Part 22 (1/2)

”I swan!” he said. ”If we take that Queen of Sheby out at night, she'll near have a conniption. She'll think the world's come to an end. She ain't been out o' her stable at night since Hector was a pup--and Hector is a big dog now! How can you think of such a thing, Prudence?”

”Queenie won't mind, I guess,” said his wife calmly. ”I shouldn't be surprised if you was saying one word for her and a good many more'n one for yourself, Ira.”

However, they went to the harvest-home festival. It was bound to be a very gay and enjoyable occasion, and Queenie did not stumble more than three times going down the hill into the port.

”That old critter would be the death of us, if she could do it without being the death of herself, too,” fumed Cap'n Ira.

There were half a dozen young men almost fighting for the privilege of taking Queenie around to the sheds and blanketing her, the winner hopeful of a special smile and word from Sheila.

The decorated church was well filled when the trio from Wreckers'

Head entered, and most delicious odors rose from the bas.e.m.e.nt, where the tables were laid.

Sheila was immediately surrounded by her own little coterie of young people and was enjoying herself quietly when a newcomer, whose appearance created some little surprise at the door, approached the group of which the girl was the center.

”Why, here's Orion Latham!” exclaimed one girl. ”I didn't know the _Seamew_ was in.”

”We just made it by the skin of our teeth,” Orion said, making it a point to shake hands with Sheila. ”How are you, Miss Bostwick? I never did see such a Jonah of an old tub as that dratted schooner! I thought she never would get back this trip.”

”I cal'late you wouldn't think she was Jonahed if the _Seamew_ was yours, 'Rion,” snickered Andrew Roby.

”I wouldn't even take her as a gift,” snarled Orion.

”Guess you won't get her that way--if any,” chuckled Joshua Jones.

”Tunis, he knows which side o' the bread his b.u.t.ter's on. He's doin'

well. We cal'late--pa and me--to have all our freight come down from Boston on the _Seamew_.”

Orion glowered at him.

”You'd better have a care, Josh,” he growled. ”That schooner is hoodooed, as sure as sure! She'll stub her nose some night on Lighthouse Point Reef, if she don't do worse. You can't scurcely steer her proper.”

”Nonsense, 'Rion!” spoke up Zebedee Pauling. ”I'd like to sail on her myself.”

”Perhaps,” Sheila interposed, rather flushed, and looking at Orion with unmistakable displeasure, ”Orion will give up his berth to you, Zebedee. He seems so very sure that the schooner is unlucky. I came down from Boston in her, and I saw nothing about her save to admire.”

”And if you found her all right, Miss Bostwick,” struck in the gallant Joshua, ”she's good enough for me. Of course, I heard tell some thought the _Seamew_ had a bad reputation--that she run under a fis.h.i.+ng boat once and was haunted. But I cal'late that's all bosh.”

”Yah!” growled Orion. ”Have it your own way. But after the dratted schooner is sunk and you lose a mess of freight, Josh Jones, I guess you'll sing small.”

”I've heard,” said Andrew Roby gravely, ”that it's mighty bad manners to bite the hand that feeds you. You never was overpolite, 'Rion Latham.”

”Not only that, but he's clean reckless with his own livelihood,”

added Zebedee Pauling.

CHAPTER XV

AN INVITATION ACCEPTED

It was a small incident, of course; scarcely to be noted at all when it was over. Yet the impression left upon Sheila's mind was that Orion Latham was deliberately endeavoring to injure his cousin's business with the _Seamew_. If he talked like this before the more or less superst.i.tious Portygees, how long would Tunis manage to keep a crew to work the schooner?