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Exploring the Variety of Random
Documents with Different Content
"Samanthy, I'm going to do something desperate! I've got to do it to
save Dick. Why, his father's as crazy as he is about spending money.
I've got to do something desperate."
"You—you won't get arrested for it; will you, Ezra?"
"I hope not. But go to sleep, Samanthy. I'll tell you about it—when
it's time," and, having thus gotten this much of the plot off his mind,
Uncle Ezra turned over and went to sleep. But he did not have
pleasant dreams.
 CHAPTER V
DICK IS SHADOWED

Bearing a letter to his father's attorneys in New York, Messrs. Blake

& Carrington, Dick started for the metropolis the second day after
his uncle's visit.
"Now use your own judgment about getting your yacht," said the
millionaire to his son, "but, of course, be guided by the lawyers.
Buying a steam craft is rather a large operation, especially if you
don't know much about it."
Highly elated at the prospect of the good times before him, Dick sat
in the parlor car of the fast express, as he was whirled toward the
big city, and made plan after plan.
"I'll get a lot of the fellows, some from the academy and some from
town, and we'll have a glorious time yachting," he told himself. "We'll
go up the New England coast, and down to Florida and maybe even
to Bermuda and to Cuba, and—by Jove I've a good notion to try to
double Cape Horn! That would be something to talk about when I
got back."
It did not seem to occur to Dick that he was laying out sufficient
travel for several vacations, all in one. But it's lots of fun to make
plans, especially when you have the money to carry them out—and
sometimes even when you haven't.
Dick reached Manhattan after a day and night of travel, registered at
a hotel that his father frequently stopped at when in New York, and
was shown to a suite of rooms that suited his ideas of luxury. They
were not too elaborate, consisting of a bedroom, sitting-room and
bath, but they were tastefully furnished. After a dinner, at which he
ordered as the chief dish lobster, principally because he seldom
could get it fresh at home, he went to a theatre.
"I'll see the lawyers the first thing in the morning," thought Dick,
"and then the sooner I can buy that yacht the better. I'm anxious to
get out to sea."
Mr. Blake, the senior partner of the firm, received the young
millionaire cordially next morning.
"Your father wrote to me some time ago," he said, "stating that you
might come on to select a steam craft, and so I have been on the
lookout for one for you. I have several in view, and if you wish we'll
go and take a look at them."
"Nothing would suit me better," announced Dick, eagerly.
Piloted by the attorney, Dick was taken to the anchorage of the New
York Yacht Club.
There were several trim craft there, which could be purchased, and
Dick was shown over them by the persons in charge. One was a
rakish-looking, clipper-built boat, constructed more for speed than
for comfort. It was a beautiful craft, but Dick decided he did not care
for swift sailing, and would rather have more room.
Another yacht, the Isabelle seemed to him, at first, to be just right.
She had new engines and boilers, and was magnificently fitted up.
But the price was very high, and, while Dick could have afforded it,
Mr. Blake pointed out that the yacht would require a crew of about
twenty-five men, and Dick did not think he cared to preside, as
captain pro tem, over such a force.
"I want something smaller, I think," he said.
"That's my own opinion," remarked Mr. Blake.
They had exhausted the possibilities at the Yacht Club anchorage, so
the lawyer proposed a trip to St. George, Staten Island, off which
several yachts, that their owners wished to dispose of, were
anchored. There Dick found three which would have suited him, but
Mr. Blake advised him not to commit himself, but to look further
before deciding.
"We'll go over to Brooklyn," proposed the lawyer. "We may as well
put in the entire day, for buying a steam yacht is not to be disposed
of too lightly."
As they were taken out in a small motorboat, past several yachts at
anchor, they passed one, over the rail of which an old, grizzled man
was leaning, calmly smoking a short, black pipe. He was a veritable
picture of an "old sea dog," and Dick's eyes danced with pleasure at
the sight of him. A moment later his gaze wandered to the yacht
herself. He could not repress a murmur of admiration.
"What's the matter?" asked Mr. Blake.
"That yacht," replied the young millionaire. "That's exactly my idea
of what I want. I wonder if we can buy her?"
"I don't know, but it's easy to find out."
The lawyer directed the engineer of the motorboat to put them
alongside. As Dick approached nearer his admiration grew, until he
had made up his mind that if the interior suited him as well as did
the outside that boat would be his.
He saw the name on her stern as they approached—Albatross—and
even that pleased him. The yacht was a trim craft, narrow enough in
beam to indicate speed, with a high bow to take a heavy sea well,
and long enough to afford plenty of room, while her breadth was not
such as to make her too much of a roller, or wallower, in the trough
of the sea.
Two slender masts, for auxiliary sails, and for signal flags, with the
conductors of a wireless apparatus strung between them, rose fore
and aft of a buff-colored funnel, rakishly set. In short, the yacht was
a beauty.
"On board the Albatross!" called Mr. Blake, when they were within
hailing distance.
"Aye, aye, sir," answered the old sea dog, pulling at his cap.
"I understand that yacht is for sale," went on the lawyer, for, on
consulting a list he had, he saw that she was among those he had
put down to examine.
"She might be, if any one had the money," replied the old sailor,
stuffing his thumb into the bowl of his pipe, to tamp down the
tobacco.
"Well, I have the money," spoke Dick, quickly.
"Then come aboard, if you please, sir," was the more genial reply,
and the old man walked forward to where an accommodation ladder
was suspended, and lowered it.
The young millionaire observed that the old sailor walked with a
limp, and he at once made up his mind that he had a wooden leg.
This diagnosis was confirmed when Dick and Mr. Blake stepped on
deck a few seconds later.
"Well, here's the Albatross, and she's for sale, more's the pity," went
on the old man, respectfully. "Many's the voyage I've sailed in her
when Mr. Richardson was alive. But he's dead, and the pretty craft's
on the market. I'm stayin' here to look after her, and d'ye know,"
and his voice sank to a whisper, "I've had half a notion, more'n once,
to hist the anchor, make sail, an' start for Davy Jones' locker, me an'
her together. For I've been on her for so long that she's like a wife to
me."
"Then she is an old boat?" asked Mr. Blake, apprehensively.
"Old enough to know how to weather many a storm that some of
the new-fangled craft wouldn't dare venture out in. The only thing I
have agin' her is that she's a steamer instead of a sailer, but with her
engines stopped she can pick up a bone in her teeth when all her
canvas is spread," added the old man, proudly. "She has new
engines and boilers, and she's fit to make a trip around the world
starting to-morrow; and I wish she was!"
"Maybe she will!" cried Dick, enthusiastically. "I think I'll take her, Mr.
Blake. The Albatross is just what I want."
"Wait until you go below," suggested the lawyer with a smile. "Will
you show us down, Mr.—er—Mr.—?" he paused significantly.
"Widkin is my name—Ebenezer Widkin," answered the old sailor,
with a touch of his cap. "An' you can take your choice by callin' me
Ebby or Widdy. Most of 'em calls me Widdy," he added with a grin,
"in consequence of me never havin' married."
"Well, then, Widdy, take us below," suggested Mr. Blake, and soon
he and Dick were exploring the interior of the craft. If the exterior,
with its snow-white decks and mahogany rails, its ample
companionways and other details had captivated Dick, the cabins,
engine room, dining saloon and galley completed the conquest.
"I'll take her!" he said enthusiastically to Mr. Blake. "She's just big
enough, and not too big. The engines are new, and she's fitted up
just as I want." Dick stood in the owner's cabin, the most elaborate
one on the yacht.
"Well, it's up to you, as the boys say," remarked the lawyer. "Of
course, there are many details to be looked after, but if you are
satisfied, we won't seek further. I'll see the owner's representatives,
and negotiate with them."
"Is there—if I might be so bold as to ask, sir," began Widdy, as he
shall be called, "is there a chance of the yacht being put into
commission, sir?"
"Every chance!" cried Dick, with sparkling eyes. "Every chance,
Widdy."
"An' would you—that is, do you think you could find room for such a
worn-out old sea dog as me on board? I'm a A1 sailor, sir, even if I
have a wooden leg, an' I can do my share with the best of 'em, if I
do say it myself."
"I think I'd be very glad to have you as a member of the crew,"
answered Dick, for he had taken a liking to the old man.
"Thank you, sir, for sayin' that. Many's the day I've sat here, smokin'
my pipe lonesome-like, wishin' some millionaire would come along
and buy her. Why, would you believe it," and his voice sank to a
whisper, "I've even been thinkin' of turnin' pirate myself, an' pickin'
up a crew of my old mates to navigate her, I've been that desperate
for action, sir."
"Well, if everything goes right, you'll soon have plenty of action,"
promised the young millionaire. "I intend to take a long voyage, and
nothing would suit me better than to go in the Albatross."
"And you couldn't find a better craft to sail in, if you was to search
the world over!" cried Widdy. "There! I've said it, and dash my lee
scuppers! I'll stand by it in fair weather or foul! I've got a prospect of
action at last, an' I'm a bit excited-like, but you must excuse me."
Then, with a sudden motion, he took his short, black clay pipe from
his mouth, dashed it to the deck, where it broke into a score of
pieces. Then, drawing a new clay from his pocket, and breaking off
the stem short, he proceeded to fill it with tobacco, and light it. Next
he stumped off after a deck swab, with which he proceeded to clean
up the fragments of pipe and ashes.
"I'm a bit excited at times," he went on more calmly, "but I don't
mean nothin' by it. I'll smoke a new pipe to the new owner," he
added. "How soon can we sail?" he whispered hoarsely, with his
hand to his mouth, as though much depended on the secrecy of the
answer.
"It will be hard to say, at present," answered Mr. Blake for Dick, "but,
if all goes well, probably within a couple of weeks."
"Then, splice my mizzen-shrouds but you'll find me ready an'
waitin'!" cried Widdy. "Ready an' waitin'!"
"Very well," said Dick, with a jolly laugh. "And I hope we'll have
many voyages together."
"By Neptune's whiskers, sir, so do I!" retorted Widdy, and he blew
out a great cloud of smoke.
Mr. Blake and his youthful client returned to shore in the motor craft,
and the lawyer promised to at once start negotiations looking to the
purchase of the yacht. As a measure of precaution, however, he
insisted that a competent expert be hired to examine the hull,
engines and boilers, and, though this meant a little delay, Dick felt
obliged to consent to it.
There was nothing more to be done that day, and, after having sent
a telegram to his father, describing the Albatross in brief, and stating
that he had made up his mind to purchase her, Dick went back to his
hotel.
As he was turning down a quiet street leading to it, he became
aware that two men were regarding him rather closely. They were
coming from the opposite direction, and as they passed him they
gave Dick sharp glances.
"Humph! They'll know me again, at any rate," thought the lad. Then
he dismissed the incident from his mind. He was used to a certain
sort of publicity and attention, for, on a previous visit to New York,
his trip had been made much of by the sensational papers, and he
had been credited with doing many eccentric things of which he
never even dreamed. His picture had been frequently published, and
he was more or less stared at. He thought this was but a reflection
of that episode.
Being fond of theatres, Dick decided to go to another play that
evening. He called up Mr. Blake, asking him to accompany him, but
the lawyer had another engagement, so Dick started off alone.
He thoroughly enjoyed the performance, and as he came out to get
into a taxicab, to return to his hotel, he noticed that two men, who
were standing near the vehicle which he had summoned, were
looking at him rather more closely than at other persons in the
street.
Dick glanced at them. As he did so one of the men made a remark
to the other, and both turned quickly to one side, but not before the
youth had had a chance to look at their faces.
"Why, they're the same fellows I met this afternoon, near the hotel,"
he said to himself. "They must think I'm quite a curiosity."
He entered the taxicab, and was rapidly whirled toward his stopping
place. His mind was filled with thoughts of his steam yacht, and with
chance adventures that might happen on the cruise. Possibly, if he
had seen the actions of the two men, immediately after his
departure, he would have not felt so easy.
For the twain, no sooner had Dick entered his vehicle, summoned
another.
"Follow that car," directed the taller of the pair. "Don't let it get away
from you, and there's a fiver in it."
"You're rather free with the old man's money, ain't you, Sam?" asked
the short man, with a laugh.
"Might as well be. He's so close-fisted that it'll do him good to be
bled a bit. But hit it up, sport," this to the chauffeur of the taxicab
they were in. "I don't want to lose our young friend."
"All right," was the answer, and after Dick's vehicle sped the other,
containing the two men who were shadowing him.
 CHAPTER VI
DICK ENTERS THE TRAP

The young millionaire was hungry, after the three hours spent in the
theatre, and, knowing of a restaurant famed for its late suppers,
Dick determined to go there, partly to see some of the gayer side of
life in New York at midnight, and partly to satisfy his appetite.
Accordingly he gave directions to the chauffeur, who, after speeding
the machine down Broadway, turned into Twenty-third Street.
As the vehicle swung around the corner a lad, who was crossing the
thoroughfare, had to jump nimbly to get out of the way. He reached
the curb, and standing there shook his fist at the occupants of the
taxicab—Dick and the driver.
"What's the matter?" cried the lad who had so nearly escaped being
run down. "Ain't the street big enough for you? Or do you want to
chase folks up on the sidewalk?"
"Aw, beat it!" retorted the chauffeur, with all the contempt some
automobilists feel for pedestrians. He had slowed up at the turn, but
was about to turn on more power.
"Wait! Hold on a minute!" cried Dick, leaning forward at the sound of
the other lad's voice, and a sight of his face in the gleam of an
electric lamp. "How are you, Tim Muldoon?"
For a moment the other stared at the well-dressed youth in the
taxicab, for the vehicle had come to a stop. Then over the features
came a look of glad surprise.
"Why, if it isn't Mr. Hamilton!" cried the lad in the street. "Who'd ever
think to see you here? How are you, Mr. Hamilton?"
"Make it Dick, if you don't mind, Tim," suggested the millionaire's
son. "I'm Dick and you're Tim," and the wealthy lad reached out and
shook hands with the lad, whom he had once befriended as a "fresh-
air kid," and who, later, he had set up in the newspaper business.
Tim Muldoon, a typical New York newsboy, had accompanied Dick on
a trip out west, to inspect a gold mine, and had been instrumental in
aiding him. Our hero had not seen his protégé in some time, though
he knew him at once when the auto so nearly ran him down.
"Well, well, Tim," went on Dick. "What have you been doing with
yourself since last we met? You've have grown considerable. Is the
paper business good?"
"Fine, thanks to the start you gave me, Mr. Ham—I mean Dick. I'm
running three stands now, and I have two assistants. I get time to
go to night school, now, and I'm studying bookkeeping."
Dick had noticed that Tim spoke better language than formerly, for
the use of "dis," "dat," "youse" and kindred expressions was almost
entirely eliminated from his conversation.
"Where are you going now, Tim?" asked Dick, when they had
exchanged some remarks.
"Home. I've just finished work. Have to get ready for the early
morning papers soon, though, so I'm bound for home."
"No, you're not!" exclaimed the rich youth. "You're coming to have
something to eat with me. It's lonesome dining alone. Come on, hop
in and we'll be there in no time. Then I'll run you up home in this
buzz-wagon."
"But, Dick, I haven't any decent clothes on. I've been working and
——"
"Nonsense! What do I care about clothes? Get in. We'll hire a private
room if you're so afraid some one will see you."
"It isn't that, only you——"
"Don't you worry about me; get in."
Tim complied, rather diffidently, and the much-wondering chauffeur
started the car again. As it went along there was another closely
following it, and, as the vehicle containing Dick and Tim made
various turns and twists through the different streets, to reach the
restaurant, the other taxicab did the same. Finally Tim, whose life in
New York had made him quick-witted along certain lines, leaned out
of the open cab, looked back and said:
"Any of your friends in that machine, Dick?"
"Friends? No. Why?"
"Because it's sticking to us like court-plaster. Say, sport," and Tim
leaned forward to the chauffeur, "are you wise to de—I mean the
fact that we're being chased?"
"Hadn't noticed it," replied the driver, shortly.
"Well, we are. Is it a fly-cop; or has your license expired?"
"Search me," was the characteristic reply of the chauffeur. "But we'll
give 'em a run for their money," and increasing speed, he turned
first down one street and up another until, after five minutes' run,
the other cab was not in sight.
"We either lost 'em, or else they got wise and dropped back," was
Tim's opinion. "But who were they, Dick?"
"I can't imagine, unless they are some cranks who like to look at a
chap because he has a little money. Maybe they're fellows who hope
to work me for some game like Colonel Dendon did, when he tried
to sell me fake mining shares. I've noticed a couple of men who kept
rather close watch on me once or twice to-day, but I guess we've
lost track of them. Well, here we are; come in and have a good
meal."
Dick paid, and dismissed the chauffeur, for other taxicabs could be
summoned at the restaurant. As the young millionaire and Tim
entered the place another machine came to a stop near the curb, a
short distance away.
"Thought they'd fool us, didn't they, Sam?" asked one of the two
men who alighted from it.
"They sure did, but it isn't so easy to lose us. We're right after him."
"You're not going to attempt anything to-night, are you?"
"No, I just want to get the lay of things. I think we can work the
racket better from a boat-end, as he'll fall easier for that; so we'll
wait a couple of days. We've got lots of time, and the graft is too
good to shorten up," after which rather enigmatical words, the two
men sauntered past the restaurant, inside of which Dick and Tim
could be seen seated at a table.
The two friends—friends in spite of the differences in their stations—
had a jolly time over their meal, Dick telling Tim something about
the proposed yachting trip, and the newsboy, in turn, relating some
of his experiences in the great city. True to his promise, Dick insisted
on taking Tim home in another auto, which he summoned, and then,
rather later than he was in the habit of turning in, the young
millionaire sought his hotel well satisfied with his evening's pleasure.
"Well, he's safe for to-night, anyhow," remarked one of two men, as
they saw Dick pass through the hotel lobby. "Now we can get some
sleep." They had resumed their shadowing from the restaurant.
"Yes, and we'll try the game to-morrow, or next day," responded the
other.
Dick's first visit after breakfast was to the office of Mr. Blake, the
lawyer. The attorney was not in, but a clerk informed the young
millionaire that matters concerning the purchase of the Albatross
were proceeding satisfactorily. It would take several days, Dick was
told.
"Well, the best thing I can do is to amuse myself," he remarked, as
he left the lawyer's office. He strolled back to the hotel, intending to
take a bath, and don a new suit he had just received from the tailor.
As he went up to the desk to get the key of his room, the clerk
handed him a letter, with the remark:
"Messenger left that for you a little while ago, Mr. Hamilton."
Dick read it hastily. It said:

"Dear Mr. Hamilton: I am trying to hurry along matters

concerned with the purchase of your yacht. I have seen the
present owners, but there appears to be a slight hitch, to use a
nautical term. I have another vessel in view, in case we can not
get the one you want. I expect to be aboard her this morning.
Could you meet me on her? She is the Princess, and is anchored
off One Hundred and Eightieth Street. Suppose you run up
there? You will find a launch at the dock to bring you out. I
think, in case we can not secure the Albatross, that you will like
this vessel fully as well. Come if you can.
"Yours sincerely,
"James Blake."

"Can't get the Albatross!" thought Dick, in dismay. "That will be too
bad! I'll never care for any other yacht as I did for her. But I suppose
I'd better go and see Mr. Blake. Queer, though, that they didn't tell
me in the office how things were. Maybe they didn't know, or this
may have cropped up after I left. I'll go and see the other boat,
anyhow."
Dick started for the anchorage of the Princess, and, as he was about
to engage a taxicab, he bethought himself of the old sailor on the
Albatross.
"Widdy would be just the one to take along," reasoned Dick. "He
knows all about yachts—more than either Mr. Blake or myself. I've a
good notion to go get him, and see what he has to say. Even if we
do have to take a different craft from the Albatross, I'd like Widdy to
sail with me. I'll go get him."
The old sailor, who knew nothing of the hitch in the arrangements to
sell the yacht he was on, was a bit surprised at Dick's proposition,
but readily agreed to accompany him. He left one of his on-shore
acquaintances in charge of the Albatross.
"But as fer findin' as good a boat as that," said Widdy, waving his
hand toward her, as he and Dick were speeding shoreward in a
motor launch, "you can't do it. Split my lee scuppers if you can!"
And Dick, with a sigh, agreed with him. His heart was set on the
Albatross.
At the foot of One Hundred and Eightieth Street Dick and the old sea
dog found a small motorboat in waiting.
"Is this the launch of the Princess?" asked Dick of the man in
charge.
"No, it's a public launch, but I can take you out to her in it. There's
the yacht, out there. A gentleman on board told me he was
expecting a visitor, and I said I'd wait around and bring him out. Are
you the one?"
"I expect so," answered the young millionaire, and his eyes were
taking in the details of the yacht Princess. He did not like her, at first
view. She was too small, and there was none of that trimness about
her which marked the Albatross.
"That's nothing but a dinghy with an engine in her," was the
contemptuous remark of Widdy, as he relighted his short pipe, which
was assuming a black hue, like unto the one he had smashed on
deck.
"Well, we'll go aboard," decided Dick. "I want to hear what Mr. Blake
has to say."
A few minutes later he and the old salt were ascending the
accommodation ladder of the Princess. They were met by a sailor in
uniform.
"You'll find him below," he said to Dick, without being asked any
questions, and he motioned to an after companionway. Dick started
down. Had he but known it the young millionaire was entering the
trap set for him.
 CHAPTER VII
THE ESCAPE

Followed by Widdy, the wealthy lad groped his way along a rather
dark passage. He expected every minute to be greeted by Mr. Blake,
or to hear the lawyer's voice bidding him welcome. Dick was a little
surprised that the attorney had not been out on deck, for the
atmosphere below was anything but refreshing, indicating that the
Princess was none too well ventilated.
"This way, if you please," spoke a voice, and Dick had a glimpse of a
big man, attired in a sailor's suit, holding open a cabin door for him.
The lad, suspecting nothing, was about to enter, but at that moment
there came from Widdy, the old salt who was directly behind him, a
snarl not unlike that of the bulldog Grit, at a sight of Uncle Ezra
Larabee.
"Oh, ho! It's you, my fine swab, is it?" cried Widdy, pushing his way
past Dick, and confronting the big sailor. "It's you, is it, an' up to
some of your knavish tricks, I'll be bound! Let me get hold of you,
Jake Shrouder, and I'll pay back some of the scores I owe you! Split
my lee scuppers! I didn't think to find you here! I made sure you
was in jail, if Davy Jones hadn't claimed you! Look out, Mr. Dick!"
And with that Widdy, stumping forward on his wooden leg, made a
dive for the husky sailor, like a man making a tackle on the football
field. As for Shrouder, if that was his name, he seemed to turn pale
under his bronzed skin.
"Widdy! You here!" he gasped, and leaped back, as if to shut himself
in the cabin he had invited Dick to enter.
"Yes, I'm here! What thieving trick are you up to now? Is it to scuttle
the ship, or shanghai somebody? Wait until I get hold of you, with a
belayin' pin in the other hand, an'——"
But Shrouder gave Widdy no chance to reach him. With a muttered
imprecation, he slammed the door shut in the face of the old sailor.
Nothing daunted, Widdy threw himself against it, using his artificial
leg as a battering ram. There was a splintering of wood, and, as the
broken door flew back, Dick saw the large man running through the
cabin toward another portal, which he frantically unlocked.
"What's the matter? What's up?" demanded the young millionaire,
anxiously. "What's wrong, Widdy?"
"Everything, Mr. Dick. Look out for yourself. There's bad business
afoot here, or Jake Shrouder would never be on hand. But I'll get
him!"
He stumped forward, swinging his powerful arms to and fro, as if
eager to clasp his enemy in them, but he stumbled, and would have
fallen inside the cabin with the broken door, had not Dick caught
him. At the same time the fleeing man called out:
"The jig's up! Widdy's here!"
"Who's Widdy?" asked a man's voice, and it was followed by
confused shouts.
"Never mind. The jig's up, I tell you! Better get ashore. Cast off the
boat!" yelled the big sailor.
There was the tramp of rapid footsteps on deck. Then came a sound
as of something being dragged along—a scraping of wood on wood.
"Quick!" cried the old sailor to Dick. "They're trying to shut the
hatches on us. We must get on deck!"
Puzzled and alarmed—not knowing what to make of the strange
actions of Widdy, yet vaguely fearing, the lad turned from the cabin,
and hastened toward the companionway down which he had come.
As he sprang up it he saw the young sailor who had told him to go
below shoving the hatch cover over.
"Quit that!" cried Dick. With a quick motion he caught up a coil of
rope that had dropped on the steps, and thrust this into the crack as
the man pushed the cover forward. This prevented it from being
closed.
WITH A QUICK MOTION HE CAUGHT UP A COIL OF ROPE,
AND THRUST THIS INTO THE CRACK.—Page 67.
Dick Hamilton's Steam Yacht.
A moment later Widdy was at Dick's side. The old sailor thrust his
gnarled hands into the crack, and, with a wrench, sent the
companionway cover sliding back.
"Hop out!" he called to Dick. "I'll follow."
As the lad reached the deck he saw, disappearing over the side, the
young sailor, and the big one whom Widdy had called Shrouder.
They seemed to be descending into some boat. Dick rushed to the
rail. In a small barge were two men, and it needed but a glance to
disclose to the young millionaire that they were the same two who
had stared at him so persistently the day before, and though Dick
did not then know it, they were the same pair who had followed him
in the taxicab. Shrouder and the other sailor dropped into the barge
with them.
"Grab him, Mr. Dick! Grab him!" cried Widdy, as he saw his old
enemy escaping, but Dick did not think it wise to attempt to hold
back the desperate men. A few seconds later the four were pulling
away from the Princess for dear life.
"Well," remarked Dick, drawing a long breath, as though he had just
taken part in a desperate race, "what's this all about, Widdy?"
"About? It's about villainy, that's what it's about, Mr. Dick! Villainy,
and scheming, and black tricks and underhand work and shanghai-
games, and looting and scuttling ships and anything else that's bad
—that's what it is," growled the old seaman, as he stumped to the
side, and shook his fist at the craft containing the four men. Then he
filled his pipe, and began to smoke more calmly.
"We could chase them in the motorboat," suggested Dick, hardly yet
understanding what it was all about.
"What's the use? Shrouder is as slippery as a greased sheet in a hail
storm. Let him go—he won't sleep any the easier to-night from
having met me. But I wish I could have laid my hooks on him," and
Widdy opened and shut his gnarled hands suggestively.
"But I don't understand," said the lad. "Where is Mr. Blake? Why
should those fellows disappear so suddenly? I was to meet the
lawyer here, and look over this boat——"
"Mr. Blake never came here," said Widdy, bluntly. "It's a plant—a
game—to get you on board. I'll wager that note sent to your hotel
was forged."
"But why should they want to get me here?"
"To rob you, most likely. They know you're rich."
"Then that must have been why those two men paid such close
attention to me," decided Dick.
"Of course," agreed the old sailor. "As soon as I clapped eyes on
Jake Shrouder I knew there was something crooked afoot. I've
known him for years—sailed all over in ships with him—and I never
knew a piece of black business afoot anywhere near him that he
didn't have his finger in. I knew there was something wrong as soon
as I see him, and that's why I made a jump for him, but he was too
quick for me."
"But who does this yacht belong to?" asked Dick. "We seem to be all
alone on it."
"I hope we are. I don't want to have anything to do with those
fellows. I don't know who owns the craft. Like as not Shrouder has
an interest in her. But let's get ashore, and then we'll call on Mr.
Blake and let him know what's in the wind. It was all a plant, I tell
you, to get you aboard, and then they'd have robbed you."
"But I don't carry much money with me," objected Dick.
"No matter. They'd have found some way to get it out of you, or
your father. But, come on, let's leave this bilge-water craft. Phew! It
hasn't been swabbed out in a month of Sundays."
Stumping to the opposite side of the deck Widdy signaled to the
motor launch at the dock, the owner of it having agreed to come off
and take Dick and the sailor whenever they waved a flag. In a few
minutes the two were speeding down-town toward the lawyer's
office, their questioning of the captain of the launch having resulted
in nothing. He had no knowledge concerning the Princess, or the
men on her.
As Widdy had surmised, the note purporting to come from Mr. Blake
was a bald forgery, but, since Dick had never seen the attorney's
writing, it was easy enough to deceive him.
"But what was their object?" asked the young millionaire.
"Robbery," decided Mr. Blake.
"But how did they know of my plans to buy a yacht?"
"Oh, easily enough. Talk travels quickly in marine circles in New
York, and I fancy you are more of a public character than you
imagine. At any rate, the men, whoever they are, knew something of
your plans, and took advantage of them to lure you to the yacht,
which they either hired for the purpose, or perhaps own. It was a
clever trick, and it was lucky Widdy recognized that man in time, or
you might have been locked in a cabin, and kept there until they had
what they wanted out of you."
"I'm glad I took my sailor friend along," said Dick. "But how about
the Albatross? Am I likely to get her?"
"I think so. I will have her examined in a few days, and, if she
passes inspection, I will complete the purchase, and you can arrange
about a captain and crew. Perhaps your old sailor can help you out
there."
"That's a good idea. I'll ask him."
It was decided that little good could be accomplished by notifying
the police of the attempt to work harm to Dick, and so no report was
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