Capwell Wyckoff - The Mercer Boys' Cruise in the Lassie (Capwell Wyckoff) (Literary Thoughts Edition)

He broke off as Jim waved to the driver, and the driver waved back and brought his bounding car to a halt beside them. Don gasped.

“Why ‘Chucklehead’ Mackson!” he cried, while Jim grinned.

Terry Mackson, known as chucklehead, from his habit of bobbing his auburn head when laughing, ignored him completely. He carefully adjusted one soiled glove on his hand and asked Jim gravely: “Pardon me, old fellow, but could you by any chance direct me to the residence of the Mercers?”

“I think I could, if you give me time enough to think,” Jim grinned.

“Then please do so, without unnecessary loss of time,” Terry drawled. That was as far as he got. With a whoop the Mercer brothers piled into the car and thumped him on the back.

Terry Mackson had gone to grammar school with the boys, but had moved to a distant town, where he had worked hard on a farm for his old father. The boys had always admired him for his cheerful kindliness and respected him for his fine self-sacrificing nature. He had worked without complaint for a mean old father, who had even begrudged him his brief time in grammar school. Recently his father had died, and Terry had been living somewhat more happily with his mother and one sister.

When Terry was out of breath, and the old car had jounced dangerously, the boys stopped to catch their breath.

“How in the world did you get here?” Don asked.

“Jim wrote me to come down for a summer cruise,” Terry explained, as he started his car. “Didn’t you know it?”

“He didn’t know a thing about it,” Jim declared, sinking into the back seat. “We were looking for someone to take on our cruise with us, and I heard from Bill Bennet that you were living in Berrymore, so I didn’t say a thing to Don, but wrote to you. Thought I’d put one over on him.”

“And you certainly did that,” Don nodded. “But that’s OK. I’d rather it be Terry than anyone else.”

“Many thanks,” the newcomer murmured.

“How is everything at home?” Jim asked.

“Very well, thanks. We’re getting in nice shape. Mother said it was high time I had a vacation, when I read her your letter. Oh, I beg your pardon!”

“What’s the matter?” both boys asked.

“I’ve been guilty of a grave social error. I want you to meet my trusted chariot, my car. Boys, this is my intimate friend ‘Jumpiter.’”

To make it seem real, he drove the car over a bump, and the car bounced like a thing alive. Both boys acknowledged the introduction gravely.

“Happy to meet you, Jumpiter,” Don said.

“Me too,” Jim added. Terry made it rattle furiously, and vigorously wiped the imaginary windshield.

Mrs. Mercer made Terry feel right at home, and then the boys took him down to see the Lassie. To Terry it was quite a treat, for his life had been spent in working hard, far from any of the pleasures of life. He was delighted with the trim little ship, and the boys led him down the companionway.

Inside, there was plenty of room to move around without being cramped. There were four bunks built along the side of the hull, a tiny sink with running water, a refrigerator, a small stove and two compact closets for knives and forks and linen. Toward the bow it became narrow, and before the mast a small storage room took up the waste space. The engine was in the stern, under the steps that led down into the cabin. The center of the cabin was taken up with the centerboard, which the boys told Terry was an extra keel weighing two hundred and fifty pounds.

“That’s in addition to the regular keel,” Don explained. “There is about two tons of lead in the keel, but it isn’t enough when the canvas is spread. When we’re sailing under full sail, without reefs, we have to let the centerboard down. The 250 pounds makes just enough weight to balance the weight of the sails and keeps us from capsizing. When we come up the creek, or when we are using motor power, we don’t use the centerboard.”

The boys spent the rest of the afternoon running down to the village and getting supplies. Terry insisted on using his car for the work, so they bought food from the grocery stores and loaded several gallons of gasoline. With Terry’s car they were able to run right down to the sloop and carry the supplies aboard.

“There!” exclaimed Jim, finally. “We’re all set to go.”

The boys went up to supper, where Terry saw Mr. Mercer again. While they were eating they discussed plans and Mr. Mercer gave them a word of warning.

“There has been quite a little trouble lately with a gang of marine bandits,” the lumber man said. “They’ve been working up and down the coast, robbing boats and boathouses, and no one has been able to catch them. They steal all kinds of ship materials that they can lay their hands on. People think they store it all somewhere and then go down to Boston or other seaports where they sell it to dishonest ship chandlers. Nowadays a good many people are going in for sailing, and the ship chandlers have quite a business. I suppose people buy things where they can get them cheapest, and so there is quite a trade in it. I want you boys to keep your eyes wide open.”

“We certainly will,” Jim said. “You mean that they may try to take things off the Lassie?”

“Yes, you’ll have to be careful.”

“I’d like to run those fellows down,” Don declared.

After supper they went down to close up the sloop. The sails were tied down firmly and the portholes closed. After making an inspection Don pulled the top of the companionway closed, and snapped the lock.

“There,” he said, with satisfaction. “I don’t think anybody will get aboard the Lassie tonight. Nor any other night, if we can help it.”

After they had locked up the sloop the boys took Terry around town, showing him the sights, and then they returned to the house, where they pored over a map of the Atlantic coast. Since they would naturally keep inshore in a boat as small as the sloop was, the boys paid particular attention to channel markings. Then, bidding the family good night, they left the house and went down the yard to the little shack that the boys always slept in.

A few years ago, during one of their summer vacations, the boys had built a small two-room house at the end of the yard, near the boathouse and the dock. There was plenty of room for all of them in the house, but they had thought that when they had company during the summer it would be a little more convenient for their mother if they had a small place of their own down in the yard; so their parents had allowed them to build the bungalow. Whenever company came they took them to the cottage and they slept there, going to the main house for their meals. The arrangement had been handy in many ways, and had taught the boys to be self-reliant, as they had to keep things clean and attend to their own beds and the daily airing of their blankets. Just outside their cottage they had built a workbench, with a tool shed at the end of it, and on clear days they worked out there, making small things for the house and their boats. Jim had made the stand for the ship’s clock and other small pieces.

It was to this cottage that they now took Terry, and he was delighted with the cozy little place. The boys had wired it for electric lights, and on a back porch, protected from intrusion by lattice work, they had installed a shower bath and a small sink. The front room of the cottage was taken up with a table, some chairs, lockers, and a few boxes, and the walls were covered with pictures of boats and the teams at school. It was a typical boy’s room. The back room was given over to sleeping, and three cots occupied most of the floor space. In the glow of a ship’s lantern, now made over into an electric lamp, the boys undressed and prepared for bed.