The Golden Eagle Mystery (2 page)

“Practicing?” exclaimed Djuna. “What do you mean?”

“When I was walking along the street, of course,” Billy explained, grinning. “I’d whistle, and then I’d yell, ‘Alberto, come here! Alberto! Alberto!’ I had to get used to calling him the right way, didn’t I?”

Djuna looked quickly over at the monument but no dog came out from behind it. Then he looked back at Billy.

“Go on,” he said. “I’m listening.”

“Well,” said the thin boy, “the first thing I knew, when I was practicing calling Alberto one day, Old Man Truelove happened to come along, and he heard me. What’s the matter?’ he said. ‘Lost your dog?’ And I said, ‘No, sir, I haven’t lost him.’ Which was true, of course, because I hadn’t ever had him.”

“Who’s Mister Truelove?” asked Djuna.

“Oh, he runs the store down at his pier,” said Billy, carelessly. “Phinny Truelove. Everybody knows him.”

“Well, go on,” said Djuna.

“Well, that’s what gave me the idea,” Billy continued. “All of a sudden I thought to myself, ‘Why shouldn’t I—’”

Djuna, who had been listening with eager attention, stopped Billy right in the middle of the sentence, by a whoop of admiration.

“Yippee!” he shouted. “Gee, that was a swell idea, Billy! Golly. I’ll bet you have an awful lot of fun with him! For Pete’s sake, that’s the smartest thing I ever heard of!”

“Do you really think so?” asked the thin boy, anxiously. “Honest?”

“I certainly do!” said Djuna. “Why, you could do almost anything with a dog like that!”

Billy Reckless held out his hand. “Shake!” he said solemnly. “I could tell right away, as soon as I saw you, that we could be partners.”

“I’d like to be,” said Djuna, and he shook hands hard. “Say, is Alberto a collie? I always thought I’d like a collie, if I could have another dog besides Champ.”

“He can be a collie, if you want,” said Billy. “He changes, you know. Right now, I’ve had him be a fox terrier, because it’s easier to teach fox terriers to do tricks. That’s what I was doing when you came along. Want to see him?”

“Sure!” said Djuna.

So Billy Reckless proudly whistled to his imaginary dog, and the imaginary Alberto came bounding out from behind the stone monument, and the two boys put him through all his imaginary tricks. Alberto walked on his hind legs. Alberto walked on his front paws. Alberto answered questions. If he gave one bark, the answer was “Yes,” if he gave two, the answer was “No,” Billy explained.

But if anyone had happened to come along just then, they would not have seen two boys and two dogs—they would have seen only one dog, the small black Scotty named Champ, who sat patiently looking on while the two boys talked to Alberto, the dog that Billy Reckless had made up.

“Were you going anywhere special?” asked Billy Reckless, after they had put Alberto through all the tricks they could think of.

“Yes,” said Djuna. “I was going to the grocery store to get some cans of dog food and some dog biscuits for Champ.”

“I suppose I ought to get some for Alberto,” said Billy, thoughtfully. “Shall I get you something to eat, Alberto?”

He listened for a moment and then grinned.

“He barked twice,” he said to Djuna. “That means no.”

“All right for
him
,” said Djuna. “If he doesn’t want any, that’s not
our
fault. Say, where is the grocery store, anyway, Billy?”

“We might as well go to Phinny Truelove’s, I suppose,” said Billy. “It’s right around this corner, down at his dock. Come on, I’ll show you.”

Followed by Champ, at the end of his leash, the two boys set off. Alberto trotted ahead, easily invisible.

Mr. Phineas Truelove’s store came into sight as soon as they turned the corner. It was right at the edge of the water, and beyond it were many boats anchored in the harbor.

To get to the store, they first passed through a vacant lot, where the ground was so stony and gravelly that not even weeds grew there. But it made a very good place for the fishermen to put things they were not using. On the edge of this lot, nearest the water, two or three old rowboats had been pulled up. In another part of the lot was a pile of wooden crates, one on top of another, and Djuna thought they looked like the crates that oranges are packed in.

“What are all those boxes for?” asked Djuna, pointing at them.

“Boxes?” asked Billy. “Oh, those aren’t boxes, they’re lobster pots!”

“You mean that’s the way you catch lobsters?” asked Djuna. “I never saw any before.”

“Sure,” said Billy. “You see this little net with a hole in the middle, that’s fastened to the end of each box? Well, the lobster goes in, to get the bait inside, but once he gets inside, he can’t get out again.”

“Where do they put these traps?” asked Djuna. “Anywhere in the water?”

“Not just anywhere,” said Billy. “You have to put them out in deep water, mostly out by the islands, two or three miles from here. The lobsters move around on the rocks away under the water. You see these stones that are fastened in each of these lobster pots? That’s so the box won’t float, but will sink down to the bottom, where the lobsters are.”

“Then how can you find the box again, away under water?” asked Djuna.

Billy pointed at a pile of short, thick pieces of wood, heaped up near the lobster pots. Each one was painted red and white, and had a number or some letters painted at one end. But the paint was old and dry and peeling off.

“You see those?” asked Billy. “They’re marker buoys. Before you sink a lobster pot under water, you fasten one of these markers to it with a rope, and the rope has to be long enough so that the marker will float on top of the water. Then, when you want to pick up the trap, you just haul the marker into your boat and pull the lobster pot up after it, from the bottom.”

“What do those letters mean, painted on the markers?” asked Djuna.

“Oh, that shows who the marker belongs to,” said Billy. “These are all marked ‘P T,’ you see. That stands for ‘Phineas Truelove.’ But old Phinny doesn’t do any fishing, himself, any more. He just buys and sells whatever he can get from the fishermen—lobsters and fish and steamers, mostly.”

“Steamers!” exclaimed Djuna, in surprise. “You mean steamships?”

Billy Reckless laughed. “I guess you’ve never been around this part of the country before,” he said. “Steamers—that means clams that you steam, to cook ’em. Just wait till you try some! Gee, I could eat a bushel of ’em, any time! You dip ’em in melted butter, and, oh, boy, are they good!”

“How do you catch them?” asked Djuna innocently. “With a hook and line?”

Billy laughed again. “You don’t catch them, you dig them,” he explained. “You go out on the mud flats, at low tide, and dig them out with a kind of a spade, only it’s more like a bucket on the end of a pole, really. We’ll go claimin’ someday, I’ll show you.”

“Gee, that will be swell!” exclaimed Djuna. “But where is this place, Low Tide? Is that anywhere near here?”

Billy Reckless stared at him in amazement. “Say, what are you talking about?” he asked. “Don’t you really know what low tide is?”

Djuna shook his head. “No,” he said. “You said the mud flats were at Low Tide, didn’t you? What’s wrong with what I said?”

Billy gave a whistle of astonishment. “Well, dog my cats!” he said. “You’re the first person I ever heard of that didn’t know what
tide
is! Come here, I’ll show you! Come out here to the end of the pier with me. My goodness, it’s time you knew!”

He started off down the yard, motioning Djuna to follow. The black terrier, Champ, had been busily gnawing away at one of the wooden markers lying on the ground and didn’t want to leave, but got up when Djuna pulled at his leash.

They walked out on the pier, which, at that end, was so wide that Mister Truelove’s little store was built on it, but Billy led the way past the store and along the narrower part of the pier, which was like a wooden side-walk on stilts, stretching out fifty feet beyond the store. Djuna followed him till they came to the very end of it, wondering what Billy was going to show him.

At the end of the dock, Billy pointed toward the next pier, a little way off.

“There, look there!” he commanded. “See those posts the dock is built on? See how far the water is from the top of the dock? Pretty near six feet, I guess. Well, that means it’s about low tide right now. Pretty soon the tide will change, and begin to rise. And by the time it’s high tide, the water will be three feet higher than it is now. See that strip of beach over on the other side of the harbor? Well, after the tide comes in, you won’t see any of it. It will all be under water. Same way with the mud flats where you dig for clams. Understand, now?”

“Of course,” said Djuna. “But up where I live, there was a pond we used to fish on, and it never had any tide, so I didn’t know.”

“It must have been a fresh-water pond,” said Billy. “This is salt water. The tide comes from the ocean.”

He picked up a bit of wood lying on the dock and tossed it out into the water. After a moment it began to float slowly to the south.

“See that?” he asked. “Tide’s still running out. That piece of wood may drift a couple of miles before the tide turns, and it begins to float this way again.”

“How long will it be before the tide begins running in, instead of running out?” asked Djuna.

“It changes about once in every six hours,” said Billy. “If it’s high tide at six o’clock in the morning, then the tide will be running out until about noon. Then it changes and begins running in, and keeps that up for six hours, about, so that by six o’clock in the afternoon it’s high tide again.”

“Say, that’s wonderful!” said Djuna, staring in fascination at the piece of wood floating steadily out to sea.

“What’s so wonderful about it?” said Billy. “It’s always been that way.”

“Yes, but
I
never saw it before,” persisted Djuna. “Why, it’s just as though the ocean was breathing in and breathing out!”

“Well, you’ll get used to it if you live around here,” the thin boy chuckled. “Come on, don’t you want to get that stuff for your dog?”

He led the way back along the narrow pier, towards Mr. Truelove’s store, and Djuna followed him, though he was still deep in thought about the silent magic of the tide.

Old Phineas Truelove’s store was built on a wide wooden platform at the edge of the water, on posts that stuck up above the platform so that boats could be moored to the posts when the fishermen brought fish and lobsters to sell to Mr. Truelove. Floating in the water, alongside the platform, was an enormous box built of heavy wood, with only the top above water. It was about fifteen feet long and six feet wide. A square hole, about two feet square, in the middle of the big box, was covered with a wooden lid.

“What’s that for?” asked Djuna, as they came opposite the floating box. “Is that a float, to dive from, when you go swimming?”

Billy shook his head. “That’s a lobster pound,” he explained patiently. “Ever hear of a dog pound, where they put dogs? Well, this is a lobster pound, where they put lobsters, live lobsters. Mister Truelove keeps them in there until somebody comes along to buy them.”

“Gee, I’m going to ask Aunt Patty if we can have one!” exclaimed Djuna. “I never ate any lobster. Are they good?”

“Are they good?” echoed Billy, rolling his eyes. “I’ll say they’re good!”

Then he looked at Djuna in surprise.

“Hasn’t Aunt Patty had lobster for dinner since you got here?” he asked. “
She
doesn’t have to buy ’em from Phinny Truelove—she catches them herself!”

“She does?” exclaimed Djuna. “I didn’t know that! No, we didn’t have any lobster last night, we had lamb chops. I only got here last night, you know. She hasn’t said a word about lobsters. Does she really catch them herself?”

“Sure,” said Billy. “She’s got a string of lobster pots out off Sixpenny Island and Haypenny Island.”

“Where’s that?” asked Djuna.

Billy pointed off to the south, across the water.

“Oh, they’re about three or four miles out,” he said. “They’s so small that you can’t hardly see them from here. She owns ’em.”

“Gee, she must be rich!” exclaimed Djuna, impressed by the thought that anyone could actually own two islands.

“She isn’t rich,” said Billy. “They aren’t worth anything much. You couldn’t live out there. They’re just rocks. All they’re good for is to fish from.”

“How does she get out to them?” asked Djuna, wonderingly.

“With a boat, of course,” said Billy. “That’s her boat over there.”

And he pointed to a small but sturdy motorboat tied to the next pier. Djuna could read the name painted at the bow of the boat—P
ATAGONIA
.

“That’s a funny name for a boat!” exclaimed Djuna. “Patagonia—why, that’s a place down in South America! It’s in my geography.”

“Well, maybe it is,” said Billy. “But that isn’t where she got it. It’s her own name.”

“What do you mean?” asked Djuna.

“I mean Patagonia,” said Billy. “That’s Aunt Patty’s name. Patty—that’s short for Patagonia. I guess she named her boat after herself.”

Djuna stared at the boat with admiration. Its sides were scratched and scarred, and a good deal of its paint had peeled off, but it looked reliable.

“Gee, I’d like to go out in that boat!” he exclaimed. “Do you suppose Aunt Patty would take us along, next time she goes?”

“Sure, she will,” said Billy, confidently. “She took me, one time. Why don’t you ask her?”

“I will, right away!” said Djuna. “As soon as I buy Champ’s biscuits.”

They hurried into Mr. Truelove’s store. Mr. Truelove was sitting at one end of the counter, smoking his pipe and reading a newspaper. He was an old man, with a little gray beard under his chin that made him look like a billy-goat. He stood up slowly and asked them what they wanted.

Djuna told him that he wanted to buy three cans of dog food and a box of dog biscuits, and Mr. Truelove hunted around the shelves until he found them.

“Haven’t ever seen you before, have I, young man?” he asked, looking at Djuna sharply. “‘You live here in Stony Harbor?”

“I just came here,” answered Djuna. “I’m going to stay at Aunt Patty’s, I mean Mrs. Tubbs’ house, for a while.”