CHAPTER XXI
A TELEGRAM
You will remember that Mike Murphy, the Irish laddie, was brimful ofpluck, powerful and sturdy of build and with little in the nature offear in his make-up. His short legs, however, were not meant forfleetness, and he never would have won fame as a sprinter. When heparted company with Alvin Landon and Chester Haynes, only one purposecontrolled him--that was to regain possession of the stolen motor boat_Deerfoot_ and incidentally to administer proper punishment to thethieves who had so boldly stolen the craft.
He loped down the road, until he was panting from the exertion, when hedropped to a rapid walk, still burning with high resolve. With noclearly defined plan in mind, he turned off at the intersection of thehighways, and soon reached Charmount, one of the regular landings wherethe little steamers for Boothbay Harbor halted to let off and take onpassengers.
"The right thing for mesilf to do is to sind a tilegram," was hisconclusion. "I don't mind that I ever done anything ov the kind exciptto forward one by wireless when our steamer was in the middle of theAtlantic. Howsumiver, that was sint by other folks and I hadn't anythingto do wid it excipt to listen to the crackling and spitting andsparkling of the machine and to watch for the message flying out thewindy, which the same I didn't observe."
His naturally red face was redder than usual, and he breathed fast, whenhe stepped up to the little window.
"I have a message that I wish to go over the wires as fast aslightning," was his announcement, after raising his cap and saluting theyoung lady.
"That's the way all telegrams go," she replied, looking smilingly upfrom her chair in front of the instrument.
"Thank ye kindly."
"All you have to do is to write it out and pay the cost."
"And how much will the same be?"
"That depends on the number of words and the distance it has to be sent.Write it out."
A pile of yellow blanks lay on the inclined planed board which served asa desk, and there was a cheap pencil secured by a string, but no chair.A sender had to stand while writing his message. Mike tried to act as ifhe was used to such things. First he thrust the end of the pencil in hismouth to moisten the lead and began his hard task.
He was so long at it that the bright young miss looked up several timesto see how he was getting on. Through the narrow window she saw himlaboring harder than he had ever labored in his life. His tongue wasout, his eyes rolling, his cap shoved back from his perspiring foreheadand he grunted, standing first on one foot and then on the other,crossing out words, writing them over again and scratching his head insore perplexity. She made no comment, but busied herself with other workuntil more than a quarter of an hour had passed.
Finally the toil was over and he shoved the little sheet of paperthrough the window.
"Whew! but that was a big job, as me uncle said when he tipped over thehouse of Pat O'Keily. You'll excuse me bad penmanship, if you plaise."
The operator took the paper from him and with wrinkled brow read thefollowing amazing effusion:
"CHARMOUNT, MAIN, Orgust----
"_General George Washington, President of the U. S. America_:
"RESPICTED SIR AND BROTHER:
"There has been the biggest outrage that has happened in a thousand years. A pirut ship come up the Sheepscot River to-day and while me and Captain Landon and Second Mate Haynes--it's mesilf that is first mate--was eating our frugle repast behind the blockhouse, the same piruts boarded our frigate the _Deerfut_ and run off wid her. If we had seen the thaives we would have knocked their heads off. Send one of your torpeder distroyers or a battleship and go for the piruts bald-headed.
"Kind regards to the missis and hoping you are well I subscribe mesilf yours with great respict,
"MIKE MURPHY."
The Irish youth watched the face of the miss as she studied the messagefor several minutes. Mike had a fair education, and although he limpedin his spelling, on the whole he did well. By and by the operator lookedinto his face with perplexity and asked:
"Why under the sun do you address your message to General Washington?"
"Isn't he Prisident of the United States? I remimber reading the same inme school history at home in Tipperary."
"He was the first President, but that was a long time ago and he hasbeen dead more than a hundred years."
"Then he isn't in the City of Washington, eh?"
"No, he is in heaven, where you may be sure he has a front seat."
"You couldn't forward the same to him?" asked Mike, his eyes twinkling.
"I am afraid not; that station isn't in our line, though I hope you andI will arrive there one of these days."
She drew her pencil through the immortal name.
"You wish to have this sent to the President?"
"Av coorse; what might his name be?"
"William H. Taft."
"And his addriss is Washington?"
"That's his official address, but he stops there only now and then eachyear."
"Where might he be now?"
"Somewhere out West or on the Pacific coast or down at Panama--in fact,almost anywhere except at the capital of our country."
"Then can't he be raiched by telegraph?" asked Mike in dismay.
"Oh, yes; all you have to do is to address your telegram to Washington,just as you have done. They know there where to find him and yourmessage will be forwarded."
"Very well. There is the money to pay for the same."
Mike laid a silver quarter on the stand-up desk where she could reachit. But she was busy just then counting the words by tipping them offwith the point of her pencil. When through she beamed upon him andannounced that the cost would be a little more than five dollars.
"Woorah! woorah! what is it you're sayin'? All the funds I have wid meis about half what you jist named."
"You can save three-fourths of the cost by striking out the unnecessarywords. Let me help you."
She obligingly edited the copy. It seemed to Mike that every word wasindispensable, but she convinced him to the contrary and finallysucceeded in boiling down the message so that the cost of thetransmission was reduced to a dollar and a half. Although, as the ladhad intimated, his funds were moderate, he paid the sum and the misslost no time in placing the telegram on the wire.
We have no record of its fate after reaching the national capital. Itmay have started to find the President on his never ending travels. Ifso, it no doubt caused him a hearty laugh, but I am afraid he speedilyforgot it and the money expended by Mike was wasted.
He thanked the miss for her aid and bade her good-day. Just then thehoarse whistle of a steamer fell upon their ears.
"Phwat's that?" asked Mike, stopping short and looking at her. Sheglanced through the window before replying.
"It's the _Nahanada_ on her way to Boothbay Harbor."
"Ain't that lucky now!" he exclaimed, hurrying to the landing where hejoined the half dozen passengers in boarding her.
The well-known steamer _Nahanada_ was returning from an excursion toWiscasset, with a large party from Boothbay Harbor. You will bear inmind that Mike Murphy's departure down the Sheepscot from Charmountpreceded that of his friends by more than an hour.
Now that he had time to rest and think, he did both. Like the other twoyouths, he chose his seat on the upper deck at the extreme rear, wherehe had a good view of both shores in descending the Sheepscot. He wasnot in a mood for conversation, and though several were seated near him,he gave them no attention. In this respect, he had the advantage overhis friends, who as you will recall not only said a good many things toeach other, but were overheard, as they discovered too late, by the mandressed in gray, who mixed strangely in their affairs afterward.
It was impossible that the steamer should overtake the motor boat,provided the latter held her usual speed. Mike did not expect anythingof the kind, but, like Alvin and Chester, thought the _Deerfoot_ waslikely to stop on its way
and wait until darkness in which to continueits flight. The thieves would know that strenuous efforts would be madequickly to recover the launch, and would try to escape recognition bythe simple method named.
This was shrewd reasoning, and was justified by what followed. A fewmiles below Sawyer Island, where Chester and Alvin left the steamer,projects the southern end of Westport, which intrudes like a vast wedgebetween the Sheepscot on the right and Montsweag Bay and Knubble Bay onthe left. The island is about a dozen miles long, with a width at itsbroadest part of three miles or so. Around the lower end sweeps GooseRock Passage, through which boats make their way to the Kennebec to thewestward. The width of the Sheepscot at that portion is nearly twomiles. Mike Murphy was on the alert and scanned the shores to the rightand left as well as every craft that suggested any resemblance to the_Deerfoot_, but saw nothing to awaken hope until the _Nahanada_ turnedto call at Isle of Springs.
Knowing nothing of interest was there, Mike rose to his feet and scannedthe opposite shore. He saw a boat disappearing in a small bay, a littleto the north of Brooks Point, as the southern extremity of Westport iscalled. He caught only a passing glimpse when the intervening land shutit from sight, but he exclaimed:
"Begorrah! it's the _Deerfut_, or me name isn't Mike Murphy!"