Foundlings -- Fiction; Long Island (N.Y.) -- Fiction
The racket of the storm made the end of the sentence inaudible. Dick
Hand did not need it. He flung his arm about Tom Lupton and bellowed:
“I’ll be there. Next trip out.”
Keeper Tom communicated the order to his men. It was not until Tom
Lupton was in the buoy and moving over the boiling surf at the foot of
the sand dunes that Richard Hand thought, with a shock, of Mary Vanton.
Three men in the world were charged, in varying degrees, with some
responsibility to stand by her and aid her. One had disappeared and the
other two were about to jeopard their lives.
XVIII
He felt he must see Mary for a moment and speak to her. He left the
cluster of men on the dune and hurried to the house.
He found her on the rug in the east living room. One or two of the crew
were warming their hands and swallowing hot coffee in the other large
room. The men came over, not more than two at a time, at intervals, to
get thawed out.
“Tom,” he said, “has gone off in the buoy.”
“I know,” she answered. “I saw someone being hauled out and I knew it
must be he.”
He hesitated, then told her.
“The worst of it is, I must go on the next trip. He practically asked
me to. And I said I would.”
At that for the first time in all her life, so far as he could
remember, she seemed panicky and likely, for an instant, to collapse.
He stepped hurriedly toward her but she had got hold of herself and
made a gesture to keep him away.
“No, no! I’m all right.” But she let John, who had approached them,
bring her a chair and she leaned on it. The boy kept near them,
regarding them silently. His gray eyes were inscrutable but the look he
gave his mother was one of sympathy, and Dick Hand thought that there
was confidence in the glance that was directed at himself. It somehow
came over Dick that this boy was a big factor in all their lives,
potentially at least. If Tommy and himself did not come back----
Mary Vanton was calm and self-reliant again. She motioned to Richard
Hand that he had better drink some coffee. He took the hand she offered
him, waved to John, and hurried into the other room, impatiently
swallowing the coffee and going out the door with the two other men.
XIX
The buoy had travelled out safely and the half-frozen workers ashore
had seen the Keeper disengage himself and clamber into the maintop.
They had also seen him help one of the crew into the buoy and had
received the signal--jerks on the rope--to haul away.
Hauling away with a will they brought to the top of the dune,
half-drowned by the upleaping surf as he was borne shoreward, a sailor,
one of the forecastle crowd. Two men picked him up and carried him to
the house.
As they cleared the buoy for the trip out Dick Hand came forward to
take his place in it. He put himself in, first one leg then the other,
and shouted: “All fast!”
They began hauling him out.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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