Part 2 (1/2)
Sears Kendrick sat upright on the settee. Of course he recognized the song, every man who had ever sailed salt water knew the old _Dreadnought_ chantey, but much more than that, he believed he recognized the voice of the singer. Leaning forward, he watched for the latter to appear.
Then, around the clump of lilacs which leaned over Captain Sol Snow's fence at the corner, came an old white horse drawing an old ”truck-wagon,” the wagon painted, as all Cape Cod truck-wagons then were and are yet, a bright blue; and upon the high seat of the wagon sat a chunky figure, a figure which rocked back and forth and sang:
”Now the _Dreadnought's_ a sailin' the (_Bang! b.u.mp!_) Atlantic so wide, While the (_Thump! b.u.mp!_) dark heavy seas roll along her black side, With the sails neatly spread (_Crump! Jingle!_) and the red cross to show, She's the Liverpool packet; Good Lord, let----”
Captain Kendrick interrupted here.
”Ahoy, the _Dreadnought_!” he hailed. ”_Dreadnought_ ahoy!”
”Good Lord, let 'er go!” roared the man on the seat of the truck-wagon, finis.h.i.+ng the stanza of his chantey. Then he added ”Whoa!” in a mighty bellow. The white horse stopped in his tracks, as if he had one ear tipped backward awaiting the invitation. His driver leaned down and peered into the shadow of the lilac bush.
”Who--?” he began. ”Eh? _What?_ Limpin', creepin', crawlin', jumpin'
Moses and the prophets! It ain't Cap'n Sears Kendrick, is it? It is, by Henry! Well, well, _well_, WELL, _WELL_!”
Each succeeding ”well” was louder and more emphatic than its predecessor. They were uttered as the speaker rolled, rather than climbed, down from the high seat. Alighting upon a pair of enormous feet shod in heavy rubber boots, the tops of which were turned down, he thumped up the little slope from the road to the sidewalk. Then, thrusting over the fence pickets a red and hairy hand, the size of which corresponded to that of the feet, he roared another string of delighted exclamations.
”Cap'n Sears Kendrick, on deck and all taut again! Well, by the jumpin', creepin'! If this ain't--Cap'n Sears, sir, how be you?”
His broad-brimmed, battered straw hat had fallen off in his descent from the wagon seat, uncovering a partially bald head and a round, extremely red face, two-thirds of which was hidden by a tremendously thick and bristly tangle of short gray whiskers. The whiskers were now bisected by a broad grin, a grin so broad and so ecstatic that its wrinkles extended to the bulbous nose and the apple cheeks above.
”Cap'n Sears, sir,” repeated the driver of the truck-wagon, ”I'm proud to see you on deck again, sir. Darned if I ain't!”
The captain leaned forward and shook the big red hand extended across the fence pickets.
”Judah Cahoon, you old salt herrin',” he cried heartily, ”I'm just as glad to see you! But _what_ in the world are you doin' here in Bayport?”
CHAPTER II
Mr. Cahoon's grin vanished and the expression of his face above the whiskers indicated extreme surprise.
”What am I doin' here?” he repeated. ”Didn't you know I was here, Cap'n Sears?”
”Of course I didn't. The last I heard of you you had s.h.i.+pped as cook aboard the _Gallant Rover_ and was bound for Calcutta, or Singapore or somewhere in those lat.i.tudes. And that was only a year ago. What are you doin' on the Cape and pilotin' that kind of a craft?” indicating the truck wagon.
The question was ignored. ”Didn't they never tell you I was here?”
demanded Judah. ”Didn't that Joel Macomber tell you I been hailin' him every time he crossed my bows, askin' about you every day since you run on the rocks? Didn't he tell you that?”
”No.”
”Never give you my respects nor--nor kind rememberances, nor nawthin'?”
”Not a word. Never so much as mentioned your name.”
”The red-headed shark!”
”There! There! Sshh! Never mind him. Come in here and sit down a minute, can't you? Or are you in a hurry?”
”Eh? No-o, I ain't in no 'special hurry. Just got a deck load of seaweed aboard carting it up home, that's all.”