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The man in oilskins called out: "Hey! You-all in thar!" Instantly one of the three rascals came forth from the hut. "Hello, Durgan!" he called, not at all loudly, through his cupped hands. "What's the news?" "Beat it!" was Durgan's warning answer. "Thar's a campin' party on th' island below here -I seen 'em 'bout ten minutes ago -old Cap'n Lem Vinton, an Injun, an' four or five boys."
Miss Durgan of the Post Office was at the window as usual, and saw the hen that had caught the unhappy child, in violent flight up the street with its victim, closely pursued by two others. You know that swinging stride of the emancipated athletic latter-day pullet! You know the keen insistence of the hungry hen!
Off the main flood lie creeks where the oaks dip their branches in the high tides, where the stars are glassed all night long without a ripple, and where you may spend whole days with no company but herons and sandpipers: Helford River, Helford River, Blessed may you be! We sailed up Helford River By Durgan from the sea. . . .
At least, not just now." He lay down on the bunk, heaving a sigh of weariness. Hearing the sigh, Joe Durgan glanced up. "If you'll behave like a good lad an' not try to run away," he said, grinning, "I'll untie your hands, and you kin be more comf'table-like. What say?"
"What are you-all doin' thar, youngster?" said a voice in the darkness, a deep voice which Hugh recognized as Durgan's. "Trying to get out, of course," he replied defiantly, every nerve in his young body tingling with excitement. "What did you expect me to do, Durgan?" "Eh? Oh, nothin'. Thought you might ha' gone to sleep like a good little boy."
But you go ahead with your newspaper business. I'll do what a man can here. And if you come across that right-of-way agent, I wish you'd make it a case of assault and battery and get him locked up. I'm leery about him." Kent went his way dubiously reflective. In the moment of triumph, when Durgan had announced the success of the bold change in the programme, he had made light of Hawk's escape.
The only furniture in the dwelling consisted of a fine old mahogany table -sadly out of place -three cheap wooden chairs, a cupboard against one wall, and a rude bunk beside it covered with deer-skins. From the cupboard Durgan brought forth a tallow candle set upright on a broken saucer. Lighting this, he placed it on the table. "Sit o'er thar," he said to Hugh, pointing to the bunk.
It befell, also, that it was the day chosen by two other men, not members of the labor unions, in which to call upon the ex-manager; and Loring found M'Tosh, the train-master, and Durgan, the master-mechanic, waiting for him in the hotel corridor when he came in from a late luncheon at the Camelot Club. "Can you give us a few minutes, Mr.
"Lem Vinton, eh? All right, Joe, we're going. Can you tow us around Spider Key?" "Nope. I'm goin' home now," Joe Durgan replied tersely, with the abruptness of one who has done an irksome duty and would avoid further responsibility for the present. Suiting actions to words, he quickened his engine and made off toward the Florida shore.
"They doo say," said old Durgan, the landlord, who had maintained a respectful silence during the technical conversation, "as there's no less than three p'licemen from 'Azelworth on dewty every night in the house 'count of this Lady Aveling 'n her jewellery. One'm won fower-and-six last night, off second footman tossin'."
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