Flood Tide | Page 9

was to be goin' up higher'n a kite every time, fur instance, that the seaweed ketches round the propeller of my motor-boat, I'd be in mid-air most of the time."
Willie raised his head with the alertness of a hunter on the scent.
"Seaweed?" he repeated vaguely.
Zenas Henry nodded.
"Ain't there no scheme fur doin' away with a nuisance like that?"
"I ain't discovered any," came dryly from Zenas Henry. "We've all had a whack at the thing--Captain Jonas, Captain Phineas, Captain Benjamin, an' me--an' we're back where we were at the beginnin'. Nothin' we've tried has worked."
"U--m!" ruminated Willie, stroking his chin.
"I've about come to the conclusion we ain't much good as mechanics, anyhow," went on Zenas Henry with a short laugh. "In fact, Abbie's of the mind that we get things out of order faster'n we put 'em in."
Janoah Eldridge rubbed his grimy hands and chuckled, but Willie deigned no reply.
"This propeller now," he presently began as if there had been no digression from the topic, "I s'pose the kelp gets tangled around the blades."
"That's it," assented Zenas Henry.
"An' that holds up your engine."
"Uh-huh," Zenas Henry agreed with the same bored inflection.
"An' that leaves you rockin' like a baby in a cradle 'til you can get the wheel free."
"Uh-huh."
There was a moment of silence.
"It can't be much of a stunt tossin' round in a choppy sea like as if you was a chip on the waves," commented Jan Eldridge with a commiserating grin.
"'Tain't."
"What do you do when you find yourself in a fix like that?" he inquired with interest.
"Do?" reiterated Zenas Henry. "What a question! What would any fool do? There ain't no choice left you but to hang head downwards over the stern of the boat an' claw the eel-grass off the wheel with a gaff."
Janoah burst into a derisive shout.
"Oh, my eye!" he exclaimed. "So that's the way you do it, eh? Don't talk to me of motor-boats! A good old-fashioned skiff with a leg-o'-mutton sail in her is good enough fur me. How 'bout you, Willie?"
No reply was forthcoming.
"I say, Willie," repeated Jan in a louder tone, "that these new fangled motor-boats, with their noise an' their smell, ain't no match fur a good clean dory."
Willie came out of his trance just in time to catch the final clause of the sentence.
"Who ever saw a clean dory in Wilton?"
Jan faltered, abashed.
"Well, anyhow," he persisted, "in my opinion, clean or not, a straight wholesome smell of cod ain't to be mentioned in the same breath with a mix-up of stale fish an' gasoline."
Zenas Henry bridled.
"You don't buy a motor-boat to smell of," he said tartly. "You seem to forget it's to sail in."
"But if the eel-grass holds you hard an' fast in one spot most of the time I don't see's you do much sailin'," taunted Jan. "'Pears to me you're just adrift an' goin' nowheres a good part of the time."
"No, I ain't" snapped Zenas Henry with rising ire. "It's only sometimes the thing gets spleeny. Most always--"
"Then it warn't you I saw pitchin' in the channel fur a couple of hours yesterday afternoon," commented the tormentor.
"No. That is--let me think a minute," meditated Zenas Henry. "Yes, I guess it was me, after all," he admitted with reluctant honesty. "The tide brought in quite a batch of weeds, an' they washed up round the boat before I could get out of their way; quicker'n a wink we were neatly snarled up in 'em. Captain Jonas an' Captain Phineas tried to get clear, but somehow they ain't got much knack fur freein' the wheel. So we did linger in the channel a spell."
"Linger!" put in Willie. "I shouldn't call bobbin' up an' down in one spot fur two mortal hours lingerin'. I'd call it nearer bein' hypnotized."
Zenas Henry was now plainly out of temper. He was well aware that Wilton had scant sympathy with his motor-boat, the first innovation of the sort that had been perpetrated in the town.
"Hadn't you better turn your attention from motor-boats to pumps?" he asked testily.
"I reckon I had, Zenas Henry," Willie answered, unruffled by the thrust. "As you say, if you chose to wind yourself up in the eel-grass it's none of my affair."
Turning his back on his visitor, he bent once more over the pump and adjusted a leather washer between its rusty joints.
"Now let's give her a try, Jan," he said, as he tightened the screws. "If that don't fetch her I'm beat."
By this time Jan's faith had lessened, and although he obediently raised the iron handle and began to ply it up and down, it was obvious that he did not anticipate success. But contrary to his expectations there was a sudden subterranean groan, followed by a rumble of gradually rising pitch; then from out the stubbed green spout a stream