Лаймен Баум - Sam Steele's Adventures on Land and Sea

He winked again; solemnly, this time; and I sat still and stared at him.

“Howsomever, the ‘Flipper’ is still in statute loo, an’ thank heaven fer that! I made sev’ral voyages in her to Australy, that turned out fairly profitably, an’ brought the Cap’n an’ me some good bits o’ money. So last year we thought we’d tackle the Japan trade, that seemed to be lookin’ up. It looked down agin as soon as I struck the pesky shores, an’ a month ago I returned to ’Frisco a sadder an’ a wiser man. Not that the losses was so great, Sam, you understand; but the earnin’s wasn’t enough to buy a shoe–string.

“So I sailed cross–lots to Batteraft to consult with my partner, which is Cap’n Steele, as to our next voyage, an’ the rest o’ the story you know as well as I do. Your father bein’ out o’ the firm, from no fault o’ his’n, his son is his nateral successor. So I take it that hereafter we’ll have to consult together.”

My amazed expression amused him exceedingly, but I found it impossible just then to utter a single word. Uncle Naboth did not seem to expect me to speak, for after lighting his pipe again he continued, with an air of great complacency:

“It mought be said that, as you’re a minor, I stands as your rightful guardeen, an’ have a right to act for you ’til you come of age. On the other hand, you mought claim that, bein’ a partner, your size an’ age don’t count, an’ you’ve a right to be heard. Howsomever, we won’t go to law about it, Sam. The law’s onreliable. Sometimes it’s right, an’ mostly it’s wrong; but it ain’t never to be trusted by an honest man. If you insist on dictatin’ what this partnership’s goin’ to do, you’ll probably run it on a rock in two jerks of a lamb’s tail, for you haven’t got the experience old Cap’n Steele had; but if you’re satisfied to let me take the tiller, an’ steer you into harbor, why, I’ll accept the job an’ do the best I can at it.”

“Uncle Naboth,” I replied, earnestly, “had you not been an honest man I would never have known you were my father’s partner, or that he had any interest in your business. But you’ve been more than honest. You’ve been kind to me; and I am only too glad to trust you in every way.”

“Well spoke, lad!” cried Mr. Perkins, slapping his knee delightedly. “It’s what I had a right to expect in poor Mary’s boy. We’re sure to get along, Sam, and even if I don’t make you rich, you’ll never need a stout friend while your Uncle Nabe is alive an’ kickin’!”

Then we both stood up, and shook hands with great solemnity, to seal the bargain. After which my friend and protector returned to his rocker and once more stretched his feet across the window sill.

“How much property belongs to me, Uncle?” I asked.

“We never drew up any papers. Cap’n Steele knew as he could trust me, an’ so papers wa’n’t necessary. He owned one–third interest in the ‘Flipper’, an’ supplied one half the money to carry on the trade. That made it mighty hard to figure out the profits, so we gen’ly lumped it, to save brain–work. Of course your father’s been paid all his earnin’s after each voyage was over, so accounts is settled up to the Japan trip. Probably the money I gave him was in the sea–chest, an’ that old she–pirate up to the house grabbed it with the other things. The Japan voyage was a failure, as I told you; but there’s about a thousand dollars still comin’ to the Cap’n—which means it’s comin’ to you, Sam—an’ the ship’s worth a good ten thousand besides.”

I tried to think what that meant to me.

“It isn’t a very big sum of money, is it, Uncle?” I asked, diffidently.

“That depends on how you look at it,” he answered. “Big oaks from little acorns grow, you know. If you leave the matter to me, I’ll try to make that thousand sprout considerable, before you come of age.”

“Of course I’ll leave it to you,” said I. “And I am very grateful for your kindness, sir.”

“Don’t you turn your gratitude loose too soon, Sam. I may land your fortunes high an’ dry on the rocks, afore I’ve got through with ’em. But if I do it won’t be on purpose, an’ we’ll sink or swim together. An’ now, that bein’ as good as settled, the next thing to argy is what you’re a–goin’ to do while I’m sailin’ the seas an’ makin’ money for you.”

“What would you suggest?” I asked.

“Well, some folks might think you ought to have more schoolin’. How old are you?”

“Sixteen, sir.”

“Can you read an’ write, an’ do figgers?”

“Oh, yes; I’ve finished the public school course,” I replied, smiling at the simple question.

“Then I guess you’ve had study enough, my lad, and are ready to go to work. I never had much schoolin’ myself, but I’ve managed to hold my own in the world, in spite of the way letters an’ figgers mix up when I look at ’em. Not but what eddication is a good thing; but all eddication don’t lay in schools. Rubbin’ against the world is what polishes up a man, an’ the feller that keeps his eyes open can learn somethin’ new every day. To be open with you, Sam, I need you pretty bad on the ‘Flipper’, to keep the books an’ look after the accounts, an’ do writin’ an’ spellin’ when letters has to be writ. On the last trip I put in four days hard work, writin’ a letter that was only three lines long. An’ I’m blamed if the landsman I sent it to didn’t telegraph me for a translation. So, if you’re willin’ to ship with the firm of Perkins & Steele, I’ll make you purser an’ chief clerk.”

“I should like that!” I answered, eagerly.

“Then the second p’int’s settled. There’s only one more. The ‘Flipper’ is lyin’ in the harbor at ’Frisco. When shall we join her, lad?”

“I’m ready now, sir.”

“Good. I’ve ordered a wagon to carry us over to the railroad station at four o’clock, so ye see I had a pretty good idea beforehand what sort o’ stuff Mary’s boy was made of. Now let’s go to dinner.”

When the two–seated spring wagon drew up before the tavern door quite a crowd of idle villagers assembled to see us off, and among them I noticed my father’s old sailor, Ned Britton. Uncle Naboth climbed aboard at once, but I stayed to shake the hands held out to me and to thank the Batteraft people for their hearty wishes for my future prosperity. I think they were sorry to see me go, and I know I felt a sudden pang of regret at parting from the place where I had lived so long and the simple villagers who had been my friends.

When at last I mounted to the rear seat of the wagon and sat beside my uncle, I was astonished to find Ned Britton established beside the driver.

“Are you going with us?” I asked.

The sailor nodded.

“It’s like this,” remarked Mr. Perkins, as we rolled away from the tavern, “this man belonged to my old partner, Cap’n Steele, an’ stuck to his ship ’til she went down. Also he’s put himself out to come here an’ tell us the news, and it ain’t every sailor as’ll take the trouble to do such a job. Therefore, Ned Britton bein’ at present without a ship, I’ve asked him to take a berth aboard the ‘Flipper.’”

“That was kind of you, Uncle,” I said, pleased at this evidence of my relative’s kindly nature.

“An honest sailor ain’t to be sneezed at,” continued Uncle Naboth, with one of his quaint winks. “If Ned Britton were faithful to the ‘Saracen’ he’ll be faithful to the ‘Flipper.’ An’ that’s the sort o’ man we want.”

Britton doubtless overheard every word of this eulogy, but he gazed stolidly ahead and paid no attention to my uncle’s words of praise.