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Scotty pointed to the roof of the mansion. "Must be a ham radio operator there. Look at that hay rake." Both Rick and Steve had the same thoughts as they stared at the tall antenna, with its cluster of small rods joining a single main bar at right angles on top of the pole.
An' honly last night 'e was in his cookhouse with some blighter by the name of Grant when the shells came along, and this fellow must have 'ad a streak of yellow for he promised to 'elp Scotty with the meal, but bolted like a bullet at the first shell." "How did he come to be down here?" I asked. "Wy, he got relieved." "Where is he now?" "Hover in the dugout."
The hope was groundless. "We'll have to shoot," Shearer reluctantly decided. The men were withdrawn. Scotty Parsons cut a sapling twelve feet long, and trimmed it. Big Junko thawed his dynamite at a little fire, opening the ends of the packages in order that the steam generated might escape. Otherwise the pressure inside the oiled paper of the package was capable of exploding the whole affair.
The design was ideal for the shallow, choppy waters of the bay, and the boats could take a heavy bay storm with greater comfort and safety than most deep-water models. As they came closer both boys looked for the boat's occupant, but there was no one in sight. Worried, Scotty held top speed until they were nearly alongside, then he throttled down and put his gunwale next to that of the crab boat.
Scotty Briggs, as a pall-bearer and a mourner, occupied a prominent place at the funeral, and when the sermon was finished and the last sentence of the prayer for the dead man's soul ascended, he responded, in a low voice, but with feelings: "AMEN. No Irish need apply."
Scotty swung around the northern tip of land that marked the mouth of the Little Choptank. "We won't make it," he said, glancing at the chart. Rick nodded. "But the wind will be behind us. We can drive right into the mouth of the nearest creek. According to the chart, there's a cove just inside the mouth where we ought to be out of the wind."
Down in the depths of his consciousness, Scotty was glad this frontier youth had seen fit to come to town. Taking off his big glasses he polished them industriously. "Won't you sit down?" he invited the new-comer. Sidwell moved toward the door. "No, thank you. With your permission I'll go inside. I presume Miss Baker " But the Englishman was ahead of him. "Yes," he said, "she's at home.
He could only guess that the thief himself was coming back, and he grew colder at the thought. Perhaps Youssef had decided not to wait to soften Rick up. On the other hand, there was a remote possibility he had the cat. If he was a thief with honor, he might simply be coming to take them back. The idea seemed unlikely. Scotty wouldn't give up the cat, except in exchange for the two of them.
Opinion was about evenly divided. A few declared that Tom had something up his sleeve, and there would be a killing yet. Others insisted that Tom knew when he was backed into a corner. Old Scotty Douglas had him dead to rights, they said, and Tom knew better than to run on the rope. Men and women assumed the gift of prophecy, and all prophesied alike.
Cameron flushed a deep red, then turned pale, but kept silent. "I believe you, my boy," said Mack with emphasis and facing sharply upon Perkins, "and if ever I do a big throw I will owe it to you." "Oh, come off!" said Perkins, again laughing scornfully. "There are others that know the swing besides Scotty here. What you have got you owe to no one but yourself, Mack."
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