Dan Merrithew | Page 6

a good time, all by yourself?" growled Dan.
"Naw, this is fur me little sister," said the girl bravely, if a little
contemptuously. A great lump came into Dan's throat, and feeling
somewhat weak and ashamed, he left the shop. Elemental sensations
which he could not define thrilled him, and the spirit of Christmas, now
entirely unsatisfied, rested on his soul like an incubus. He began to feel
outside of everything--as though the season had come for every one but
him.
Near Pike Street a little group of the Salvation Army stood on the curb.
One of them was a fat, uncomely woman, and she was singing,
accompanying herself upon a guitar. The music was that of a popular
ballad, and the verses were of rude manufacture.
There were perhaps half a dozen listeners scattered about the sidewalk
at a distance sufficient to prevent possible scoffers from including them
in the service. Two of them were rough workmen, and they stood in the
middle of the sidewalk staring vacantly ahead, trying to look oblivious.
Two longshoremen sat on the curb ten feet away, and a man and a
woman leaned against the door of a near-by warehouse. When the song
was finished the two workmen hurriedly approached and threw nickels
on the face of the big bass drum lying flat on the street, retreating
hastily, as though ashamed; the woman did likewise, and one of the
longshoremen.
"Buying salvation," grinned Dan, as he walked on up the street. But the
pleasantry made inadequate appeal. Every one was getting more out of
the season than he was. Once he drew a dollar from his pocket and

started back. But no. What was a dollar to him? He knew where there
were more. That wasn't it. He put the money in his pocket and walked
on.
Dan's mental processes leading to a determination to help Captain
Barney were too clouded for clear interpretation, but he knew there was
no more uncertainty in his mind after he had sought the Captain out and
offered to put him on board the Kentigern.
Hodges fairly wept his gratitude. "Dan, Dan, you say you can put me
aboard the Kentigern! You'll save my business if you do. I don't care
about the towing part, because if I can get aboard and pilot her in, I can
hand the towing over to those who'll take care of me. Dan, you're a
good boy. How'll you do it?"
"No time to tell now," said Dan. "Meet me at Pier 3 in an hour."
"Say," cried Captain Barney, as Dan hurried away; "how much'll it be?
Not too much--"
Dan stopped short.
"Nothing!" he roared. "It's--it's a Christmas present."
CHAPTER III
A FIGHT IN THE DARK
The short gray December twilight was creeping over the bay as Dan
pulled out from the Battery basin in a boat which he kept there for
recreative jaunts about the harbor. Hard pulling and cold it was, but the
boatman bent his back and shot up the East River with the strength of
the young giant he was. He could see Captain Barney, muffled to the
ears, stamping impatiently about on the end of the designated pier.
Without a word he swung his boat in such a position that the Captain
could drop into it.
Barney was delighted, so far forgetting himself, indeed, as to attempt to

establish cordial understanding.
"Hello, my boy," he said genially, "we're a-goin' to fix 'em!" Then
noting a blank expression on Dan's face, his jaws closed with a click
and he lowered himself from the pier and into the boat without further
words, while Dan shoved out into the river and started for the pier
above, where Captain Jim Skelly's tug, the John Quinn, was lying. She
had steam up and was all ready for her journey to meet the Kentigern.
That vessel had been reported east of Fire Island and would be well
across the bar by eight o'clock. She would anchor on the bar for the
night, and it was there that Captain Jim Skelly meant to board her in
order to forestall any possible scheme that wily Captain Barney might
devise to gain the bridge of the freighter.
As Dan paddled noiselessly around the other side of the pier, they
could see the pipe lights of the Quinn's crew. Finally the rowboat
turned straight under the pier, threading its way among the greasy green
piles. Reaching under the seat, Dan drew out a stout inch line.
"When I back in on the Quinn," he whispered, "make that line fast to
the rudder post. We'll let her tow us to the Kentigern."
"What!" hissed Captain Barney, and his face turned pale. But it was
only for a second, after which he chuckled.
Slowly, gently, quietly, the rowboat