# "Chet" (Yates)/Chapter 7

WE went aboard the boat early, so as to get good seats, and we fixed up a cozy little corner in the stern, all by ourselves. Some of us had camp chairs and some, big splint-bottomed chairs with arms; and as soon as we were settled, Uncle Fred opened the paper bags, and there were oranges and bananas and some great big dark red plums which were red all the way through to the seed,—the first ones like that that I had ever seen,—and they certainly were fine.
We had made a pretty good start on the fruit when the boat moved out into the river. "Well, for goodness' sake," said Twinny, "Look at the crowd down there by the life-saving station! Do you suppose they all came down just to see the boat go out? You'd think they never saw a steam-boat before!"
"They're a jolly looking crowd, aren't they?" I said. "They look as if they were having a lot of fun about something,—wish I was in the joke."
​"See, we're almost out of the river," cried Twinny, hanging over the rail. "Isn't the lake lovely and foamy? Oh, we're beginning to rock some! Isn't it fine? I don't mind it a bit."
"Look at the people at the life-saving station," called Bess. "See, they're all waving to us. Let's wave back. What are they all cheering and laughing for? I wonder—"
But we never did find out what Bess wondered; for, all of a sudden, the forward end of the boat seemed to rise straight up into the air,—and then, as suddenly, to drop to such a depth that the whole bunch of us, being absolutely unprepared for it, just simply took a "slide for life" clear across that deck, rolling and tumbling, chairs, boxes, and everything else, and never stopped until we brought up in a pile, close up against the cabindoor. There were about twenty others mixed up with us, and you never saw such a promiscuous bundle of people and things in all your life.
For a moment there wasn't a sound,—every one was too astonished to open his mouth,—and then as the boat rose to meet another swell there came a regular Bedlam of cries and laughter and exclamations, and a wild scramble to get ​out of the tangle. Uncle Fred had made a desperate grab at Bess when the lurch came, and there he was with his head under a chair and one hand ahold of her foot and the other clutching one of her long, brown braids. I had gripped the chair that one of the twins was in, and while we were doing stunts across that deck, I was conscious of wondering which one it was; and when I found that I had the empty chair, my first thought was to wonder which one I had lost. Positively, if I had to be in company with those girls for long, I'd get loony for keeps, just from trying to find out which was who!
I was on my feet first. "Aunt Fannie, are you hurt?" I gasped, trying to unwrap one of Twinny's red sweaters from her head.
"No," she panted, grabbing wildly to save her hairpins and puffs. "No, we were sitting on camp-chairs, and they just shut up, and Mrs. Walker and I coasted down the deck on them until we ran into the crowd. That sweater was on the back of my chair, though,—how on earth did it get over my head?" and she looked around with suspicion in her eye.
Everybody was scrambling up and feeling of ​arms and shoulders and knees; but no one had anything more to grumble over than a few bruises or skinned places. Twinny came in for a lot of sympathy at first; for she, both of her, had been eating some of those red plums, and she'd held on to them all through the fracas, and they'd smashed and decorated her and her clothes, until they looked as if they had had about six nosebleeds apiece, all at the same time.
Uncle Fred tipped the chair off of his head "Well, Bess," he said, "I was going to have a lock of your hair and a little shoe to remember you by, anyway."
And just then the captain appeared in the door-way of the cabin, a broad grin on his face. "There's no danger," he said, laughing. "There won't be any more like that. We got a big sea when she turned, coming out of the harbor; but there won't be any more bother. She's headed for home now, and is taking the waves finely."
Every one heaved a sigh of relief; and then all of a sudden Twinny set up a shout. "Look at Chester, look at Chester!"—and every one did, and then every one proceeded to laugh.
I didn't know what on earth was the matter, ​and began feeling of my face and head. Then I saw that every one was looking at my feet, and I looked down, and there was my straw hat, the rim of it, encircling my leg, half way to the knee. There was nothing left of the crown but a fringe of straw! I held up my foot and stared at it. "Gee," I said, "how did I do it? I must have got to turning somersaults again. Now, do you s'pose it went down over my head, or up over my foot?"
I kicked the thing off, and then went into the cabin for more chairs, and we formed a chain and passed them up to the stern, where we were sitting before, for the boat was rolling too much for us to try to carry anything, and then we sat down and held onto the rail, to keep from going skating, chairs and all, across the deck. The fruit had all gone overboard or been crushed to marmalade.
"And those plums were so awfully good," sighed Twinny, looking at her stained hands and dress.
"Let's have the rest of the sandwiches," I said. "Excitement is a great thing for the appetite! Where are they, Aunt Fannie?"
Aunt Fannie didn't say a word; but she pointed ​to something on the deck, a little way beyond us. Every one else had got up after the scrabble, and taken chairs where they could hold on to something; but there, on the floor, sat a fat, middle-aged man with a heavy, fleshy face and small, gray eyes. He sat flat upon the deck with his feet straight out before him and his hands resting, palm downward, on each side of him, to steady himself from the rolling of the boat. He sat perfectly still, as if glued to the deck, his face chalky white, his lower lip hanging loose and his eyes staring straight before him. He was the perfect picture of fright, and didn't seem to be conscious of anything but the terror that had hold of him.
"Why, the man's fairly paralyzed with fear," said Uncle Fred.
"How foolish!" I said. "He's in no more danger than the rest of us. Couldn't he take the captain's word for it?" And just then I—saw why Aunt Fannie had pointed at him, and I gave a groan; for that abominable heavy gentleman was sitting squarely upon our lunch-box! I could recognize it by the blue paste-board and a couple of cream-puffs which had escaped ​from it,—Aunt Fannie had saved those for supper!
The girls hadn't discovered it yet, so I leaned over to them. "Bess," I said, "will you do me a favor?"
"Sure," said Bess.
"Well, go and ask the gentleman to kindly take this sweater to sit on, and let us have our lunch."
"Oh, oh, oh!" moaned the girls, as soon as they caught sight of the tragedy, "Oh, Chet, what made you tell us? We wouldn't have been nearly so hungry! Oh, dear, we'll starve before we get home!"
"Well, we have a great deal to be thankful for," I said, solemnly.
"What?" asked Twinny, skeptically.
"That he didn't land on one of us, instead of on the box! Your name would have been Twinny Pancake, sure!"
Just then a man in uniform came out of the cabin and looked around. He saw the man on the floor, and came over to him. "Are you hurt?" he asked.
"No, no," mumbled the man.
"Well then, what's the matter? Why don't ​you get up?" and held out his hand to help him.
"No, no," mumbled the man again, shaking his head and catching his breath, "I'll sit here."
"Sure you're not hurt?" asked the sailor.
"No, it's the danger, the terrible—" and he began rocking himself back and forth.
The sailor stood and looked at him, and I should have thought that the big man would have shrivelled up and dropped through one of the cracks. "Didn't you hear what the captain said?" he demanded.
"Yes; but the waves,—oh!" as a particularly big one struck the boat and made it roll so that he nearly lost his balance, since his hands had nothing to clutch.
"And you're not sick?" asked the sailor.
"No, no,—go away and let me be!"
"You bet I will," said the sailor,—and he did.
I began watching the wake of the boat. I really didn't care anything about the lunch; but I hated to see the man sit on it, when there were plenty of perfectly good chairs around. Bess was looking at me, and I commenced whistling and kicking my heels against the rail.
​A good many of the people had gone into the cabin, and some of those who were outside didn't seem to be having a real good time. The boat kept rolling more and more and the movement was awfully unsteady. She would rise up, sharply, on a wave, seem to poise on the top for a moment, take a side-wise dip, and then suddenly the sea would seem to drop from under her in the most harrowing way, and in another second she would rise to meet another wave so quickly that you felt as if you'd left something behind and needed it.
"Don't you think we'd better go inside?" asked Uncle Fred, pretty soon.
"No," said Mrs. Walker, "My experience is, that one feels much better to-stay out in the fresh air. I've been on the water so much that I'm never sea-sick."
"Oh, I'm not sea-sick!" said Uncle Fred quickly. "I just thought that perhaps you ladies would be more comfortable inside, and—"
"I'm not comfortable inside," broke in Twinny, suddenly putting her head down on her mother's shoulder.
"I hate toasted marsh-mallows," groaned Twin​ny, and down went her other head on the other shoulder; "I never want to see or smell another one!"
Mrs. Walker gathered them both into her white shawl. "Now," she said, "let's make believe we are at home, and Mother is rocking you, just the way she used to when you were wee little girls," and she began humming a soft little song.
Bess and I kept on watching the wake of the boat, and the great waves that came rolling from under her. "Feeling all right, Bess?" I asked, presently.
"Yes, I am," said Bess. "It doesn't bother me the least bit."
Just then Uncle Fred got up and tossed away his newspaper. "I guess I'll go in," he said, hastily, and made for the cabin.
I caught the paper just as it was flying over the rail, and went and sat down in his chair. The paper was interesting, and I read for half an hour; and then I sat still and watched the little black and red and green blurred letters dance over the page. I kept on whistling, though,—that is, I did as long as my mouth would continue to pucker; but when it absolutely refused, I jumped ​up. "I'm going to find Uncle Fred," I said, and skated away across the deck, as gay as you please.
I went away up in the bow and sat down on that same coil of rope; and began wondering what Bess did in a case like this. I'd have given a whole lot to know, and to be able to do it myself, for I felt exactly like dish-water, and I'd been fighting it for an hour. I had made up my mind that I positively wouldn't be sick; but I might as well have made up my mind to stop turning somersaults, coming down that sand dune; for it was evident that I wasn't the boss in this case.
Just then along came Bess, clinging to the rail, her cheeks red and the wind whipping her hair. She came up to where I was, and stood holding onto the flag-staff and looking down at me; but there wasn't a bit of "tease" in her eyes.
"Bess," I said, "I know exactly how a churn feels. The only ambition that stirs its soul, is for the dasher to let up for just one little second, so that it can get square with the world again, and start over."
Bess sat down beside me. "Chet," she said, "did you notice the effect the captain and his ​uniform had upon the crowd, out there a while ago?"
I nodded.
"And did you notice the interest of every one in the sailor when he came out?—how they all asked him questions and seemed to like to have him about?"
"Yes," I said.
"And did it make you think about our talk of the captain of a boat, and about the uniforms?"
"Yes," I said, "it just dodged through my mind though, and I was going to take it up with myself later, when I felt as if I had some backbone, and my teeth weren't all floating around loose."
Bess laughed, and I groaned.
"Bess," I said, "here's a dandy good job for you, why don't you get to work?"
"You haven't asked me to," said, Bess.
"Well, for goodness' sake, does any one have to ask you, when you can see what's needed?" I felt cross with Bess for that.
"Chet," she said, "suppose the buttons on your coat had sharp edges on them, so that they were cutting out the button-holes and fraying the goods, and you knew it and I knew it;—would I have ​any right to cut those buttons off and sew on others without saying a word to you, or asking whether you wanted me to or not?"
I thought for a minute. "Well," I said, "of course it would seem sort of meddlesome, and I don't suppose I'd like it, not to be consulted at all."
"And how would I know that you wanted it done, if you didn't ask me to do it?"
"You could ask me," I said.
"But don't you think that, if you wanted it done, and knew that I could do it, and would be glad to,—don't you think that it would be worth the courtesy of asking me?"
"You're right," I said, "I hadn't thought about it that way. You really wouldn't know whether I wanted it done or not unless I asked you to, even though it looked to you as if it ought to be attended to. I might want to keep those buttons on for sentimental reasons, even if they did cut."
"That's so," said Bess, "and I sometimes think that there are people who want to keep their sickness for sentimental reasons too; so they will have something to talk about,—or because ​their father or grandfather had it before them, or to keep them company, or something like that."
And then we went to talking about some of the ideas she had, and I got so interested that I forgot whether we were on sea or on land, until suddenly I noticed that it was beginning to get dark, and that I was hungry again.
"Well," I said," what do you think of that! I feel as fit as a fiddle and you didn't have to do anything for me after all," and for some reason I felt sort of pleased over it.
"No," said Bess, "I didn't. It isn't the person, it's the realization of the truth, which does the healing; and we have been talking a good deal of truth for the last hour."
Of course I could see that she was probably right; and that there was nothing for me to do but say "thank you," and then put the experience away to think about when I had lots of time and no interruptions.
We talked for a while longer, and then, when the lights of the city seemed very near, we went back to where the others were, to help gather up wraps and things, and get ready to go ashore. Twinny was heavy-headed and half asleep and ​Uncle Fred was as cross as a bear, and didn't have any one to take it out on, so he just looked savage and hustled us ashore, as if every separate one of us was to blame for the whole thing.
However, when he felt his feet on solid ground again, he brightened up some, and so did the girls; and he piloted us all to a restaurant and set us up as fine a supper as he could think of; and, queerly enough, we were all ready for it; and got home in the finest humor ever.