," the old man went on, fiercely. "If I had my way I'd sweep them all off the earth."

"So would I," said Gus, heartily.

"Now, I'll tell you what's gospel," continued Barlow, leaning over the counter toward his visitor and sinking his voice almost to a whisper—"is that son of his coming here this summer?"

Gus replied that he was.

"Well, if men are as scarce as they were last year he had better keep himself close, or he'll make out the tail-end of a crew as sure as I can get my hands on him."

Gus started back and gazed at the old man in great amazement. Was the latter able to read the thoughts that were passing in his mind? It certainly looked like it. He had heard that men, even landsmen who knew nothing of the ways of the world, had been kidnapped and shipped off to sea to fill up a crew that could not be completed by voluntary enlistment, and it had occurred to him that that would be a good way to rid himself of the presence of his cousin, if he could only find some one to undertake the task. Knowing the deadly enmity that Barlow cherished toward Captain Nellis, Gus had visited him on purpose to ascertain whether or not he was ripe for such a scheme, and was delighted to know that he had found a willing tool—so willing, indeed, that he himself need have nothing to do with the matter. All he had to do was to remain in the background, and Barlow would do all the work and run all the risk.

This was a highly encouraging state of affairs, and Gus would have felt perfectly at his ease had it not been for the hints Barlow had thrown out in connection with Mr. Nellis's disappearance. Gus turned the conversation back to this subject as soon as he could, but all he learned was that one morning, following a remarkably stormy night, Mr. Nellis's boat had been found on the reefs with a hole knocked in her, and the supposition was that her owner had been out on one of his fishing excursions and had been caught in the storm and drowned. At any rate, he was never seen or heard of afterward. This was no news to Gus, for he had heard it long ago. He wanted to know what Barlow had seen on that stormy morning, but on this subject the old man refused to talk. It was none of his business, he said, and with that the boy was obliged to be contented.

Gus left the sailors' boarding-house heartily wishing that he had never gone near it. He had felt sure of his position before, but he did not feel so now. His uncle had been treacherously dealt with, that was plain, but instead of being safely out of the way was likely to make his appearance at any moment. He could not be far away, either, for Barlow had confidently assured him that he would be certain to turn up, and that, too, before he was wanted. Then what would happen? Gus trembled when he thought of it.

"Father had a hand in it," said he, as he climbed into the buggy. "I can now account for that wild look in his eye, and understand what he meant when he said that after all he had done and dared for me I ought to treat him with more respect. I declare it is the worst thing I ever heard of. If I am to be a party to this business I ought to know just what has happened, so that I can be prepared for any emergency."

But this was something Gus never found out. He visited Barlow a dozen times during the next two days, but could gain nothing further from him. He had several interviews with his father, during which he hinted so broadly at what he had heard that Mr. Layton exhibited the same signs of alarm he had shown when his son first came home; but he volunteered no information, and Gus dared not ask for it. These things made such an impression on him that on the morning of the day Bob was expected home from Elmwood Gus had all his luggage removed to the rooms in the south wing that had been prepared for him, and saw that everything was arranged in his cousin's room just as he had found it. As matters now stood Bob's star was in the ascendant, and Gus did not think it would be policy to begin an open warfare with him. But he did not for an instant lose sight of what had for the last few months been the main object of his life.

After Gus left the academy affairs went on in much the usual way. True, there was less wrangling and quarrelling among the students, and such fellows as Simpson and Scotty were obliged to keep themselves altogether in the background. The "cut-oar matter," as the boys called it, was thoroughly investigated, and every one who was in any way mixed up with it, and there proved to be at least a score of them, was sent to coventry without ceremony. The culprits at first assumed an independent attitude, and tried to show themselves as indifferent to the students as the latter were to them; but this plan did not succeed very well, and in their hearts they wished they had had nothing to do with Gus Layton and his attempted fraud.

Examination week ended and the closing exercises over, the students began to separate to their homes, all of them apparently light-hearted and joyous, and speaking confidently of meeting again at the beginning of the next school-year. Bob Nellis was melancholy and low-spirited. As far as he knew, he had no home to go to. There was no kind father waiting to receive him and tell him that he was satisfied with his conduct at school and of the progress he had made there. He was going among those who were almost strangers to him, and who he knew had no interest in him. He took a sorrowful leave of the school and of his mates, and with Sprague for a companion—he lived in the same village that Bob did—set out for home. As long as he remained in sight of the familiar buildings he kept looking back at them as if he never expected to see them again. He did go back to them, however, and prepared for college there; but he first passed through some adventures the like of which he had never dreamed of.

"Now, Bob, I want you to tell me what is the matter with you," said Sprague, laying his hand affectionately on his companion's shoulder. "Ever since your uncle countermanded your order for that new shell you haven't acted at all like yourself. Do you think your uncle has gone back on you?"

"I know it," said Bob. "But, Sprague, you will excuse me for not saying too much. When I get home I shall know just how the land lays. I may be wrong, but that's the way things look now."

"Only just one question more and then I'll drop the matter," said Sprague, earnestly. "I heard before I came here that your father used to be worth a lot of money. Has your uncle got hold of it?"

Bob nodded.

"Well, I am sorry for you, and I know how to appreciate your feelings; but I will tell you this, Bob: Whenever things get too hot for you, come to my house."

Bob thanked him from the bottom of his heart. It served to show him that he had at least one friend left in Clifton.

Bob left the academy on Thursday evening, and awoke the next morning to find the steamer in which he had taken passage tied up to the wharf in Clifton. There was the usual crowd to meet her, early as it was, and among the lookers-on Bob found many friends and acquaintances who were all eager to shake him by the hand. Although he was glad to see them he excused himself as soon as he could, and having given his luggage into the charge of a drayman, hurried away. He wanted to see his home once more, even if had no right there. There was one friend, at least, who would be glad to see him, and Bob was disappointed as well as surprised that he did not find him on the wharf, waiting for him. It was old Ben Watson, his father's gardener. But Bob knew where to find him, and he intended to visit him before he presented himself to his uncle. Perhaps Ben could tell him some things he wanted to know. With this determination, Bob went through the iron gate which opened into the grounds that had once belonged to his father; but instead of following the broad carriage-way that led up to the door he turned into a by-path, and presently found himself standing before a neat little cottage that was hidden away among the trees. There was an air of desolation about it that Bob had never noticed before. The door did not open at his knock, and when he looked in at the window he was surprised to see that the house was deserted—there was no furniture in it. Bob did not know what to make of it.

With a sigh of regret he turned into the path again, and after a few minutes' walk reached the stables. Here another disappointment awaited him. He found a man dressed as a hostler, and he was engaged in rubbing down one of Bob's own ponies; but the face he turned toward him was not that of old Jack Couch, who had charge of the stables during his father's lifetime. It was the face of a negro, and one Bob had never seen before.

If there had not been a person in the world with whom he was acquainted, Bob could not have felt more desolate and friendless than he did at that moment. When his father was alive there were four servants employed on the place—two in the house, one in the stables, and one in the garden. They were all men, and every one of them was a sailor who had grown gray in his father's service. Bob was a favorite with them all; and if any of them held a higher place in his estimation than the others, it was Ben Watson, the gardener. Many a relic and curiosity had the old fellow brought to him from over the sea, and many an hour had he spent in his cabin listening to his thrilling tales of the deep; and it was there, beside Ben's fire, that he had promised his father that, come what might, he would never be a sailor. The boy had often thought of old Ben since his father's death, and impatiently counted the hours of meeting him, but now he was gone.

"They're all gone," thought Bob, turning away from the stable without returning the hostler's civil greeting, "and I am left alone. They have been cast adrift in their old age, in spite of father's promise that they should always be cared for; and if I may judge by uncle's letters, I must go, too. If I had never made that promise I would be at sea in less than twenty-four hours; but it is as binding now as it was while father was living."

"Sah! Sah!" said a voice, arousing him from his reverie.

Bob looked up and saw a negro hurrying toward him.

"Sah!" repeated the negro, "ole Moster Layton done sent me to tell you dat dese is private grounds, an' he don't 'low no trespassin' from anybody."

Bob was thunderstruck. Did his uncle intend to cast him off in that style?

"I hates to say it to a gemman," continued the negro, "but ole Moster say dem's his 'perative orders."

"Does—does he know I am Bob Nellis?" asked our hero, at a venture.

"Sah?" yelled the darky. "Is you Moster Bob? 'Fore Moses, we's expectin' you. Your rooms am all done fix up nice. I fix 'em myself. Come dis way, sah. Your uncle is in de library."

Bob, whose equanimity was not altogether restored by this assurance and the change his name had produced in the darky's bearing toward him, followed to the house, and was presently ushered into the library. His uncle was there, busy with some papers, which he hastily bundled out of sight as his nephew entered.

"Why, Bob!" he exclaimed, with more apparent cordiality than the boy had expected to see him exhibit, "I didn't know that was you when I sent Sam to order you out. Sit down. You are welcome to my house."

This was said with so much emphasis on the pronoun that Bob took his cue from it and at once decided on his course.

"Uncle Luther," said he, suddenly, "I should like to know just how matters stand here. You said in one of your letters that you would explain everything when you saw me."

(Bob had noted, with some bitterness, that his uncle did not say, "When you come home.")

"Never mind that now," said Mr. Layton, hastily. "We will have some breakfast before we talk business. I can tell you everything you wish to know in two minutes."

"Then please tell me now," persisted Bob. "I have ordered my luggage brought to this house because I did not know where else to send it; but if I have no right or interest here, of course I don't want to stay."

"H'm," said Mr. Layton.

"I hope you'll be plain with me, for I am prepared for the worst," continued Bob.

His uncle settled back in his chair and coughed ominously once or twice, as if he were preparing to say something disagreeable.

"Well, Bob," said Mr. Layton, speaking hurriedly, as if he wished to get through with a very unpleasant duty, "I must tell you plainly that no provision has been made for you. I supposed, of course, as every one else did, that you were to be your father's heir, and why you were not I am sure I cannot tell; perhaps you can. I can tell you, however, that a codicil to his will, in which the property was left to you, makes me the sole heir. The will has been admitted to probate, and you can obtain a copy of it for a dollar or two, which I will cheerfully furnish you, if you are out of funds. As I suppose, you want to do something now for yourself, I have taken the liberty to make arrangements for you which I hope you will like. I trust that you have made the most of your opportunities, for that school is a very expensive one, and none but wealthy men can afford to send their sons there."

Bob listened to this speech, and when it was concluded told himself that if his uncle had not repeated it in private until he had learned it by heart, he certainly spoke and acted as if he had. Of one thing he was now satisfied, and that was, he was not to return to the academy. His uncle could not afford it. Bob could not help recalling the fact that his father had kept Gus there three years at his own expense, but he said nothing about it.

"As your father followed the sea for a livelihood during the earlier part of his life, I suppose you must have some love for the water, and I suggest that you adopt his profession," continued Mr. Layton. "You will have opportunities to see different countries, and under my patronage promotion will be certain if you prove yourself worthy of it."

"I cannot do it," said Bob. "I promised I would never be a sailor."

"But at the time your father extorted that promise from you he probably did not imagine that you would ever be thrown upon your own resources. Besides, he is dead."

"But the promise is binding, all the same," said Bob.