# Harry's Island/Chapter 13
### CHAPTER XIII BILLY ENTERTAINS

THE next morning they started the work of transforming the Pup from a black-and-tan—I am using Chub’s expression—to a fox-terrier. They loaded a good-sized rock into the rowboat and from there lifted it over the side of the launch and placed it on the starboard seat. But as it didn’t raise the other side of the Pup high enough out of the water Harry was delegated to join the rock. With Harry perched on the coaming all was ready for the painters. So Dick, Roy, and Chub began work. Chub sat in the canoe and Dick and Roy in the rowboat. At first it was lots of fun, but presently their wrists began to ache, while, to add discouragement, they discovered that it would be necessary to put on at least two coats to hide the black paint beneath. Chub began to show signs of mutiny about eleven o’clock and was joined by Harry. Chub declared that his wrist was paralyzed and Harry said she was getting a headache and a backache, and that if they thought it was fun sitting there on that edge they might come and try it themselves. Both mutineers were, however, prevailed on to continue in service a few minutes longer, and at half-past eleven the Pup was painted with one coat of white from bow to stem on the port side. Then all hands were quite ready to quit work, Roy declaring that for his part he wished they hadn’t begun.
“There’s three days’ more work on her,” he grumbled, “for she’ll have to have two coats all over her.”
“Tell you what we might do, though,” said Chub. “We might put another coat on this side and let her go. I think it would be kind of original and sporty to have one side black and the other side white.”
Dick said he was an idiot, and Roy indorsed the sentiment heartily, and good nature was not restored until they had donned their bathing-suits and were splashing around in the water off Inner Beach.
After dinner Dick armed himself with pot and brush and went back to work, and after looking on for awhile Roy and Chub were forced to join him.
“You fellows needn’t help,” Dick assured them. But the assurance was only half-hearted and Chub grunted irritably.
“Huh,” he said, “you know blamed well we can’t sit there in the shade and see you working out here all alone. If I get sunstruck, like Billy Warren in the boat-race, you’ll be sorry, I guess.”
Dick had discovered that the first coat of white had dried sufficiently to allow of a second and so before supper-time they had finished the port side of the hull. And very nice it looked, too; until you got a glimpse of the other side!
“It’s like having two boats,” said Chub cheerfully, wiping the paint from his hands to his trousers. “If it was mine I’d put one name on one side and another name on the other. For instance, Dick, you could call the white boat Pup and the black boat Kit.”
“They might fight,” said Harry, who had spent the afternoon comfortably on shore. “Just supposing the Pup began chasing the Kit, Dick!”
“It would be a stern chase,” said Chub.
The next day was Flag Day at Camp Torohadik. In the morning they sailed down to Silver Cove in the Pup, the paint having fulfilled the promise of its maker and dried overnight, and got their flags. There was a nice red-white-and-blue yachting ensign for the stern and an owner’s flag for the bow. The latter consisted of a white ground with a blue Mercury’s foot on it, a design suggested by Roy in allusion to Dick’s prowess on the cinder-path. The poles were each finished off with a brass ball, and when poles and flags were set the Pup looked very gay and jaunty.
Harry, who had been at work spasmodically on the camp banner, produced the completed article that morning, and after their return to the island Roy got busy with a small can of black paint and lettered the long strip of white cotton cloth which Harry had brought with the inscription: CAMP TOROHADIK. Then it was bent to the halyards and with Chub, at popular request, singing “The Star-Spangled Banner” it was hoisted into place and for the rest of their stay flew proudly by day above the camp. (The truth is that it also flew occasionally by night; but it wasn’t supposed to, of course, and any fellow is likely to forget things now and then, and so we won’t mention it save parenthetically.)
Taken all in all, that was a busy and eventful day on Fox Island. For late in the afternoon, shortly after they had returned from a six-mile trip up the river in the Pup (it having been unanimously decided to postpone painting operations until next day) and just as Dick was kindling his fire, there was a hail from the water and they ran to the point to discover Doctor Emery paddling toward them in a canoe. Harry at once decided that she was wanted at home and was busily lamenting her fate when the Doctor announced cheerfully that he had come to visit the camp and take supper. Mrs. Emery, he explained as the boys drew his canoe up on the beach, had gone to the Cove to spend the afternoon and evening, and he had decided to beg hospitality of the campers. The campers declared with enthusiasm that they were awfully glad to see him, and that supper would be ready in about half an hour, and that they were going to have fricasseed beef, and that fricasseed beef was the best thing their chef did, and—oh, lots more besides, every one talking at once! The Doctor could have had no doubt of his welcome. Presently it developed that he was lamentably ignorant of his island, and so he was personally conducted around by Harry and Chub.
“If I owned an island,” said Harry, “I guess I’d know every inch of it! I’d just love to have an island all my own, too! Wouldn’t you, Chub?”
“You bet I would! One away off from everywhere, you know. I’d live on it, and I wouldn’t let any one on it that I didn’t like.”
“Wouldn’t that be lovely!” cried Harry. “Still, you wouldn’t want it so far off that you couldn’t get to the land sometimes, would you? Supposing you needed things to eat?”
“Oh, I’d keep plenty on hand,” answered Chub.
“Well, I think an island like this is pretty nice,” said Harry. “I guess I’d like sometimes to go home at night.” And she stole her hand into her father’s.
“Then you think this one would suit, do you?” asked the Doctor smilingly, and Harry nodded ready assent. When they reached the farther end of the domain Harry pointed out Point Harriet very proudly and the Doctor was properly impressed. Then they kept on past The Grapes, ascended Hood’s Hill, ran down the other side and—came plump upon Billy Noon in the act of jabbing a knife-blade into the lid of a can. His fire was already lighted and a few cooking utensils were scattered around him.
“It’s the Licensed Poet!” cried Harry.
Billy turned suddenly at sound of the voice, dropped can and knife, and whipped his right hand quickly behind him. Then he recognized his visitors and laughed apologetically.
“I didn’t hear you coming,” he explained. He greeted Harry with a gallant bow, expressed his pleasure at meeting the Doctor again, and nodded to Chub. “You find me immersed in household duties,” he went on lightly. “I was just about to prepare my frugal repast.” As there was nothing edible in sight save bread, butter, and the contents of the tin can, the others thought the adjective well chosen.
“Well, don’t let us disturb you,” said the Doctor. He glanced about the beach and the underbrush. “But you surely don’t sleep here without any cover?” he asked.
“No, I sleep aboard the boat,” answered Billy, nodding to the Minerva, which rocked gently in the current with her nose imbedded in the sand. “She’s not very large, but I manage to keep pretty comfortable in her. I cook on board, too, sometimes, but when it’s possible I like to build my fire outdoors. Perhaps you’d like to see my private yacht?” he added smilingly. The Doctor hesitated, but Harry was already scrambling over the bow, and so the others followed. There wasn’t much to see; just the tiny cockpit and, beyond, a rather dim cabin lighted by the sun which streamed through a few round ports. There was a bunk on one side, made ready for the night, a small stove at the apex of the space and, on the other side, a bench. There was a small clock above the stove, a few hooks which held clothing, a wash-basin and bucket of water, a few books on a small shelf, a pair of shoes and a valise under the bunk, and some cooking things in a tiny cupboard above the bench.
The middle of the cabin was taken up by the center-board and the Poet pointed out a shelf which was made to fit over the center-board box and serve as a table. But there was one other thing which aroused Chub’s curiosity. On the bench just where the light from the hatchway fell upon it, was a pocket map spread out. Thinking that it was a sailing chart, Chub leaned over to examine it. It proved, however, to be a map of the country thereabouts, and the words Silver Cove stared him in the face. The map had been ruled with pencil into squares about half an inch each way and many of these squares had been filled in with pencil strokes until the map around the words Silver Cove was checkered with dark spaces. Chub had time to see no more, for Billy Noon reached past him and, taking the map, deftly folded it and tossed it carelessly on top of the few books, inviting them to be seated. But they had seen all there was to be seen and so they filed out on to deck again, Harry declaring ecstatically that it must be beautiful to live in a boat, and asking Billy how he managed to sail it when he was asleep. She and Chub found themselves back on the sand before the others and she seized the opportunity to whisper hurriedly in Chub’s ear.
“Let’s ask him to supper,” she said. “Shall we?” And seeing his hesitation, she added: “Why, he hasn’t a thing to eat! Just look, Chub!” And Chub looked and relented.
And so the Licensed Poet was invited and he accepted instantly. They waited while he gathered his few things together and returned them to the Minerva, closing and locking the hatch after him. Then he drew on his coat and the four went on. Presently Chub found himself walking beside Billy, Harry and her father having lost ground because it was necessary that the former should see the view from Gull Point.
“Say,” asked Chub suddenly, “what were you reaching for when we came up?”
Billy darted a swift glance at him. Then he answered:
“My handkerchief. I’d been making the fire and my hands weren’t very clean, you know.”
“Do you carry your handkerchief in your hip pocket?” asked Chub skeptically.
“When I haven’t my coat on,” replied the other. “I guess it’s there yet; I don’t think I’ve taken it out. Yes, here it is.” And he reached back to his hip pocket and drew it forth.
“Oh,” said Chub, looking a little foolish. “I thought—” He hesitated.
“You thought,” said Billy, his blue eyes sparkling with good-natured raillery, “that I was going to ‘pull a gun’ and blow holes in you. Wasn’t that it?”
“Well, it looked as though you were reaching for a revolver.”
“Did it? You’re too suspicious,” laughed the other. “I’ll confess you startled me, but I’m a more peaceable chap than you give me credit for being.” There was a moment’s silence. Then Billy laughed softly. “Say,” he asked, “do you know what I was doing when you folks came along?”
Chub shook his head.
“I was just going to open that can of mushrooms,” answered Billy. “I’d had a pretty successful day and thought that now was my chance to celebrate.”
“Did you sell some books?” Chub asked.
“Well, something of that sort. I found a customer, in fact, two or three of them. But I guess those mushrooms bear a charmed life. Just as I’m going to stick my knife through the lid you come along and ask me to supper, and back go the mushrooms to the store-room. It’s funny, isn’t it? That’s the second time I’ve almost had them opened.”
“Maybe the third time will be successful,” laughed Chub.
Supper was late that evening, for Dick had two extra persons to provide for, and it was incumbent, besides, to set a rather more elaborate repast than usual. But when it was ready it proved to be well worth waiting for, and the fricassee of beef was delicious. Dick had learned the trick from a ranch cook out West. The ranch cook used to call it “frigasy de boof,” but he made it much better than he pronounced it. After supper Billy Noon and the Doctor got into a spirited discussion on the subject of Early Elizabethan Drama, a subject which didn’t greatly interest the others after the first ten minutes. But taken in connection with one thing and another, including the marked map seen in the cabin, Billy Noon’s knowledge of the subject in discussion set the boys wondering harder than ever that night after the guests had taken their departures.
“Of course he isn’t a book agent,” snorted Chub contemptuously. “And what’s more, he isn’t staying around here for any good. I’ll just bet he was going to pull out a revolver this afternoon, even if he did have a handkerchief there!”
But Roy and Dick weren’t willing to go so far as to suspect the Licensed Poet of wrong intentions.
“Maybe he isn’t a book agent,” allowed Dick, “but that doesn’t mean that he’s a—a pirate or a ‘bad man.’”
“Pirate!” answered Chub. “Who said anything about pirates? He might be looking around the country to see what was worth swiping, mightn’t he?”
“A burglar? Pshaw,” said Roy, “you’re daffy! Why, any one could see he’s too much of a gentleman for that. Besides, you crazy chump, burglars don’t take all that trouble. They just go and find out where there’s stuff worth stealing and steal it. Why, he’d starve to death before he got anything!”
“Well, then, what—” began Chub stubbornly.
“Bless you, I don’t know,” yawned Roy. “But he’s no burglar; I’ll bet anything on that.”
“He swiped our butter and our bread,” said Chub.
“Shucks! That was just a sort of joke. Look at the way he talked back at the Doctor about those old play-writers! Think burglars know about—what was it, Dick?”
“Early Elizabethan Dramas,” answered Dick glibly.
“Some might,” answered Chub, warming to the argument. “Look at that fellow in the book.”
“Raffles? Pshaw, that was just fiction; I’m talking about real burglars.”
“Well, it’s mighty funny,” grunted Chub. “And I think we ought to ask him point-blank what he’s up to.”
“That would be polite!” scoffed Dick. “Why, we wouldn’t do that to a Greaser out West. You haven’t any sense of hospitality; and you’re too suspicious, besides.”
“That’s what he said,” murmured Chub.
“And he was right. The idea of accusing him of going to shoot you!”
“I didn’t! I just meant that he was feeling for a revolver, like he was scared. I didn’t think he meant to shoot us.”
“Same thing,” said Roy. “Men don’t carry revolvers in their pockets if they’re all right.”
“That’s what I’m saying,” answered Chub triumphantly.
“But you don’t know he had a revolver there,” said Roy. “He said it was a handkerchief he was after, and he showed it to you.”
“Yes, but he might have had a revolver there too, mightn’t he? Besides, I don’t know that he didn’t put the handkerchief there after he got into his coat. I wasn’t watching him.”
“You ought to have been,” said Roy severely. Chub grunted. Then he returned to the argument.
“What’s that map for, then?” he demanded.
“Maybe he’s employed by the Government to make—observations,” suggested Dick vaguely. “They do that.”
“Oh, tommyrot!” said Chub. “You fellows make me tired. I’m going to bed.”
“Guess we’d all better go,” said Dick, yawning. “If we’re going to finish painting that boat to-morrow we want to get to work before the sun’s very hot.”
Chub and Roy groaned in unison.
But they didn’t paint the boat the next day, as it happened; nor for many days afterward. For when they awoke in the morning it was raining hard and by the time breakfast was over with it had settled down into a regular torrent. Going for Harry was quite out of the question. They passed the morning as best they could, remaining, for the most part, in the tent. They were glad enough for the ditch which surrounded them, for if it hadn’t been there they’d have had to sit in water. Even as it was little rivulets crept over the banks of the ditch and meandered across the floor. Roy was the only one of the three who wasn’t thoroughly bored by the middle of the afternoon. He was at work on his map of the island, becoming so absorbed in the task of tracing his lines on the big sheet of paper he had purchased for the purpose that he forgot all about the weather. Once it became necessary to verify a portion of his map, and he donned his thickest sweater and went around to Turtle Point, unheeding the ridicule of the others. By supper-time he had finished it, and although there were many criticisms offered he was very proud of it.
After supper Billy Noon came over to visit them, and they were heartily glad to see him. There was no camp-fire that night, for they had thoughtlessly left their store of wood exposed and there wasn’t enough dry fuel, beside what was needed for the stove, to make any kind of a blaze. Billy was in the best of spirits and this affected the spirits of the others favorably. He shed a yellow oilskin coat and hung it from a tent-pole under the single flickering lantern.
“Well, how goes it to-night, boys?” he asked.
“Oh, we’ve been bored to death all day,” answered Dick. “I never saw such weather!”
“Oh, I don’t know,” said Billy. “I like a day like this once in awhile. I like to get out and feel the rain. Where’s Miss Emery to-night?”
They explained that the weather had been too bad for her to come.
“I see,” said Billy. “Well, what have you been doing to pass the time?”
“Reading,” sighed Dick, “and playing two-handed euchre. Roy has been making a silly old map all day and wouldn’t say a word. Show him your map, Roy.”
Roy did so and Billy praised it highly.
“You’re a genuine chartographer, aren’t you?” he said.
“Gee, Chub,” laughed Dick. “We called him everything else, but we never thought of that, did we?”
But Chub only grunted. Ever since Billy’s entrance he had been sitting silent, watching the visitor as a cat watches a mouse. Roy kicked his shins once when Billy wasn’t looking and begged him not to be a silly fool, but Chub only looked wise and frowned. Soon Billy was telling stories, some warranted strictly true and some frankly impossible, but all interesting. The boys forgot their low spirits and laughed and applauded and begged for more. All save Chub. Chub sat and watched, soberly, like an avenging Fate. From tales Billy passed to ventriloquism and held an animated conversation with a man named Bill Jones who was presumably sitting astride the ridge-pole and doubtless getting very wet.
“Gee!” said Dick admiringly. “I wish I could do that! Couldn’t you teach me?”
“If there was time enough,” answered Billy. “But I’m going on in a week or so, and as it took me two months to learn what I know about it I guess it wouldn’t be worth while starting to teach you. It’s just a trick of the voice, but it takes a lot of practice. Now I’ll hold a key in my teeth. Professionals pretend that that’s a difficult stunt, but as a matter of fact it isn’t anything at all, because you keep your mouth still anyway.”
“Were you ever on the stage?” asked Roy eagerly.
Billy shook his head.
“Not regularly,” he answered. “I did ventriloquism and sleight-of-hand tricks once for three nights.”
“Oh, can you do tricks, too?” cried Dick.
“A few,” replied Billy modestly. “I’m rather out of practice, I’m afraid. You’ve got to work every day to keep your muscles limber or you’re not much good. I’ll try a few card tricks, if you like.”
So the cards were produced, and for the next quarter of an hour Billy Noon had Dick’s eyes popping out of his head. Chub still glowered, but it was noticeable that he leaned forward now and then and seemed pretty well interested in the Licensed Poet’s dexterous fingers. Then Billy did some palming tricks with, first, a coin and, afterward, a tennis-ball which Roy happened to have.
“Now,” said Billy, “to conclude the entertainment, ladies and gentlemen, I will ask one of you to kindly step upon the platform and lend me a moment’s assistance.” Billy arose and looked over the tent as he drew back his coat sleeves. “Thank you, sir,” he said, smiling professionally at Roy, “you will do nicely. I can see that it will be very hard to deceive you, sir. You will observe, ladies and gentlemen, that I have nothing up my sleeves, nothing in my hands.” He turned his palms out and back quickly. “Now I should like to borrow a silk hat from some member of the audience.” Dick and Roy were chuckling merrily. “Or failing that—let me see, ah, that cap on the bunk will do nicely. Thank you, sir.” And Billy bowed impressively as Dick handed him his cap. “And now may I have a handkerchief, if you please?”
That proved a rather embarrassing request, and in the end Roy had to go to his suit-case and dig out a clean one from the bottom of the confusion therein. Billy took it with a flourish.
Mr. Noon entertains the three boys
“Now, sir, if you will kindly stand here.” He placed Roy beside him, facing the “audience.” Roy grinned steadily and watched Billy as though he feared the latter was going to make him disappear.
“In doing these tricks,” said Billy, rolling the handkerchief between his palms, “it is necessary to demand of the audience the very closest attention. So I will ask you to keep your eyes on me very carefully, ve-e-ery carefully, because I might do something that you didn’t see, and I wouldn’t want to do that, believe me. I always take my audiences into my confidence, and if anything transpires here this evening which you do not fully understand—”
Dick and Chub were gazing fascinatedly at the handkerchief which had been rolled into a smaller and yet smaller ball and which was now entirely out of sight between Billy’s palms.
“I want you to tell me so that I can explain,” continued Billy. Then he brushed the palms of his hands lightly together. The handkerchief had utterly disappeared!
“Gosh!” said Dick.
“Blamed if I understand that,” muttered Chub. Billy laughed.
“Oh, that’s very simple,” he replied with a laugh. “Merely transference. Now, if the person in the audience is quite through with the handkerchief I’ll ask him to return it by one of the ushers.” Billy’s eyes ranged questioningly from Dick to Chub and back again, while he smiled politely and expectantly. Then, “I say if you are quite through with the handkerchief,” he announced in a louder voice, “you will be kind enough to return it.” Chub and Dick grinned. Roy stood on his other foot for a change and grinned too. Billy pretended to be cross. “Really, ladies and gentlemen,” he said, “I assure you that I can’t go on with the performance until the handkerchief is returned. I know where it is and if the gentleman who has it doesn’t return it at once I shall be obliged to call on one of the ushers for assistance.” The audience made no reply. “You, there,” cried Billy, pointing suddenly at Chub. “There’s no use in acting this way. The handkerchief is in your right-hand coat pocket. Kindly return it, sir!”
Chub nearly jumped off his soap-box. Then he stared dazedly at Billy for a moment, finally dropping one hand into the pocket specified, a look of incredulity on his face. But he found it, or at least he found something, for,
“Thunder!” he yelled, jerked his hand out again and jumped to his feet as something fell to the ground with a soft thud. The something went hopping away toward the tent door amidst howls of laughter from Roy and Dick. It was a large fat toad. Chub stared at it until it had hopped from sight. Then he stared at Billy. Finally he stared at Roy and Dick, and those youths went into spasms of even more riotous laughter. “Gee!” said Chub finally, and sat down again after looking at the soap-box carefully to see that there were no more toads about.
“You’d better look in your pocket again, Chub!” cried Dick. “There may be another!”
Chub obeyed the suggestion very gingerly and heaved a sigh of relief when he found the pocket empty.
“My mistake,” said Billy easily, when the laughter had subsided. “I beg your pardon, sir. Had I known that you were in the habit of carrying pets around with you I should have been more careful, sir. I’m very sorry, really. You’ll pardon me, I trust?” Chub grinned sheepishly and Billy was silent a moment, frowning intently at the lantern. Then, “Ah!” he exclaimed. “How stupid of me! Really, ladies and gentlemen, I don’t know when I’ve made such a foolish mistake before! I am really chagrined, I assure you!” He turned to Roy beside him. “You, sir, are at liberty to return to your seat. I thank you very much.” Roy smiled, hesitated, and moved toward his bed upon which he had been seated when summoned to assist “the Professor.” But he wasn’t destined to get off so easily, for:
“Oh, but one moment, sir, if you please,” said Billy. “You had better leave the handkerchief here, hadn’t you?”
Roy stopped and smiled helplessly.
“I suppose so,” he said, “if I’ve got it.”
“Do you mean to deny that you have it?” exclaimed Billy in apparent astonishment.
“You bet I don’t,” answered Roy forcibly, to the amusement of the others.
“Ah,” said Billy, “then I’ll trouble you for it.” And he held out his hand.
“I—I guess you’ll have to take it,” answered Roy uneasily.
“You compel me to use force,” said Billy. “I’m sorry, but—” He seized Roy quickly, plunged a hand into the inside pocket of his jacket and drew forth the handkerchief neatly folded!
Roy stared at the handkerchief and at Billy. Then he shook his head and made for his seat.
“Gee,” he said laughingly, “I wasn’t sure it wasn’t in my mouth!”
“Tell us how you did it!” demanded Dick. But Billy, pulling his sleeves down, shook his head smilingly.
“Professional secrets,” he said. “And now I must be off to bed. I’ve kept you fellows up pretty late, I’m afraid.” They assured him that they liked it and that he should stay longer. But he got into his oilskin coat and took his departure through the rain.
“Say, he’s all right, isn’t he?” asked Dick awedly. They all agreed that he was. But a moment later Chub said suddenly:
“I guess a fellow who can do things like that wouldn’t have much trouble getting a handkerchief into his hip pocket!”