Frank Merriwells Cruise | Page 8

I shall do with her as I see fit. At nine o'clock she sails."
The fellow hesitated, and then snapped out:
"Oh, I can prove to you that I am not lying. I will prove it. Here is the
bill--see for yourself."
He took a number of papers from his pocket, and selected one among
them, which he opened and held before Frank. Merriwell looked the
document over carefully. It was a bill of sale of the yacht White Wings
from Fergus Fearson to Parker Flynn.
"Is your name Parker Flynn?" asked Frank.
"It is."
"And you bought the yacht of Fearson?"
"You bet!" nodded the claimant, triumphantly. "I rather think this
document settles it."
"It does," nodded Frank, quietly. Then he turned to the truckman, and
asked:
"When was Mr. Fearson committed to the asylum?"
"The latter part of May."
"And this bill is dated May 21st. The fellow must have been deranged
then."
"Oh, you can't make that go!" cried Flynn, quickly. "It's no use for you
to try to crawl out of a little hole like that."
"Why have you not claimed the yacht before? Holding this bill, why
didn't you claim it while it was in Benjamin's possession? Answer that

question!"
"I was away--out of the city," faltered Flynn.
"All the time?"
"Most of the time."
"Very well. Here is your bill. I advise you to destroy it without delay,
or it may get you into serious trouble."
"What?" cried the man, angrily. "Destroy it? I'll have that yacht. This
bill gives me the right to it."
"That bill gives you the right to nothing!" came clearly and distinctly
from Merriwell's lips. "Either you have been badly fooled or you are a
rascal trying to obtain property that you have not the slightest claim
upon. It looks as if the latter were the real condition of affairs. Fergus
Fearson is confined in a madhouse, and so he cannot deny that he ever
gave you a bill of sale of this yacht."
"Deny it? Here is his signature!"
"And that may be forgery! I tell you to be careful!"
"It is not forgery! It is genuine! Your bluff will not go, sir! The yacht is
mine, and I will have her."
"Even if the signature is genuine, the bill is not worth the paper it's
written on!" declared Merriwell, with the utmost coolness.
"More bluffing! You are crazy! Why isn't it good?"
"Because it is dated May 21st."
"What of that?"
"The date is exactly four days after John Benjamin purchased and paid
for this yacht, as I can prove by documents in existence. If Fergus

Fearson sold you the White Wings on May 21st, he sold you property
that did not belong to him. That's all, Mr. Flynn."
The claimant of the yacht turned pale and stared at the bill and then at
Frank, who was standing there so coolly before him.
On the deck of the yacht were three boys who had heard the most of the
conversation. Now Hodge exultantly exclaimed:
"That was a body blow! Merry has floored him!"
"That's right," nodded Diamond. "Frank has the best of it, but it did
seem that we were in a scrape."
Flynn gasped for breath.
"I don't believe it!" he cried. "The boat is mine, so don't dare cast off
from this pier."
"The White Wings sails at nine o'clock," said Frank, turning away.
Flynn's face, that had been so pale, flushed and turned purple with
anger. All at once, he lifted his walking stick to bring it down on
Merry's head.
A cry from the boys on the yacht warned Merriwell, who ducked and
dodged--just in time.
Whizz!--the cane cut through the air, but Merry was not touched.
Quick as thought, Frank turned and grappled with Parker Flynn. He
wrenched away the cane, and, with a quick motion, broke it across his
knee. Then, as he coolly tossed it into the water, he said:
"If you try any more funny business, sir, you'll follow your cane."
"Oh, I'll fix you!" Flynn almost screamed. "I'll get a warrant for you!
I'll be back in a hurry! Don't dare leave before I return!"

He dashed away on the run.
"I told you you would have bad luck," said the truckman. "It's begun."
"Oh, I don't know!" laughed Frank. "If Flynn paid money for the yacht,
he is the one in hard luck."
At nine o'clock the White Wings cast off from the pier. Her sails were
hoisted, and, aided by the out-running tide, she soon got away enough
to catch a breeze.
And Parker Flynn had not returned.
CHAPTER IV.
IN THE FOG.
"It's no use, fellows, we can't go any further in this fog to-night," said
Frank Merriwell on the fourth day after leaving Boston.
"We must go