Bob the Castaway

The Project Gutenberg eBook, Bob the Castaway, by Frank V. Webster This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.net Title: Bob the Castaway Author: Frank V. Webster Release Date: April 5, 2004 [eBook #11909] Language: English ***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BOB THE CASTAWAY*** E-text prepared by Al Haines BOB THE CASTAWAY Or, The Wreck of the Eagle By FRANK V. WEBSTER AUTHOR OF "ONLY A FARM BOY," "THE BOY FROM THE RANCH," "THE NEWSBOY PARTNERS," "THE YOUNG TREASURE HUNTER," ETC. ILLUSTRATED 1909 Books for Boys by FRANK V. WEBSTER 12mo. Illustrated. Bound in cloth. ONLY A FARM BOY, Or Dan Hardy's Rise in Life TOM THE TELEPHONE BOY, Or The Mystery of a Message THE BOY FROM THE RANCH, Or Roy Bradner's City Experiences THE YOUNG TREASURE HUNTER, Or Fred Stanley's Trip to Alaska BOB THE CASTAWAY, Or The Wreck of the Eagle THE YOUNG FIREMEN OF LAKEVILLE, Or Herbert Dare's Pluck THE NEWSBOY PARTNERS, Or Who Was Dick Box? THE BOY PILOT OF THE LAKES, Or Nat Morton's Perils TWO BOY GOLD MINERS, Or Lost in the Mountains JACK THE RUNAWAY, Or On the Road with a Circus Cupples & Leon Co., Publishers, New YorkCONTENTS CHAPTER I BOB MAKES TROUBLE II ANOTHER PRANK III A STRANGE PROPOSITION IV TALKING IT OVER V A JOKE THAT WENT WRONG VI MRS. HENDERSON'S DECISION VII BOB IS DELIGHTED VIII GETTING READY IX BOB'S LAST LAND JOKE X OFF ON THE TRIP XI THE "EAGLE" SAILS XII SOME JOKES ON BOB XIII BOB TRIES A PRANK XIV MR. TARBILL GETS A SHOCK XV THE STORM XVI WRECK OP THE SHIP XVII ADRIFT IN SMALL BOATS XVIII BOB ON AN ISLAND XIX FINDING MR. TARBILL XX MAKING THE BEST OF IT XXI MORE ARRIVALS XXII AFLOAT ONCE MORE XXIII A SERIOUS LOSS XXIV DAYS OF HOPELESSNESS XXV HOMEWARD BOUND—CONCLUSIONCHAPTER I BOB MAKES TROUBLE "Bob! Bob!" called a woman in loud tones, as she came to the kitchen door, her arms, with the sleeves rolled up to her elbows, covered with flour. "Bob, I want you to go to the store for me. I need some more lard for this pie-crust." There was no answer, and the woman looked across the big yard at one side of the cottage. "Where can that boy be?" Mrs. Henderson murmured. "I saw him here a little while ago. He's never around when I want him. I shouldn't be surprised but what he was planning some joke. Oh, dear! I wish he was more steady, and wasn't always up to some mischief. Still, he's a good boy at heart, and perhaps he'll grow better when he gets older." She rubbed her left cheek with the back of her hand, leaving a big patch of flour under one eye. Then she called once more. "Bob! Bob Henderson! Where are you? I want you to go to the store." "Here I am, mother. Were you calling me?" asked a boy, emerging from behind a big apple tree. He was not a bad-looking lad, even if his nose did turn up a bit, though his hair was tinged with red, and his face covered with freckles. His blue eyes, however, seemed to sparkle with mischief. "Did I call you?" repeated Mrs. Henderson. "I'm hoarse after the way I had to shout—and you within hearing distance all the while! Why didn't you answer me?" "I guess I was so busy thinking, mom, that I didn't hear you." "Thinking? More likely thinking of some trick! What's that you've got?" "Nothing," and Bob tried to stuff pieces of paper into a basket that was already filled to overflowing. "Yes, 'tis too something. You're making some more of those paper snappers that the teacher kept you in after school for the other night. Bob, can't you settle down and not be always up to some trick?" "I wasn't making these for myself, mom, honest I wasn't," expostulated Bob, with an innocent look that did not seem in accord with the mischief in his blue eyes. "I was making 'em for Jimmy Smith." "Yes, and Jimmy Smith would pop 'em off in school, and when he got caught he'd say you gave 'em to him, and you'd both be kept in. Oh, Bob, I don't know what will happen to you next!" "Why, I wasn't doing anything, honest I wasn't, mom. Oh, how funny you look with that patch of flour on your cheek! Just like a clown in a circus, only he has white stuff all over his face." "Well, I must say, Bob Henderson, you're not very complimentary to your mother, telling her she looks like a circus clown." "I didn't say you did, mom. You only look like half a clown." "That's just as bad." Bob took advantage of this little diversion to hide the paper snappers behind the tree while his mother was wiping the flour off her face. The snappers were oblong pieces of stout wrapping paper, folded in such a way that when swung through the air they went off like a bag blown up and crushed between the hands. Bob was an expert in their manufacture. "Come," went on Mrs. Henderson, when she was satisfied that her face was no longer adorned with flour, "I want you to go to the store for some lard. Tell Mr. Hodge you want the best. Here's the money." "All right, mom, I'll go right away. Do you want anything else?" Now Bob usually made more of a protest than this when asked to go to the store, which was at the other end of the village of Moreville, where he lived. He generally wanted to stay at his play, or was on the point of going off with some boy of his acquaintance. But this time he prepared to go without making any complaint, and had his mother not been so preoccupied thinking ofher housework, she might have suspected that the lad had some mischief afoot—some scheme that he wanted to carry out, and which going to the store would further. "No, I guess the lard is all I need now," she said. "Now do hurry, Bob. Don't stop on the way, for I want to get these pies baked before supper." "I'll hurry, mom." There was a curious smile on Bob's face, and as he got his hat from the ground before setting off on the errand he looked in his pocket to see if he had a certain long, stout piece of cord. "I guess that will do the trick," murmured the boy to himself. "Oh, yes, I'll hurry back all right! Guess I'll have to if I don't want Bill Hodge to catch me." There was a cunning look on Bob's face, and the twinkle in his eyes increased as he set off down the village street. "I hope he doesn't get into mischief," murmured Mrs. Henderson, as she went back to her work in the kitchen. "If he wasn't such an honest boy, I would be more worried than I am about him. But I guess he will outgrow it," she added hopefully. Bob Henderson, who is to be the hero of our Story, was the only son of Mr. and Mrs. Enos Henderson. They lived in Moreville, a thriving New England town, and Bob's father was employed in a large woolen mill in the place. Bob attended the local school, and he was a sort of leader among a certain class of boys. They were all manly chaps, but perhaps were inclined more to mischief than they should be. And none of them was any more inclined that way than Bob. He was rather wild, and some of the things he did were unkind and harmful to those on whom he played jokes. Bob was always the first to acknowledge he had been in the wrong, and when it was pointed out to him that he had not done what was right he always apologized. Only this was always after the mischief had been done, and he was just as ready half an hour later to indulge in another prank. Nearly every one In Moreville knew Bob, some to their sorrow. But in spite of his tricks he was well liked, even though some nervous women predicted that he would land in jail before he got to be much older. It was a pleasant afternoon In June, and Bob had not been home from school long when his mother sent him after the lard. As it happened, this just suited the youth's purpose, for he contemplated putting into operation a trick he had long planned against William Hodge, the proprietor of the village grocery store. So Bob trudged along, whistling a merry tune and jingling in his pocket the money his mother had given him. "He'll be as mad as hops," he murmured, "but it can't do much harm. He'll turn it off before much runs out." This may seem rather a puzzle to my young readers, but if you have patience you will soon understand what Bob meant, though I hope none of you will follow his example. As Bob walked along he met another lad about his own age. "Hello, Bob," greeted Ted Neefus. "Where you goin'?" "Store." "What store?" "Bill Hodge's." "What fer?" "Lard." "Want me t' go 'long?" "If you want to," and there was a half smile on Bob's face. Ted knew the meaning of that smile. He had more than once been associated with Bob in his tricks. "Kin I watch ye?" he asked eagerly. "What for?" asked Bob with an air of assumed indignation. "What do you think I'm going to do?" "Oh, that's all right," returned Ted. "I won't say anythin'. Let me watch, will yer?" "I don't s'pose I can stop you," replied Bob, with an appearance of lofty virtue. "The street's public property. I haven't any right to say you shan't stand in front of Bill's store until I come out. You can if you want to.""Maybe I won't then!" exclaimed Ted. "Better not walk along with me," advised Bob. "Folks might think we were up to something." "That's so. Like when we burned some feathers under the church when they were having prayer meeting." "Don't speak so loud," cautioned Bob. "You'll give things away." Thus admonished, Ted took a position well to his chum's rear. Meanwhile Bob continued on and was soon at the grocery store. "Good-afternoon, Mr. Hodge," he said politely. "Arternoon," replied Mr. Hodge, for he was not fond of boys, least of all Bob Henderson. "What d' you want?" He had an air as if he was saying: "Now none of your tricks, you young rapscallion! If you play any jokes on me you'll smart for it!" "Mother wants a pound of lard—the best lard, Mr. Hodge," said Bob. "I don't keep any but the best." "Then I want a pound. It's a fine day, isn't it?" "I don't see nothin' the matter with it. 'Tain't rainin' anyhow. Now don't you upset anything