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"Never mind him," said Sprague, "two of you hustle down and push off the boat, it will take us three trips to get the tent and everything on board." It was a small one, and they had nothing in it except their blankets and some cushions and pillows from the yacht. The Chief, still muttering and complaining, was sent out on the first trip, with Jimmy Toppan and Ed Mason.
An interesting chapter in Miss Winslow's book, "Concerning Cats," is called "Concerning Cat Artists," in which she writes: "Elizabeth Bonsall is a young American artist who has exhibited some good cat pictures, and whose work promises to make her famous some day if she does not 'weary in well-doing." <b>BONSALL, MARY M.</b> First Toppan prize at Pennsylvania Academy of Fine Arts.
Pope himself told me at the Coca Tree No; I don't believe Mr. Pope would know the mate of a gang of smugglers, do you?" Jimmy Toppan and I assured him that the only Mr. Pope we knew was librarian of the Sunday School at home, and that if he knew any smugglers he had kept it a secret. Ed Mason had got rid of his pebble, and he now joined us again. "Are you ready, men?" "Ay, ay, heave ahead!"
Daddles cut a large slice in evident delight. Gregory ate it, slowly and thoughtfully. "Have some more?" The Gauger held out his plate. "Jes' mejum," said he. After breakfast, we of the "Hoppergrass" held a council. "The Captain will come back to Bailey's Harbor," said Jimmy Toppan, "but we can't go there at all. We'll have to go somewhere else, and send a message to him."
So I suppose I'll have to find it. Will it go out to sea?" "It can't," said the Captain, "not till the tide turns. We'll overtake it 'fore long, you see if we don't." Sure enough, we did overtake it. We had hardly passed the point of land when Jimmy Toppan, who spent most of his time standing in the bow, peering ahead like Leif Ericsson discovering Vinland, sang out that he had sighted the canoe.
No one on the "Hoppergrass" was as much interested in this as the Captain and I. So while we talked with the boy, Ed Mason and Jimmy Toppan walked up town to get some supplies, while Mr. Daddles or Billy Hendricks, rather and the two Kidds went to see Mr. Kidd at his office. We had invited all three of them to come with us and finish the week on the "Hoppergrass."
Well, I thought his father must be plumb foolish, or something, but I didn't like to say so to HIM. Seems too bad to waste them gilt letters, or I'd a-had another name on her 'fore this. I wanted to use as many of them letters as I could, an' I thought of callin' her for my aunt, over at Greenland." "What is your aunt's name?" inquired Jimmy Toppan. "Hannah J. Pettingell."
And all the time he smiled; smiled when he went charging through the blue line, smiled when he took Toppan on his shoulder and hurled him over the mix-up for six yards, smiled when we pulled him out of a pile-up looking like a badly butchered beef, and still smiled when we trotted of the field in a chaos of sound. But that smile wasn't pretty.
Daddles. "Wet," said Ed Mason. "Hungry," I added. "Tired," said Jimmy. "With no money," remarked Mr. Daddles. "And nothing that we could do with it, if we had it," Jimmy Toppan gloomily reflected, shoving his hands deep into his trousers pockets. "And it's ten o'clock," I suggested. "Eleven," said Jimmy. "Twelve," thought Ed Mason. "Our case is desperate," said Mr.
"I know," said Jimmy Toppan, "he's going to hurry off and put it in the bank, before Ike Flanders tries to get it away from him." "No," said Mr. Daddles, "he's going to bury it in his garden." "First," remarked Ed Mason, "he'll take it into the house and test it with acid, to see if it's genuine." "He thinks we're a gang of bunco men," Mr. Daddles reflected.
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