When Bob awoke the next morning it was to a gray world. The open ports were rimmed with tiny drops of moisture and the mist swirled in like films of smoke. He got out of bed, traversed the cabin, thrust open the hatch and put his head out of doors. The morning was warm and still, so still that the voice of some one on the wharf hundreds of feet away sounded close at hand, so still that the lapping of the water against the hull, usually unnoted, seemed a veritable clamor. The deck, cockpit floor, cabin roof, all surfaces were covered with miniature pools, and Bob’s hands, clasping the doorway, came away wringing wet.

There was nothing to be seen in any direction, save that now and then, as the mist momentarily lessened, the upper part of the mast and rigging of a sloop moored some thirty feet away from the Vagabond became dimly visible. It was as though some mischievous giant had in the night, with a sweep of his hand, sponged everything out of existence, everything save the Vagabond and the little fog-rimmed pool of water in which she sat. It was wonderful and uncanny. It was also very damp, and Bob, standing at the cabin entrance, gazing blankly about him, felt the tiny particles of moisture, blown on a light southwest breath from the ocean, settling on his face and damping his pyjamas until they began to cling to him. He beat a retreat to the cabin, drawing the doors closed behind him, and proceeded to awaken his companions by the simple expedient of pulling the bedclothes off them.

“Get up and look at the fog,” he commanded. “It’s all over the shop and so thick you can cut it with a knife – any knife, even Dan’s!”

“That’s all right,” muttered Tom, striving to keep warm by bringing his knees up to his chin, “you cut me a slice, Bob, and toast it lightly on both sides.”

“Want any butter?” asked Bob solicitously.

“There isn’t any,” answered Tom sleepily.

“Isn’t any?” cried Dan, waking up very suddenly. “What the dickens are we going to do for breakfast?”

“There’s some lard,” murmured Tom.

Dan leaped out of his berth and rolled Tom onto the floor.

“Here, you! Are you telling the truth? Isn’t there really any butter for breakfast?”

“Not a bit,” answered Tom cheerfully. “We ran out of it yesterday noon and I forgot to get any last night. Butter’s very unhealthy, though, Dan; it gives a fellow boils. I read in a paper just the other day that we eat too much butter and grease. We really oughtn’t, you know.”

“I vote we make Tommy go and get some,” said Nelson, yawning and sitting up on the edge of his berth.

“Oh, I’ll go,” replied Tom, climbing to his feet, “if you think you must have it. It is bad for you, though, honest! Look at Dan’s complexion already! It’s awful! For his sake, Nel, supposing we leave butter out for a few days.”

“My complexion!” jeered Dan. “Look at your own, Tommy!”

“I have a perfect complexion,” said Tom gravely. “It is like peaches and cream. Yours is like – like apple sauce.” He bolted for the toilet room and got the door fastened behind him before Dan could reach him.

“Looks to me as though we were here for a while,” observed Nelson, glancing through a port at the impenetrable grayness outside. “We can’t go chugging around the place in this fog.”

“Maybe it will burn off after a time,” said Bob. “If we get to Newport before dark we can spend the night there. What’s the good of hurrying, anyhow? We haven’t got to get anywhere at any particular time.”

“Well, there’s Dan to think of. He’s homesick and wants to get to New York, you know.”

“The only thing I want to get is breakfast,” answered Dan. “And I intend to have butter with it, too. Tommy’s got to hike out and find some.”

“I won’t!” cried Tom from behind the partition. “I’m cook and don’t have to run errands.”

“We’ll see about that,” returned Dan grimly. Tom, who had begun to splash water in the basin again, ceased operations for a moment.

“I won’t, I won’t!” he called gleefully. “I’ve mutinied. Down with the captain! I’m going to scuttle the ship in a minute. Anyone seen the scuttle?”

“No, but several persons are going to see your finish when you come out,” answered Dan. “We’re going to string you to the yardarm.”

“There isn’t any!”

“Then we’ll keel-haul you, whatever that is.”

“I demand to be put in chains. Then I can’t go for butter.”

“We really ought to have a brig,” said Nelson.

“What’s that?” asked Tom anxiously. “Can you eat it?”

“It’s a place where they confine sailors that don’t behave themselves, a sort of prison cell.”

“How would the ice box do?” Bob asked.

“Huh,” answered Dan, “that would be a prison cell on us; Tommy would eat up everything in there and then we’d have to knock the box to pieces to get him out.”

“Well,” said Tom in an aggrieved voice, “if I can’t be put in chains I refuse to mutiny.”

So he went for butter instead. Bob volunteered to start breakfast and Tom got into the tender and paddled off into the fog on his errand.

“If I get lost,” he called, “you must blow the whistle so I’ll know where to find you.”

“All right,” Nelson answered. “Only you’ll have to let us know.”

“Sure; I’ll send you a telegram.” And Tom disappeared whistling gayly.

The others finished dressing, and then, while Bob started the fire, found the bacon and sliced bread, made the coffee and set the table, Dan and Nelson pulled the deck awning out of the locker and set about spreading it over the stanchions. It had not been used before on the present trip and it took them some time to solve the intricacies of it. But finally it was in place, Dan had wiped the chairs and seat until they were comparatively dry and Nelson had tended to the lanterns. By that time breakfast was ready and Tom had been gone a full half hour.

“How far is the store?” asked Dan impatiently.

“Oh, just a little ways,” said Bob. “Maybe, though, it wasn’t open when he got there.”

“More likely he’s gone and got lost in the fog,” said Nelson anxiously. “If he doesn’t show up pretty soon, let’s eat. I’m starving.”

So, when ten minutes more had passed without Tom’s appearance, the three sat down to breakfast. By that time Dan was so hungry that he didn’t care whether there was any butter or not. They finished the meal and returned to the deck.

“Maybe we’d better start the whistle,” suggested Dan.

“If we call out it will do just as well,” said Bob. “Come on, all together!”

“O Tommy!” they yelled. There was no answer. They tried again and still again.

“Oh, let him alone,” said Dan disgustedly. “He’ll find his way back when he gets ready. I dare say he’s found a candy store.”

“Well, we’ll leave some breakfast for him,” said Bob. “Come on down and let’s get the things washed up. I vote we have luncheon on shore.”

The fog held steadily. Now and then voices reached them or the creaking of a boom as some small craft tried to work her way out of the harbor. But for the most part the silence was as thick as the fog which rolled in across the island. The awning was some protection, but it didn’t keep the cockpit dry by any manner of means, and so they got into their oilskins. When five bells had struck below Nelson got worried and tried the whistle. After the third or fourth blast a voice hailed them from off to starboard.

“Hello, there! What’s the matter?” was the inquiry.

“One of our fellows has gone ashore and hasn’t come back,” answered Nelson. “We thought maybe he had got lost in the fog. Where are you?”

“On the steamboat wharf,” was the reply.

“On the steamboat wharf!” muttered Nelson, looking perplexedly about him into the mist. “But the wharf ought to be in the opposite direction, Bob!”

“Pshaw!” answered Bob. “The tide’s swung the boat around, that’s what’s happened.”

“And Tommy’s gone off across the harbor!” chuckled Dan, “looking for butter!”

“What’s over there, I wonder?” asked Nelson.

“I don’t know,” Bob replied, “but it’s a good mile across in a straight line.”

“And Tommy was never able to row straight in his life,” laughed Dan. “Oh, well, he’ll get onto himself after a while and come back.”

“He’s been gone long enough already to have rowed over there and back two or three times,” said Bob uneasily. “Toot your old whistle some more, Nel.”

And Nelson obeyed, blowing the whistle at intervals for the next hour and only ceasing when the air pressure gave out. And Tom refused to show up.

At twelve they began to think of luncheon.

“Wherever he is,” said Dan, “he’s safe enough. Trust Tommy to look after himself! I dare say he’s toasting himself in front of someone’s stove and eating caramels. So I say we go ashore and find some luncheon. Something tells me that it is approaching the hour.”

“Don’t happen to know how we’re going to get ashore, do you?” asked Nelson. Dan’s face fell.

“Thunder! That’s so; Tommy’s got the boat. Can’t we pull up anchor and chug over to the wharf?”

“I don’t want to try it,” was the reply. “We might make it all right and we might not. There are two or three small boats between here and there and I don’t want any bills for damages. Let’s see what there is in the larder.”

They went down together and rummaged.

“Here’s bacon,” said Nelson, “and plenty of bread.”

“And potatoes,” added Dan. “And cereal, although I never tried it for luncheon.”

“And jam and jelly,” said Bob, “and a can of peaches.”

“And cheese,” continued Dan.

“And one egg,” said Nelson.

“Saved!” cried Dan. “Here’s three cans of corned-beef hash! Oh, yum, yum! Me for the corned beef!”

“Oh, we’ve got plenty of stuff here,” said Nelson cheerfully. “We’ll have some boiled potatoes and hash, tea, bread, cheese, and jam. What more could we want?”

“Well,” answered Dan, “far be it from me to throw cold asparagus on your menu, Nel, but it does seem that a tiny pat of butter would help a little, now doesn’t it?”

“Remember what Tom told you about your complexion,” said Nelson severely.

“I wonder if he’ll find any luncheon?” said Dan.

“Maybe he’s more concerned just now with breakfast,” said Bob. “As far as we know he hasn’t had that yet!”

“Poor old Tommikins,” muttered Dan. “And he so fond of eating, too! I really believe that if Tommy missed two meals in succession he’d die of starvation.”

“Well, let’s get busy,” said Nelson. “We’ll help you, Bob.”

“All right; there’s the potatoes and here’s the knife. Peel them thin, now. By the way, how would they taste fried?”

“Oh, great!” cried Dan, smacking his lips. “Say, I believe this old fog makes a fellow hungrier than anything else!”

“Fried it is, then,” answered Bob. “There’s plenty of lard. Find the can opener, Dan, and yank the lid off of one of those cans of hash.”

“We never got a can opener!” exclaimed Nelson. “I forgot all about it. Use the old potato knife, Dan.”

“All right. Say, this is great fun, isn’t it? Wow!”

“Cut yourself?” asked Nelson.

“Oh, not much. Next time I see a store I’m going to buy an opener if it costs ten cents! Thunder!”

The can slipped out of his hands and went skimming across the oilcloth floor. Luckily the top was only half off and very little of the contents was spilled. Dan rescued it, seated himself on the steps and, placing it firmly between his knees, sawed away at the tin.

“There you are!” he said triumphantly. “It smells mighty good, too! Hurry up, Nel, with those potatoes, or I’ll perish before your very eyes.”

“Where’s the lard?” asked Bob. “Tommy said there was lots of it. Look in the ice box, Bob.”

“Here it is: ‘Leaf Lard,’ whatever that is.”

“Got any water on for tea, Bob?” asked Nelson.

“No, put some in the kettle, will you? I’ll cut these potatoes up, what you’ve left of them; I rather think we’d get more if I fried the skins!”

“Oh, you run away and play,” answered Nelson. “They’re peeled to the Queen’s taste.”

“Perhaps the Queen had more potatoes than we have,” was the answer. “You get out of here, Dan, you’re in the way.”

“Well, I’ll go up and discover Tommy.”

“You’ll set the table,” said Nelson, “that’s what you’ll do.”

“Sure! How do you do it?”

“Put the cloth on and I’ll come and help you,” answered Nelson.

“Aye, aye, sir! A sailor’s life for me!”

Twenty minutes later they were seated around the table on which steamed a dish of corned-beef hash, nicely browned about the edges, a dish of hashed brown potatoes, and three cups of very strong tea. There was bread, too, and cheese in a little crockery jar, and jam and crackers. Dan uttered a sigh of content as he piled his plate.

“Tommy doesn’t know what he’s missing,” he said.

“I wish to goodness he’d show up,” said Bob. “Is it clearing up any, Dan?”

“Not so you’d notice it,” replied that youth who had been up on deck a moment before. “It’s as thick as ever and maybe thicker.”

“Well, Tommy’ll turn up all right, I guess,” said Nelson.

“When he does I’ll bet he will be hungry enough to eat raw dog,” said Dan. “Gee, but this hash is swell! Who’s got the bread?”

“Have some butter, won’t you, Dan?” begged Nelson.

“Well, I should say not! With my complexion? What are you thinking about? Say, how would a little lard taste on the bread, fellows?”

“You might try it,” answered Bob. “I dare say it wouldn’t be any worse than some butter I’ve met.”

They were very hungry, very merry, and very noisy, and as a consequence of the latter fact they did not hear the sound of oars outside or of feet on the deck, nothing, in fact, until some one stumbled wearily down the steps and appeared at the stateroom door.

“Tommy!” cried Dan, and —

“Tommy!” echoed Bob and Nelson.

Tommy, very tired looking and extremely damp, dragged himself across the floor and sank onto the edge of a bunk, staring famishedly at the table.

“Haven’t you got through breakfast yet?” he asked weakly.

“For goodness sake, Tommy,” exclaimed Nelson, “where have you been?”

“Been!” answered Tom with a suggestion of returning spirit, as he drew from his pocket a misshapen object wrapped in brown paper and tossed it onto the table, “I’ve been after your blamed old bu-bu-bu-butter!”

CHAPTER XV – TELLS OF ADVENTURES IN THE FOG

Five minutes later, having learned with bewilderment that the repast on the table was luncheon instead of a late breakfast, Tom was seated with a plate before him and doing noble work. His countenance looked much more cheerful. And as he ate he recounted the tale of his morning’s adventures.

“I don’t know where I was,” said Tom. “I guess, though, I was about everywhere. I got started wrong when I left the boat. I rowed over that way, toward the wharf, and kept looking around for – ”

“That’s where you made your mistake,” said Bob. “The tide turned the launch around and you started in just the opposite direction from what you thought. I’ll bet you didn’t find the wharf?”

“Gee! I thought for a while I was never going to find anything. I kept rowing and rowing, easy, you know, so as not to bump anything, and wondering why I didn’t get to the shore. And then I was bothered about not finding any boats, because I knew there were two or three right between us and the steamboat wharf. Well, after about ten minutes I got sort of scared; thought perhaps I’d got turned around and was rowing out to sea. So I stopped and listened, but I couldn’t hear anything except a wagon somewhere in one direction and an engine whistle away off in the opposite direction. I didn’t know whether there was a railroad on the island or not. Is there?”

“I don’t think so,” said Nelson. “There’s one on Nantucket, though.”

“What he probably heard,” said Bob, “was the train across on the mainland. That would be only about six miles.”

“Well,” continued Tom, “I didn’t know where it was and so I decided to make toward where the wagon seemed to be. So I turned half around and started off in a new direction. I guess I rowed a quarter of an hour and didn’t see a thing or hear anything. Then I stopped and rested. I thought if I could only see which way the current was running I’d know where the mouth of the harbor was, because I was sure that the tide would be running out.”

“That was right,” said Nelson.

“Yes, but there wasn’t any way to tell. I could only see for about four or five feet around the tender and the water was like a looking-glass. Then, while I was resting, I heard some one shout: ‘Hi, Cap’n Joe!’ It sounded almost behind me and it startled me so I pretty near dropped the oars. So I shouted back and turned the boat around again. But I didn’t get any answer. So I began to row. Then I saw the shore ahead and when I got close I looked for a place to land. But all there was was a high wharf set on slippery spilings and no ladder anywhere. So I kept along the wharf for a long old ways, turned a corner and bumped into the stern of a coal barge. I edged the tender around that and found a fellow sitting on the gunwale fishing. So I asked him – Is there any more bread, Bob?”

“You asked him what?” exclaimed Bob.

“Get out! Cut me another slice of bread, like a good fellow. I asked him where the steamboat wharf was. And what do you think he did? Pointed over his shoulder, mind you, and said it was two miles! Then, thinks I, I’ve rowed around the point and this is Cottage City where the cottages are. ‘What place is this?’ I asked him. ‘Vineyard Haven,’ says he. Well, I didn’t know any more then, so I told him where I wanted to go and all about it. He was a nice chap, if his face was all over coal dust, and he told me that I was near a place called West Chop and that what I wanted was Eastville and that it was up the harbor and across. So I asked him then if there was a grocery store around there, and he said there was one about a quarter of a mile up the harbor. So I thanked him and started off again, keeping right up snug to the shore. And after I’d gone about a quarter of a mile, as I reckoned it, I made a landing at an old wharf and set out to find the grocery.

“It was like walking in the dark, because I couldn’t see more than a dozen feet ahead of me. Once I came pretty near going through a hole in the pier. But pretty soon I found a building of some sort and walked around it and found a road. But there wasn’t a soul to be seen. So I kept on going for quite a ways, and then I remembered that if I didn’t look out I’d never find the tender again. So I turned around and started back. And pretty soon I saw that I’d lost my way. But I found the grocery. There were two or three stores there and some houses. I went in and bought a pound of butter. I’d have got more but I didn’t know how good it would be. I suppose it’s pretty poor, isn’t it?”

“No,” answered Dan promptly, “it’s great; nice and salty.”

“Then I asked the old idiot in the store if he knew of a broken-down wharf around there; said I’d left my boat at it and couldn’t find it. He looked at me as though he thought I was crazy and said most of the wharves around there were broken down, but maybe the one I meant was the second one to the north. So I tried again and found it right away. I didn’t know what time it was, because I didn’t have my watch and I’d forgotten to ask. I tried to remember the direction the fellow on the coal barge had pointed, but I guess I got it wrong, for after I’d rowed a long time without finding anything except a log of wood I wasn’t near any land at all, as far as I could make out. I couldn’t see anything and I couldn’t hear anything except little sounds way off. I took a rest then, for I was dead tired and beastly hungry. I guess the tender floated out with the tide, for the first thing I knew I was looking up at three fellows leaning over the bow of a big sailing vessel.

“‘Hello, kid,’ says one of them. ‘Hello,’ says I, looking kind of surprised, I guess. ‘Was you looking for any one?’ he asked. I told him yes, I was looking for the Vagabond. ‘Oh, he means you, Gus,’ says the first fellow, and the three of them laughed and had a fine time about it. So I explained that the Vagabond was a launch and that she was lying off the steamboat wharf. ‘Oh, that’s it, eh?’ says one of the sailors. ‘Well, you want to strike right across there, kiddie,’ and he pointed behind him. But I didn’t like the grin on his face and suspected he was having fun with me. So I told him I hoped he’d choke and started off in the opposite direction. I think now,” Tom went on to an accompaniment of laughter from the others, “that maybe he told the truth. Anyhow, the way I went didn’t take me to any steamboat wharf!”

“I rowed for a long while; I don’t know how long it was; it’s mighty hard to tell out there in the fog. And pretty soon I saw something off to the left and made for it. It was a stone pier with a ladder down it. I thought then that I’d got across the harbor at last and I decided I’d tie the boat up and try to find you fellows on foot. Well, I walked a minute or two and came to a back door. I could see that it was the door of a little store of some sort, so I went in. And where do you suppose I was?”

“Wanamaker’s?” asked Dan.

“Give it up,” said Bob.

“I was in the same little old dive where I’d bought the butter. The old codger looked at me sort of suspicious and I made believe I’d come back on purpose. He wanted to know if I’d found my boat and I told him yes. Then I asked if he had any crackers and cheese. He had crackers but his cheese was all gone, he said. So I bought a nickel’s worth of crackers – stale old things they were, too – and a box of sardines. I’ll bet those sardines had been there ten years! But I ate them. Wish I hadn’t. I asked the man how to get to the steamboat wharf and he tried to tell me. Said if I started out from where my boat was and kept a little north of east I’d get there. I asked a fellow outside a place where they sold oilskins and he said about the same thing. So I hunted up my boat, starting from the back door of the grocery, you know, and found it all right. Then – ”

“Maybe you pull on one oar harder than the other, Tommy,” suggested Dan. “Do you?”

“I don’t know. Maybe I do. I suppose that would account for my getting back to that old grocery shop. Well, off I went again. And you can bet that by that time my arms were aching!” Tom rubbed and stretched them now as though in proof of the assertion. “I rowed about ten minutes, I guess, and came to a beach. Well, that was a new one to me. I didn’t know where the dickens I was, and I don’t yet.”

“I do,” said Bob, who had spread the chart out on the corner of the table. “You were here somewhere.”

“That’s right,” said Tom, looking over his shoulder, “because I jumped out, pulled the boat up and looked around. And on the other side of the road was a marshy place and a lot more water all along. I didn’t know which way the road would take me, so I went back and pushed off again. By that time those sardines had begun to swim around inside of me and I got kind of squirmy. After a minute I heard a whistle and I thought it was the Vagabond’s. I listened and it sounded five times. Then, after a while, it sounded five again.”

“Yes,” said Nelson; “one, two – one, two, three; twenty-three for you, Tommy.”

“Was that it? It sounded to me like T, o, – m, m, y! T, o, – m, m, y! Anyhow, I started out for it but it was hard to tell just where it was. And after I’d been pulling about ten minutes or so I had to quit. The – the sardines weren’t satisfied where they were. I was as sick as a dog for a while, and afterward I laid down in the bottom of the boat and didn’t care whether I ever found you fellows or not. Every now and then I’d hear the whistle. And then I went to sleep. When I woke up I was stiff and the water was just running off me. I was sure then that the tide had taken me out to sea and I was scared blue. So I turned the boat right around and rowed in the opposite direction. After a bit I heard oars and shouted out. A man answered and I asked him where the steamboat wharf was. ‘Over there about two or three hundred feet,’ said he. But I couldn’t see, him and I didn’t know where ‘over there’ was. So I asked him to wait until I reached him. He was a young fellow in a fishing dory filled with lobster pots. I told him I was looking for the Vagabond and he said he’d just passed her and that if I’d follow him he’d show her to me. So I did. And we went about thirty or forty strokes, I guess, and found her. And here I am. And if any one wants to go for a row the boat’s out there. I’m going to stay right here until the fog goes away. Is there any more tea, Bob?”

“No, but I’ll make you some,” was the answer. “It won’t take a minute.”

“Well, you certainly had the time of your life,” said Dan with a grin. “You always were lucky, Tom. If it had been me I’d have been miles out in Nantucket Sound by this time.”

“There ought to be a compass in that tender,” said Nelson. “And I’m going to get one for it.”

“Well, it won’t do any harm,” remarked Bob from the engine room, “but it’s an easy bet that none of us is going to go out in her again in the fog.”

“I’m plumb sure I’m not,” sighed Tom. “After I get that cup of tea I’m going to hit my bunk and take a nap.”

And he did, sleeping most of the afternoon, while Bob and Dan played cards and Nelson busied himself at the engine. The wiring hadn’t satisfied him of late and so he put in new connections all over and had a nice, messy time of it. About half-past four the fog lifted somewhat and by six was almost gone. A cool breeze blew down from the north and in the west the sun set in a pool of orange and vermilion. The Four doffed oilskins and sweaters and got into respectable attire, and at half-past six went ashore for dinner.

In the evening they played Five Hundred until nearly ten o’clock, at which time Tom was seventeen hundred and something in the hole. Whereupon he said he was going to bed and in proof of the assertion tossed the cards into Dan’s bunk, where they spread themselves out artistically from top to bottom. Dan was for forcing Tom to pick them up, and during the fracas following Nelson and Bob made things shipshape for the night. Then the riot was quelled and, after reciting the “Dirge of the Salt Codfish,” Tom and Dan consented to retire.

Once, hours later, Bob awoke with the notion that some one had called him. But what he had heard was only Tom talking in his dreams.

“I have lost my ticket,” said Tom very distinctly, “but I wish to go to Steamboat Wharf.”