CHAPTER XVIII--IN WHICH TOM PUTS UP AT THE SEAMONT INN
Tom stirred uneasily and brushed his nose with his hand. A drop ofmoisture had formed on it and was tickling him. Dimly aware of a changein conditions since he had fallen asleep, he opened his eyes, blinked,and sat up. The tent had disappeared; Dan had disappeared; Nelson haddisappeared; everyone had disappeared! There was nothing in sight save,a few feet away, the blackened remains of last night's fire and the pileof wood which he had collected. After the first expression of surprisehad passed from his countenance a smile of amusement settled on it. Tomchuckled.
"I'll bu-bu-bet Dan did it," he said half aloud. He threw his blanketfrom him and stood up. The fog was so thick that he couldn't see theedge of the shore, but he remembered where the tender had been and, withblanket over his shoulders, he walked toward it. He found the landingbut no tender.
"I suppose they're waiting for me to yell out to them. Well, theyprobably won't come until I do. So here goes: O Dan! O fellows!"
Silence.
"_Vagabond_ ahoy!" shouted Tom. "Say, cut it out, will you? I want mybreakfast!"
Silence.
"Oh, thunder!" muttered Tom, pulling the blanket up over his head tokeep the fog from sifting down his neck. "Think you're smart, don'tyou?" At that moment the fog cleared for a tiny space and Tom stared inpuzzled surprise. Then the mists shut down again as quickly as they hadlifted, but not before Tom had seen that the _Vagabond_ was no longer insight. He sat down on the stone wall and tried to reason it out. Ofcourse it had been Dan's idea; no one but Dan would think of such atrick. They had gone off to the boat and had managed to get the tentdown without disturbing him. But afterwards? Why had they gone off inthe launch? Probably to make him think that they had left him for good.Very well, then he would follow. He recollected that below the cove theshore had jutted out into a wooded point; he had gathered wood along theedge of it yesterday afternoon. They had probably taken the launcharound the point out of sight. So the best thing to do was to walk alongthe shore until he got to where they were. Then he'd tell them just whathe thought of them!
So he set off through the fog, keeping the river's edge dimly in sight.He began to feel rather soggy and very, very hungry. Also, it was nonetoo warm that morning, although after he had been walking for a time hischilliness passed off. When he reached the woods he hesitated. To turnto the left and follow the shore would mean much harder walking and amuch longer trip. So he decided to go through the wood and come out onthe other side of the point. After five minutes he began to think thathe had made a mistake. For there was no sign of a break in the trees,nor, when he paused and listened, could he hear the lap of the littlewaves along the shore. Probably he had borne too far inland. He changedhis course to the left and started on again. But the trees grew neartogether, there was a good deal of underbrush and keeping a straightcourse was out of the question. By this time his only thought was toreach the shore again, and he kept bearing farther and farther to theleft. Some ten minutes passed. Tom's face began to grow anxious. He hadvisions of spending the day in those woods, breakfastless, luncheonless,dinnerless! He stopped and sat down on a fallen log to consider thesituation calmly and to get some of his breath back.
"The next time I leave home in a fog you'll know it!" he muttered,apparently addressing the nearest tree. "What good's a fog, anyway?"Presently he realized that his thoughts had wandered away on the subjectof fogs and that he hadn't solved his dilemma. By this time he had lostall sense of direction and didn't pretend to know where the river lay.The wood, he thought, couldn't be very large and so if he kept onwalking in a straight line he was certain to get out of it before long.Once out of it--Well, maybe he could find a house or a road. As for the_Vagabond_ and Dan and Nelson and Bob they could choke for all he cared;what he wanted was breakfast, and lots of it!
So presently, having recovered his wind, he got up, fixed a directionfirmly in his mind and trudged on again. The fog was thinner here in thewoods than it had been along the shore; possibly, he reasoned, thefarther inland he got the less fog there would be. Although if he couldonly find something to eat he wouldn't bother about the weather. He hadbeen walking for some five or six minutes when the trees suddenlydisappeared and he found himself on the edge of a planted field. The fogseemed as thick as ever and it was impossible to see more than twenty orthirty feet away. But a planted field, especially one planted withvegetables, as this one was, argued a house near by. So he got betweentwo rows of cauliflower and tramped on. Presently he found his waybarred by a stone wall. On the other side of the wall was grass. Tomperched himself on top of the wall and speculated.
He cut a queer figure as he sat there with the red-bordered gray blanketover his head. One corner of the blanket had been dragging for the lastten minutes and was covered with mud. Here and there a wet leaf waspasted upon it. His shoes, the white canvas, rubber-soled "sneakers"worn on the launch, were sights to behold, and within them his feet werevery wet and very cold. But what bothered him most of all was hisstomach. That felt dreadfully empty, and now and then little "shooty"pains made themselves felt.
Probably he had mistaken the direction of the house belonging to thefield, he told himself dispiritedly. He should have walked across therows instead of along them. And the grass in front of him only meant ameadow with silly cows, and, maybe, a bull! He wondered what a bullwould think of him if he saw him; nothing flattering, probably. On thewhole, he decided that he would a little rather not run across a bullthis morning. Then suddenly he heard, far away and indistinct, the_Vagabond's_ whistle. He knew it too well to mistake it.
"Go on and blow it," he muttered. "Hope your arm gets tired. You won'tsee me until I've had some breakfast, I can tell you that. That's right,blow, blow! Who the dickens cares?"
From the direction of the sound it was evident to him that he had leftthe river almost directly behind him. But what bothered him at thepresent moment more than the location of the river and the _Vagabond_was the location of the house and something to satisfy the craving ofhis empty stomach. He strove to remember what he knew about farms.Usually, he thought, the vegetable fields were near the buildings andthe meadows at a distance, although he didn't suppose there was any hardand fast rule about it. Then it dawned on him that for a meadow this onewas unusually well kept. The grass was short and thick and the fieldquite level. He wondered if it could be a lawn. He would explore it.
So, rather stiff by this time, he slipped off the wall and startedstraight ahead across the turf. Presently he came to a ridge some threefeet high, rounded and turfed. He stopped and wondered. It disappearedon either side of him into the surrounding grayness. He climbed to thetop of it and looked down. On the other side was a six-foot ditch ofcoarse sand. He was on a golf links and the ridge was a silly oldbunker!
He slid down on the other side of it and rested there with his wet shoesin the sand. It was all very nice, he told himself, to know that youwere on a golf course, but it didn't help very much. A chap could bejust as lost, just as wet and miserable and hungry on a golf course asanywhere else. Somewhere, of a certainty, there was a clubhouse, but ifhe knew where it stood and could find it it was more than probable thatit would be closed up on a day like this. And, anyhow, they wouldn't beserving breakfast there! The idea of sitting just where he was untilsome one came along suggested itself but didn't appeal to him. Once hethought he heard a noise of some sort, but he wasn't sure. However, hegot up and headed in the direction from which it had seemed to come.After a minute or two he came to a green with a soggy red tin disk,numbered fourteen, sticking out of a hole.
"Glad it wasn't thirteen," said Tom to himself as he went on. "Thatmight have been unlucky."
Presently it seemed that the fog had lessened and that his range ofvision had enlarged; he was quite sure that he could discern objects ata greater distance than before. But as there wasn't at that momentanything particularly interesting to discern the discovery didn't bringmuch encouragement. He was going up a steep hill now and whe
n he hadgained the summit and seated himself for a moment on the edge of thesand box, which stood there at the edge of a tee, he saw that the fogwas thinner because he was higher up. Behind him the ground sloped awayagain, but not so abruptly as in front. As he sat there, struggling forbreath after his climb, it seemed that he was the only person inexistence. On all sides of him the hill lost itself in the envelopingmists. He was alone in an empty gray space in which there was neitherfood nor fire. He got quite discouraged about it and a little watery atthe eyes until he shook himself together and told himself that he was ababy.
"There are houses and people all around you," he said disgustedly, "onlyyou can't see them. All you've got to do is to brace up and keep onwalking until you find them."
But that was easier said than done, for he had been walking a long time,and for much of that time over hard ground, and his legs were tired out.But he went on presently, slowly and discouragedly, down a long slopeand up another. He had begun to talk aloud to himself for veryloneliness, and some of the things he said would have sounded quiteridiculous had there been anyone else to hear them.
At the summit of the slope he paused again to rest, and as he did so hesuddenly lifted his head intently, straining his eyes before him intothe fog. Of course it was all perfect tommyrot, but, just the same--well,it did sound like music! In fact, it _was_ music, very faint andsometimes dying away altogether, but still music!
"Maybe," said Tom aloud, "I've starved to death and got to heaven. But Idon't feel dead." Then, with returning animation, he strode forwardagain. "Me for the music," he said.
Less than a minute later a great dark bulk took shape and form ahead ofhim. At first it seemed like the edge of a woods, but as the musicincreased momentarily that was out of the question. No, plainly it was abuilding, and a big one! And in another minute Tom was standing in agravel roadway in front of a big hotel which stretched away on eitherside of him. There were lights inside, and an orchestra was playingmerrily. The windows of the lower floor were dimmed with the fog, but hecould see the indistinct forms of persons inside and the dancing lightof a fire. Directly in front of him was a covered porch and beyond itthe wide glass doors.
Tom drew the blanket from over his head, folded it as neatly as hemight, laid it across his arm and, bareheaded and bedraggled, crossedthe porch, opened the door and went in.
He found himself in a great, luxuriously furnished hall. At the back awide staircase ascended. In the center a huge fireplace held a pile ofblazing logs. Beyond it, half obscured by palms in tubs, ascarlet-coated orchestra was playing. To his right was a long counterbehind which two immaculate clerks moved. About the fireplace andspreading across the big exchange were seated many persons. They hadbeen talking very industriously until the door opened. But for somereason at Tom's advent the conversation lessened and lessened until, ashe walked across the shining oak floor, there was an impressive silence.The two clerks stopped their work and gazed at him in amused surprise.Tom, aware of the effect he was causing but caring not at all, stoppedat the desk, stuck his hands in his pockets and addressed the nearestclerk in the calmest manner possible.
"I would like to see the manager, if you please," said Tom.
"'I would like to see the manager, if you please.'"]