Read Ebook: Peter Cotterell's Treasure by Holland Rupert Sargent Thomson Will Illustrator

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Ebook has 1564 lines and 58814 words, and 32 pages

Tom told him. "Wouldn't you like to come in and see my father?" he suggested.

"I must be getting back to the hotel," said Tuckerman. "You tell him my name, and say I'm Mr. Cotterell's nephew. You sign up to go, do you? And you'll try to get your two messmates? I'll see to the boat and grub and cooking outfit--and I think I can promise you a bit of adventure."

"If Father says yes, I sign," agreed Tom, smiling at the man's air of business. "And the more adventure there is, the better I'll like it, too. Things are sort of quiet here this summer."

Tuckerman held out his hand. He had a formal manner about him that amused Tom greatly. "See you at Lowe's Wharf at two o'clock tomorrow afternoon."

"Right," said Tom, shaking hands. "And I'll have the other two fellows there with me. They've always wanted to have a look at that island."

The tall, lank man turned, and shortly disappeared behind the big clump of lilac bushes at the corner of Wentworth Street. Tom, thoughtfully jingling a bunch of keys in his trouser pocket, chuckled as he considered the situation. In fifteen minutes this Mr. John Tuckerman, a total stranger, had persuaded him to camp out for a fortnight or so on Crusty Christopher's island. Tom could well believe that Mr. Tuckerman needed some companions who were used to the water and campcraft; he looked as if he might be a Professor and more knowing about history and such things than about how to reef a sail or hook a flounder.

Still grinning at this unusual happening, Tom went into the house, where in the sitting-room his father was reading, his mother sewing, and his sister Milly trimming a new straw hat. "I'm going camping on Cotterell's Island," he declared. "It's a sort of a secret, so you must all promise not to tell."

Milly looked up quickly. "On Cotterell's Island? If you step ashore there, somebody'll pitch you off."

"Oh no, they won't. I'm going with the owner."

Tom walked across to the fireplace, where he stood with his back to the hearth, as his father often did when he had an announcement to make. "Mr. Christopher Cotterell is dead," he said. "I received my invitation from his nephew, Mr. John Tuckerman."

Milly turned around, surprised. "What are you springing on us? Where did you meet this man?"

"Down at the gate to-night," said Tom calmly. "He wanted a likely young fellow to help him explore the house and the island he's inherited, and naturally he came to me."

"Yes, what Tom says is quite true," declared Mr. Hallett. "Mr. Tuckerman is the new owner. So he asked you to help him, did he?"

"He called himself a landlubber. I've an idea too that he doesn't want to stay on the island alone. I'm to get Ben and David, and we're to sail his boat for him and fish and cook and keep him company."

"Humph!" sniffed Milly. "That doesn't sound very exciting. You're to do the work while he loafs around."

"Oh, I don't know about that. He hinted that we might find something very interesting. He called it an adventure. And he let slip something about a mystery."

Milly put the hat down. She herself was very fond of camping and sailing and swimming, and although she pretended to be quite grown up she still yearned at times for her old tomboy ways. "I suppose he isn't going to be like Old Crusty--I mean Mr. Christopher Cotterell? He won't mind people coming out to see that queer old house."

"That's just what he does mind," said Tom. "He wants to keep the whole thing dark, for the present, at least. Why, if he didn't, all Barmouth would be going out there. Most of them never got nearer the place than to read the signs; and they'd all be crazy to go."

"Well, it seems to me," argued Milly, "if he's going to explore the house he ought to have someone out there who knows something about furnishings. I daresay there's lots of old silver and curtains and rugs and maybe chests of fine linen. Now of course a woman--well, it's only natural that a woman--you know what I mean, a woman could help a great deal in sorting such things out."

"When you say a woman," inquired Tom, "do you happen to be thinking of Miss Milly Hallett?"

Milly, in spite of her tan, flushed a fiery red. "You know perfectly well, Tom, that you've always said I was a great help on a camping party."

"So you are, Milly," Tom admitted loyally. "You cook better even than Dave does. But Mr. Tuckerman didn't say anything about bringing a girl along. I'm afraid he'd think that wouldn't be business-like."

"Tom's right, Milly dear," said Mrs. Hallett. "This is Mr. Tuckerman's affair, and it wouldn't be right to offer him any suggestions. But perhaps, while they're out on the island, he wouldn't mind if some day we went over to look at the house. When do you start, Tom?"

"To-morrow at two--that is, if father says it's all right."

"Oh, you're going to ask my consent, are you?" said Mr. Hallett, with a smile. "Well, if Mr. Tuckerman is such a landlubber as he appears to be, I think it's only right you should give him your help. I don't see how, with Ben and David and you, he can possibly get into hot water."

"He can't," agreed Milly, picking up the hat again and pretending to shiver. "The water isn't even warm around the islands in the harbor. However, I don't suppose this Mr. Tuckerman is apt to care much for swimming." And as she went on twirling the hat in her hands and puffing out the big blue bow, she hummed a little tune to indicate that she was much more interested in her millinery than in Tom's prospective adventure.

Tom walked down the street to the small, pitched-roof house--a white house with green shutters and door, and tall pink and red hollyhocks standing up against the sides--where Benjamin Sully lived. As luck would have it, David Norton was sitting with Ben on the doorstep. "Hello!" cried Tom. "I'm looking for a couple of able-bodied seamen."

"Aye, aye, sir," answered Ben. "What port are you bound for--the Barbary Coast or Barbadoes or round the Cape of Good Hope?"

Ben was a small, dark boy, agile as a monkey. When he was with David Norton he looked smaller and darker than ever, for David was big of frame and his sandy hair topped a cheerful, freckled face. These two and Tom Hallett were about of an age, and had always shared each other's secrets.

"Cotterell's Island, lads. A place where the foot of a white man has never set heel before." And standing in front of his two friends, Tom related John Tuckerman's proposal.

When he had finished, Ben nodded. "The plan sounds good to me. I've always meant to have a look at that island. As I've sized it up, Crusty Christopher wouldn't have been so concerned to keep people away if he hadn't had something he wanted to keep secret."

"I don't know about that," said David. "Some people are made that way; they just naturally don't want other folks around. Maybe the place is just like any other island."

"Well, I'm going anyhow," declared Tom. "I guess I can look after Mr. Tuckerman all right by myself. But I didn't want to seem mean and leave you two out."

Ben jumped up. "I'm going, all right. I'd hate to think of you and that ignorant fellow out there all by yourselves. Count me in on this, Tom."

"I guess your friend wouldn't get much good cooking," said David, "without me to superintend."

"Oh, I don't know about that," retorted Tom. "He's going to take plenty of good stuff."

"Canned!" snorted David. "I know--hardtack and beans out of a tin. No, siree. You'd be squabbling inside of two days if you didn't have me and some of my famous flapjacks to keep you pleasant."

"Nice, modest David," said Ben, stroking his big friend's arm. "However, though he doesn't think very well of himself, I vote that we let him come along. Maybe he'll be useful."

"You bet I'll come," announced the tow-headed one. "Do you think I'd let you two and a queer man go prowling around a mysterious island without your Uncle David? I'll be there when the boat sails, with my pet frying-pan!"

II--COTTERELL'S ISLAND

Early the next afternoon the few occupants of Lowe's Wharf--a couple of men fishing for cunners, a sailor painting the bottom of an upturned dory, two small boys practising tying various kinds of knots with odds and ends of rope--saw three young fellows in dark blue jerseys and khaki coats and trousers and a man rigged out in a homespun Norfolk jacket and knickerbockers and greenish-gray golf stockings assemble as if they were about to start on an expedition.

Tom Hallett, slender but wiry, browned by the wind and the sun, dumped his duffle-bag of blankets and extra clothing on the wharf and introduced his companions. "Mr. Tuckerman, this is David Norton, and this is Ben Sully. They'd both like to go along, if you still want three of us."

John Tuckerman shook hands with each. "I'm proud to have such a fine looking crew," said he. "Though perhaps I ought to put it the other way about and say three such fine looking captains, I myself being the crew. It doesn't need more than a glance to tell me that you three know all about the sea and the woods. Great luck, I call it. And if I'm not mistaken there's our ship, waiting for us Argonauts to go aboard."

"Suit yerself, sir. She's a good boat, no matter what you call her."

"Many thanks, Mr. Jackson." John Tuckerman sat down carefully. "Now, Captain Hallett, give your orders."

The dory slid away, the experienced hand of Tom in charge of the tiller. Out into the harbor she sped, picking up the breeze as she danced along.

The afternoon sun was pleasantly warm, the water was translucent blue, with here and there wide sweeps of green, on the shore every house and tree stood out in vivid, fresh-tinted color. Tuckerman folded his arms and leaned back in great contentment. "This is something like, my lads!" he exclaimed. "My voyages heretofore have only been made on ocean grayhounds and fat-bodied ferry-boats."

Ben looked at him pityingly. "It must be pretty hard," he said, "to live inland, in a big city."

"Yes, in some ways, though it has its compensations. You see, my ancestors grew restless in New England and moved out across the plains. That is, the Tuckermans did; the Cotterells stayed here. And now there aren't any Cotterells left. That's how it came about that I own this island."

"My father," spoke up David, "says that the Cotterells were once one of the best known families in Barmouth; but that old Mr. Christopher was as queer as all get out. He knows lots of stories about him. He says that Mr. Christopher lived there with a colored man for his servant, and never saw anybody."

"Poor old chap!" said Tuckerman. "I can't help feeling dreadfully sorry for him. Think what a good time he could have had in his big house. Why, in the old days it was one of the show places along the coast and the Cotterells used to have celebrated parties." Tuckerman gazed out over the water and pulled his chin with his fingers, in a habit he had. "Do you know what I want to do? I want to take that old house and fix it up properly, make it look as it used to, and give it back its good name." He smiled. "Maybe you'll think it odd, but I feel as if houses were almost like people. I hate to see either the one or the other go to seed."

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