The Eight-Oared Victors/Chapter 10
CHAPTER X
THE GAY HANDKERCHIEF
"Who are you—what you do here?"
The question was snapped out at Tom and Ruth as they stood near the shack. A man had come to an abrupt halt as he emerged from the bushes and faced them; something of fear, Tom thought, mingled with anger showing on his face. It was this man whom they had heard approaching, a man clad in ordinary garments, yet with an indefinable foreign air about him—an air that was accentuated by his words and inflection. He was dark of skin, swarthy, and when he smiled, which he did a moment after his rather harsh words of greeting, his very white teeth showed beneath a small black moustache. A Spaniard Tom put him down for, or a Mexican. The latter guess proved correct, as the lad learned afterward.
"You come here to—to—pardon, senor, I am forgetting my manners," went on the fellow with a bow, and a sharp glance at Ruth. "You are here perhaps to look at cottages—you and your charming bride."
Ruth drew in her breath sharply, and a rosy glow suffused her face. She did not look at Tom, who chuckled audibly.
"I—I'll never speak to you if you do that again," said the girl, in a low voice.
"Do what?" asked Tom, innocently enough.
"Laugh at—at what he said," and she still blushed, and refused to look up.
"Pardon, senor," went on the man. "No offense, but"
"That's all right," said Tom easily, master of himself now, but wondering much who the man might be. "We were just looking around. Some friends of ours have a cottage here—the Tylers"
"Oh, yes. Then you are very welcome. In fact you would be welcome anyhow, as this island is more or less of the public—what you say, I have not the very good English?" and he looked questioningly at them.
"Oh, you mean that it is open to the public."
"That is so, yes, senor, and senorita. You are intersted in my poor abode here—yes?"
"Oh, we were just looking around," explained Tom. "We did peep in. No harm, I hope."
"None at all, senor."
"I'm from Randall," the pitcher went on. "Miss Clinton is from Fairview."
"Oh, you are fellow students then?"
"Not exactly—say, rather—rivals," and Tom looked at Ruth and laughed. The blush had somewhat subsided.
"Ah, I comprehend. I am Rafello Mendez, at your service, senor."
"My name is Parsons," went on Tom. "Sorry I haven't a card," and he thought of the one he had picked up, which he had quickly thrust Into his pocket at the sound of approaching footsteps.
"I am what you call the take-care man around here," went on Mendez. "I am the take-care man of the cottages—not all—some."
"The 'take-care' man," murmured Tom. "It sounds like the bugaboo-man."
"Oh, he means the care-taker," exclaimed Ruth. "I understand. You look after the property while the cottagers are away; Isn't that it?" and she smiled at the man, who bowed low and answered:
"The senorlta has said it. I am the take-care man."
"But I thought old Jake Blasdell had that job," said Tom. "I know he used to be here. But I never knew he had this shack, though I haven't been much on this part of the Island."
"Senor Blasdell did was the take-care man," explained Mendez. "But he was took sick, and had to leave, and a friend got me the place. Me, I used to be of the sheep take-care in my country—Mexico, but I long for this country and I come. I do what you call a business on the edge."
"On the edge?" murmured Tom.
"Yes, senor, on the edge. Or maybe you say on the point. You see he is like this: I am the take-care man for the cottages in place of Senor Blasdell in Winter. In Summer I am the cut-the-grassman or the garden-man, what you like. Then, besides, in addition, on the edge I sell things in my store which it is unfortunately not open now, or I should show the senorita some pretty things. The store I do on the edge—or maybe on the point, I know not how you say," and he shrugged his shoulders expressively.
"Oh, he means on the side!" cried Ruth. "Don't you understand, Tom? He is a caretaker, and at odd times he sells things to the Summer cottagers."
"The senorita has said it," went on Mendez. "It Is on the side, not on the edge—pardon!"
"What do you sell?" asked Tom, curiously.
"Everything. Things from the country. Of a specialty I have the beautiful Mexican pushwork, senorita."
"Push-work, that's another new one," said Tom.
"I guess he means Mexican drawn-work," explained Ruth with a smile. "Some of it is very beautiful. He ought to do a good business here in the Summer."
"I should, if I had all customers like the senorita," said the man with a bow to Ruth, again showing his white teeth in an expansive smile. "I am covered with confusion that I can show her none now. But it is all put away. Perhaps, though, if you wait"
"No, we must be moving on!" interrupted Tom. "It is getting late. And so you live here all Winter?"
"Yes, senor. This little hut was part of the place where Senor Blasdell used to stay. It was donated to me. I moved it here when I succeeded Senor Blasdell, and added to it. It is very comfortable. I have been over to the main land for some supplies, and when I come back I see you. At first I am suspicious, for which I ask your pardon. You are always welcome, the senor and senorita," and again he bowed.
"Thanks, Mr. Mendez," said Tom, rather carelessly, for somehow he did not like the fellow. "We may see you this Summer. Some of us fellows may camp here."
"Then I shall be pleased to show you some fine Mexican leather work. Perhaps a lariat, spurs, bridles, and some fine silver work for the pretty senoritas, is it not?" and the fellow smiled genially.
"Good-bye!" called Tom. "Come along, Ruth. I'll have to hit up the oars going home or I'll have you so late that you'll get on the bad books of the Ogress."
"Oh, I'm there already," she replied, as she nodded to the Mexican, who bowed low in farewell. "All our crowd is, but we don't mind. Now, Tom, did you really mean what you said about going to camp on Crest Island this Summer?"
"I do, if I can get the other fellows to do it. I know they will, too, for we'll be near our rowing shells, and we can have the best kind of practice."
"Oh, is that the only reason you want to come here?" and she looked archly at him.
"Why, isn't that" he began and then a light dawned on him.
"I guess we wouldn't come if you girls weren't to be here," he added, quickly. "When I tell the fellows that, I know it will cinch matters. Oh, we'll come all right."
They reached their boat, embarked, and Tom was soon sculling away from the island.
"Queer chap—that Mendez," remarked the youth after a bit.
"Isn't he?" agreed Ruth.
"I didn't know those Mexicans were so thrifty," the rower went on. "Being a ' care-take' man and doing Mexican 'push-work' on the 'edge'. Pretty good; eh?"
"Yes," laughed Ruth. "I can see where we girls spend a great deal of our time this Summer."
"So can I," declared her companion, boldly. "With us fellows."
"Oh, you're not at all conceited; are you?"
"I didn't know it," went on Tom, tantalizlngly. "But say, do you know I didn't much like that fellow, for all his fine airs."
"Why not, pray? I thought him quite polite."
"He was—altogether too polite," murmured the lad, with a little more force than seemed necessary. "I don't like foreigners, anyhow."
"Well, I could forgive anyone, even a foreigner, if I could get back my brooch," sighed Ruth. "I don't know what I'm going to do about it."
"It is too bad," agreed Tom. "Now, Ruth, we won't say anything about what happened today, and if you promise not to tell, I'll whisper a secret."
"Oh, Tom, of course I won't tell—you know that!" and she looked reproachfully at him.
"Of course—I was only joking. Well, we four fellows are trying to do a little detective work, and recover the stolen jewelry."
"You are?"
"Yes, and if we do we may get back your brooch."
"Oh, I hope you do!" and she clapped her hands in spontaneous delight. "Do you think you will, Tom?"
"Hard to tell, Ruth. There aren't many clues to work on. At least there weren't until today"
"Oh, did you find some to-day, Tom? Tell me, I'm so fascinated with detective work! Did you really see some clue that escaped me? "
"Ahem! Detectives never talk about their cases, or tell about their clues!" he exclaimed, with exaggerated gravity.
"Tom Parsons!"
"Well, really, I don't know whether I did find a clue or not, Ruth. I'm going to think about it over night. If you can help me I won't hesitate to call on you."
"Will you, really, Tom? That's good of you. And now I'm afraid you'll have to row a little faster. It is getting quite late."
"All right," agreed the lad, as he bent to the oars. As he rowed his thoughts went to the card in his pocket and to the strands of silk from the gay handkerchief.
Fortunately Ruth was not so late that Miss Philock found fault. Tom proved himself a good rower, though after he had said good-bye he took the course easy on the way to Randall.
"Some sculling," he told himself, as he tied up the boat and, in the dusk of the late Spring evening, walked toward his room. "This ought to stand me in good stead for the eight. My muscles are hardening," and he felt of his biceps. He was in extraordinarily good training from his baseball work.
As he was about to enter the building where he and his chums had their rooms, he saw Boswell approaching. Tom's mind flashed to the card he had picked up at the shack.
"I wonder what he could have been doing there?" the tall pitcher mused. "If Mendez didn't have his store open and his stock ready for sale, how could Bossy have bought any? And, if he didn't go there to buy anything, why did he go at all? I give it up."
There was no time for further speculation just then, as the rich lad, with a nod, addressed Tom.
"Where were you?" he asked with an air of familiarity that Tom rather resented in a Freshman. "We had a fine row in the eight. I'm almost sure of bow, and Lighton may shift me to stroke, or number seven."
"Yes?" questioned Tom indifferently, yet resolving to make a brave struggle not to let this usurper put him out of his place in the boat.
"Sure thing. I'm coming on fine, and I've got a dandy scheme for keeping in trim this Summer."
"Yes?"
"Yes. Our folks are going to take a cottage on Crest Island, and"
"You are?" and Tom fairly exploded the words.
"Surest thing you know, though it's a beastly slow and unfashionable place. We usually go to the shore. We have one cottage there, and another in the White Mountains, but I persuaded dad to take one at Crest for the Summer, just so I could be near the water here and get familiar with the course we'll row next Fall. Nothing like knowing the course, old man, really."
"No, I suppose not," and Tom's mind was busy with many things. With Boswell on the island, matters might not be so pleasant as he had anticipated.
"That's right. I'm going to get a professional coach, too."
"You are?" Tom's voice was still indifferent, but Boswell did not notice it.
"Sure thing. When I go in for a thing I go in hard, and I'm going into this rowing game for keeps."
"Well, I hope we all do," and Tom tried to be pleasant as he turned away.
"See you later," murmured the Freshman, in a patronizing tone, and, as he turned aside he drew from his pocket a gaudy handkerchief. At the sight of it Tom stared, for it was the same pattern as the strip of silk found near the looted jewelry box. Tom stared at it intently as the rich lad flourished it.
"By Jove!" suddenly exclaimed Boswell, "I've got that torn handkerchief again," and he held it up, showing where a strip had evidently been ripped from it. "I've got two," he explained, "and this one got torn the other day. I thought I laid it aside, but, in my hurry, I must have grabbed it up."
"How—how'd you tear it?" asked Tom, when he could trust his voice.
"Oh, it caught on a nail down at the boathouse, and a piece was ripped off."
"Why—why couldn't you have it sewed on?" asked Tom.
"What? Carry a mended handkerchief? I guess not. Anyhow the piece fell in the water and floated away. Hope you'll be in the eight next time we practice, though I may get your place."
"Maybe," answered Tom, and he did not take the trouble to designate which clause the word modified.