The Wilderness Castaways. Dillon Wallace
man,” Ainsworth hastened to explain. “I see your position, and I’d have done the same under the circumstances, but it’s a pity nevertheless that we have to put up with him.”
“Yes, it is a pity,” agreed Remington. “That boy has no sense of responsibility. Never keeps an appointment or a promise. I never saw any one quite so lacking in consideration of others—selfish—selfish—that’s the word.”
“Why did his father ever let him grow into such a cad, anyway? What he needs is a good sound thrashing every day for a month. That would cure him.”
“Fact is, I don’t think Densmore ever knew much about him until recently. Too many irons in the fire to give much thought to his family. This steamship company’s his pet scheme just now, but he’s the head of half a dozen other big things, and even when he’s home his mind is all taken up with business. He left the boy’s training to the mother, and it’s the old story of an only child. She’s coddled and indulged and pampered him till she’s spoiled him. He failed in the final tests at school this year—he attends a select boys’ school uptown somewhere—and the head master wrote Densmore that there was no use sending him back unless he took more interest in the work, adding something to the effect that he seemed strangely void of ambition, never obeyed rules unless convenient, and was a disturbing element in the school. I think that brought Densmore to his senses about his son’s condition.”
“And he shoved the boy off on us for the summer,” said Ainsworth ill-naturedly.
“Oh, no, not for the purpose of getting rid of him,” Remington hastened to explain. “Densmore’s all right. He wouldn’t intentionally cause us inconvenience. He had two reasons for asking me to bring him. He learned Paul was addicted to cigarettes, and he wanted to get him away somewhere where cigarettes aren’t to be had. He thought, too, that good, wholesome exercise in the open, and a complete change of environment, might give him a new view of life and awaken his ambition. The boy’s mother has never permitted him to take part in what she calls rough games—baseball, football and real boys’ sports—and she’d never let him go camping with other fellows, though he’s begged to go. Afraid he’d get hurt. It took a lot of argument on Densmore’s part to get her permission to let him come with us.”
“One of those young hopefuls, isn’t he, that thinks his father is rich and there’s no use of his ever doing anything but spend money?” suggested Ainsworth. “From the little I’ve seen of him, he’ll spend it, all right, too.”
At that moment the boat hove alongside, and a tall, sallow-faced lad, perhaps seventeen years of age, a cigarette hanging at the corner of his mouth, tossed a bill to the boatman, languidly rose to his feet, caught the rope ladder lying over the ship’s side, and with difficulty climbed to the deck.
“Glad to see you, Paul,” greeted Remington. “We were getting a bit worried about you. You’re late.”
“Oh, I didn’t think there was any rush,” said Paul indifferently. “Stopped for luncheon at the hotel. Horrible stuff they serve there. It really isn’t fit to eat.”
“I’m afraid your appetite isn’t very good, Paul,” suggested Remington. “Wait till you get your lungs full of salt air, and rough it a bit; you’ll think anything is good then.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Paul remarked indifferently, as he lounged back upon a chair, drew a fresh cigarette from a silver case, lighted it, flicked some ashes from his white flannel trousers and casually surveyed the deck. “What a rum old ship this is!” he continued. “I thought we were going to have a comfortable yacht.”
“The North Star isn’t much to look at,” admitted Remington, “but she’s the best sort of a ship for our trip. No ordinary yacht would do. We’re going to rough it good and plenty, you know.”
“That so? What kind of roughing it?”
“Hunting, fishing, camping, and that sort of thing. I hope we’ll have some good bear hunting before we get back.”
“Bear hunting!” Paul was interested at once. “What kind of bears shall we run across? Grizzlies?”
“No,” laughed Remington, “Polar bears.”
“Polar bear hunting! Cricky, but that’ll be great!” Paul sat up excitedly. “Where’re we going, Mr. Remington? I didn’t pay much attention to what Father said about it. I thought it was just an ordinary yachting trip.”
“You didn’t seem to have much interest in it, coming over on the train,” said Remington, and as he explained the region, the prospective hunting and fishing, and the adventure, Paul forgot his cigarette.
“That’s just the kind of trip I’ve wanted to take all my life,” he exclaimed. “May I shoot too?”
“Yes, I’ve a rifle and a shotgun among my things for you.”
“May I see them? I’ve always been just crazy for a gun!”
“Wait a moment.”
Remington went below and presently returned with a modern high-power rifle and a beautiful double-barreled shotgun. Paul’s eyes sparkled with delight and he listened with close attention while Remington explained their manipulation, with due caution as to their handling. Then he exclaimed:
“Good old Dad! He is a good scout to let me come with you! Ever so many thanks, Mr. Remington. Where are the cartridges?”
“They’re with mine. I’ll get them for you when you need them. You may as well take the guns down to your stateroom, though, when you go.”
“I guess I’ll go now, and unpack my things.”
“Very well. The steward will show you your room. You’ll find everything there. Abner,” turning to a bareheaded young sailor clad in blue flannel shirt, with sleeves rolled up, and trousers tucked into the tops of high sealskin boots, who was standing near the companionway, “this is Master Densmore. Will you show him to his room? Abner is the steward, Paul.”
“Yes, sir; this way, sir,” answered Abner, respectfully.
“He seems interested,” remarked Ainsworth when Paul had gone below. “I’m inclined to think he’s a pretty good fellow at heart after all. Just spoiled.”
“That’s so,” agreed Remington.
A moment later Paul reappeared from the companionway, and asked:
“Where are my trunks, Mr. Remington? The steward took me to a room he insists is mine, but my trunks aren’t there; just some canvas bags. Guess he’s trying to put me in the wrong room.”
“I left your trunks ashore, Paul.”
“Ashore! Why, all my things are in them! I can’t go without them! I’ve no clothes with me!”
“The canvas bags contain all the clothes you’ll need. Look through them and see what you think of the outfit. Your father selected them.”
“But my cigarettes! I packed them in one of the trunks!”
“I’m afraid you’ll have to do without them. You’ll find you can shoot straighter if you don’t smoke. Cigarettes knock a fellow’s nerves all out, you know.”
“This is rum!” exclaimed the angry lad. “No cigarettes! Well, I’ll go down and see the stuff.”
“You’d better put on one of the warm suits you’ll find in your bags, Paul,” suggested Remington. “We’re getting out to sea, and it’ll be chilly on deck.”
Paul vouchsafed no reply, but he profited by the advice, and donned a complete new outfit of clothing suited to his surroundings.
“Look like a dago laborer, don’t I?” he asked Remington, whom he met at his stateroom door half an hour later.
“You