The Rudder Grangers Abroad

THE RUDDER GRANGERS ABROAD AND OTHER STORIES

BY
FRANK R. STOCKTON
1891, 1894

CONTENTS.
I. EUPHEMIA AMONG THE PELICANS
II. THE RUDDER GRANGERS IN ENGLAND
III. POMONA'S DAUGHTER
IV. DERELICT
V. THE BAKER OF BARNBURY
VI. THE WATER-DEVIL

EUPHEMIA AMONG THE PELICANS.
The sun shone warm and soft, as it shines in winter time in the
semi-tropics. The wind blew strong, as it blows whenever and wherever
it listeth. Seven pelicans labored slowly through the air. A flock of
ducks rose from the surface of the river. A school of mullet, disturbed
by a shark, or some other unscrupulous pursuer, sprang suddenly out of
the water just before us, and fell into it again like the splashing of a
sudden shower.

I lay upon the roof of the cabin of a little yacht. Euphemia stood below,
her feet upon the mess-chest, and her elbows resting on the edge of the
cabin roof. A sudden squall would have unshipped her; still, if one
would be happy, there are risks that must be assumed. At the open
entrance of the cabin, busily writing on a hanging-shelf that served as a
table, sat a Paying Teller. On the high box which during most of the
day covered our stove was a little lady, writing in a note-book. On the
forward deck, at the foot of the mast, sat a young man in a state of
placidness. His feet stuck out on the bowsprit, while his mildly
contemplative eyes went forth unto the roundabout.
At the tiller stood our guide and boatman, his sombre eye steady on the
south-by-east. Around the horizon of his countenance there spread a
dark and six-days' beard, like a slowly rising thunder-cloud; ever and
anon there was a gleam of white teeth, like a bright break in the sky,
but it meant nothing. During all our trip, the sun never shone in that
face. It never stormed, but it was always cloudy. But he was the best
boatman on those waters, and when he stood at the helm we knew we
sailed secure. We wanted a man familiar with storms and squalls, and if
this familiarity had developed into facial sympathy, it mattered not. We
could attend to our own sunshine. At his feet sat humbly his boy of
twelve, whom we called "the crew." He was making fancy knots in a
bit of rope. This and the occupation of growing up were the only labors
in which he willingly engaged.
Euphemia and I had left Rudder Grange, to spend a month or two in
Florida, and we were now on a little sloop-yacht on the bright waters of
the Indian River. It must not be supposed that, because we had a Paying
Teller with us, we had set up a floating bank. With this Paying Teller,
from a distant State, we had made acquaintance on our first entrance
into Florida. He was travelling in what Euphemia called "a group,"
which consisted of his wife,--the little lady with the note-book,--the
contemplative young man on the forward deck, and himself.
This Paying Teller had worked so hard and so rapidly at his business
for several years, and had paid out so much of his health and strength,
that it was necessary for him to receive large deposits of these

essentials before he could go to work again. But the peculiar habits of
his profession never left him. He was continually paying out something.
If you presented a conversational check to him in the way of a remark,
he would, figuratively speaking, immediately jump to his little window
and proceed to cash it, sometimes astonishing you by the amount of
small change he would spread out before you.
When he heard of our intention to cruise on Indian River he wished to
join his group to our party, and as he was a good fellow we were glad
to have him do so. His wife had been, or was still, a schoolteacher. Her
bright and cheerful face glistened with information.
The contemplative young man was a distant connection of the Teller,
and his first name being Quincy, was commonly called Quee. If he had
wanted to know any of the many things the little teacher wished to tell
he would have been a happy youth; but his contemplation seldom
crystallized into a knowledge of what he did want to know.
"And how can I," she once said to Euphemia and myself, "be expected
ever to offer him any light when he can never bring himself to actually
roll up a question?"
This was said while I was rolling a cigarette.
The group was greatly given to writing in journals, and making
estimates. Euphemia and I did little of this, as it was our holiday, but it
was often pleasant to