CHAPTER VI
BEFORE THE WIND
Molly Sefton had something on her mind, a very serious "something,"Molly thought; and it was because of this something that Rodman Creehad been invited for his first canoe ride.
A light wind curled the water into tiny ripples. It was morning of thelast Saturday in September, and across the lake you could see a faintyellowish-red tinge on the maple trees of Shadow Island.
The two stood on the pier at the foot of High Street, with the Seftons'new sailing canoe riding in the water alongside. Only the day before ithad been delivered from the Fair Play Factory, and now, with the newlyvarnished paddles and nickled trimmings and white lateen sail, thecraft looked very inviting indeed.
Molly giggled.
"What's funny?" Rodman turned, mildly surprised.
"You are! Why, I haven't seen you smile for a week, but now you simplymust, else I shan't allow you in the canoe with me."
He did smile, half-heartedly at first, and then more broadly andhonestly, till the smile had grown into an old-time laugh.
"That's better. I am going to take you sailing, after all. But are yousure," she added slyly, "that you can swim?"
Rodman answered the question with a contemptuous sniff. "Maybe youcan't, though," he said.
"Well, I just can," Molly asserted proudly; "I can swim two hundredyards. If I kick off my slippers, this dress won't be much heavierthan a bathing suit, either. But, of course, father says I must do mysailing where it isn't deep."
"Then we'd better edge the shore to that bay by Magoon's boathouse;there's lots of room for tacking, and it's all shallow water."
Molly stared suspiciously at the stretch of lake he had pointed out."How do you know?"
"Look at the color of the water. Don't you notice that it is a wholelot lighter than the rest of the lake? And did you ever see anybodyfishing there? And did you ever notice how that steamer from the otherend of the lake never puts in, even when it wants to land somebody atMagoon's pier?"
Molly nodded slowly. "But if it's so shallow, why isn't it aswimming-hole?"
For a moment, Rodman had no answer. "I don't know--Yes, I do, too.Look at the beach. If you've ever walked along it, you know there'sthe finest collection of sharp stones on that beach you ever saw, andit must be the same way under water. You couldn't go in swimming thereunless you wore hobnailed shoes."
"You're right," Molly admitted, "though I never put things togetherlike that. Of course, then, that's the place for us to go."
While Rodman steadied the canoe, she climbed in gingerly, holding tothe pier with one hand until he was also aboard.
"Wait just a minute before you push off," she warned. "Somebody'scoming."
"It's Horace Hibbs," he said, continuing to look toward the bow of theboat and away from the pier.
"How do you know?" Molly's voice showed her surprise.
"By his step, of course. Hello, Mr. Hibbs!"
Smiling and genial, the Scout Master bustled out to the end of the pier.
"Caught a glimpse of you down here; so I thought I would stroll overand see you set sail. Better stick to that bay over there by Magoon's,Molly. It is a nice, level beach, not higher than your chin anywhere.Ready for the football game this afternoon, Rodman?"
"I am as ready as I'll ever be, sir," the boy returned slowly.
Horace Hibbs laughed. "We can't all make the team. You will have yourchance some day. All ready, Molly? Lee-board set? I'll give you an easystart, and in a second or two you will be under way."
In no time at all, it seemed to Rodman, the sail had filled, and thecanoe was slipping over the surface as gracefully and with as littleeffort as a swan floating downstream.
"All you have to do," Molly told him, "is to sit still and let memanage the boat. I am a very good sailor."
For the second time that morning, Rodman laughed. "You may be a verygood sailor, but you're not a very old sailor."
Molly paid out the sheet a bit. "I don't see how you know whether I aman old sailor or just a beginner. Maybe I have been sailing canoes foryears."
"I don't know for sure," apologized Rodman, "but not longer than a weekago I saw you in the library getting a book on sailing. Now, I neverheard of a real sailor reading a book about it. They always know itall; at least, they always say they do."
It was Molly's turn to laugh now. "You're right. I haven't been atit for years; but Horace Hibbs took me out nine or ten times in thatcanoe of his, and the last few times I sailed it all by myself. Thenyesterday, too, I took him out in mine, and he never gave me a bit ofadvice, and I tacked and came about and made a beautiful landing--hesaid so himself. But you do notice things, don't you, Rodman? I'venever seen anybody that noticed little things the way you do."
They were in the bay now, and Molly pointed the canoe toward the outeredge of the shallow area. The wind was almost directly inshore, but bykeeping the sheet close-hauled Molly skimmed along at a merry clipalmost into the teeth of the breeze.
"Ready to come about," warned Molly.
"Turn to your right; starboard, you know."
Easily and with a fair degree of safety, the canoe came about to port.Rodman shook his head.
"I wouldn't risk that, Molly. When you turn again, running before thewind, come about the simple and natural way--toward the lower tip ofyour sail."
She stole a quick look at him. "How do you know which is better? Youtold me you were never in a sail-boat before."
"Well, I haven't been. Shucks, that's just common sense. If you comeabout the right way, the sail only straightens out; if you swing thewrong way, the--the boom, I guess you call it, whips across the boatand may upset it. Anyhow, I should think there would be danger. Buthere is some first-class information. By the looks of the lake, we aregoing to be in a dead calm before two minutes; and after that"--hestudied the horizon--"look out!"
True to prediction, the breeze spent itself, leaving the canoe tossinglightly some two hundred yards from shore. Only a bank of hard-edgedclouds proved that the wind had not gone home for the day, but wasmerely resting to muster reinforcements.
"I'm glad it died down," Molly said promptly, "because now I can talkto you. Rodman Cree, I didn't get you out here just to go sailing,but to find out what's wrong with you. For three weeks, at least,you've been sneaking around like a hermit or something. You don'tgo with anybody, and nobody goes with you. You used to be happy andlight-hearted; now I don't even hear your whistle any more. You don'tseem to like anybody, and nobody seems to like you. What's the matter,Rodman? Tell me about it."
He straightened his shoulders defiantly. "Well, I guess there is noreason why the fellows should like me. I'm no good. I'm no good atathletics; I can't even play football. The Scouts think I am in withBuck Claxton's gang, and Buck thinks I am working for the Scouts. Why,Bunny Payton is the only friend I have, and you know as well as I dothat he has troubles of his own right now."
Molly's eyes flashed. "It's miserable, that's what it is; miserablethat the school is all split up. But that's no reason why you shouldn'thave friends. Why don't the Scouts like you?"
Chin on his hands, Rodman doggedly told her the story of the fieldday between the Scouts and All-School teams. "The Black Eagle fellowsthink I didn't run my best in the relay race; they think, too, that Iwas willing to toss away the win after it was over. But that isn't theworst. Do you remember, at the school election, when I said I thought agirl should have some office. Well, the Scouts believe I said that justto keep Specs McGrew from nominating Bunny for president of the studentassociation."
"I'll tell them that wasn't so," Molly offered.
"It won't do any good. Bunny knows the truth, but the others think Iam just plain worthless. In football it is the same. I have been outfor practice since the first day, but I haven't any chance of makingthe team. And I am heavier and stronger than a lot of the players onit, too. I've about decided to quit trying. Perhaps my folks will movesomewhere else next year. I hope they do."
"But i
t is just a question of time," urged Molly, "before you learnenough to play on the first eleven. Surely you'll do it next year."
Rodman's shoulders settled back in a curve. "No, I don't think I'llever make it. I'm no good, that's all; no good at anything."
"I'm ashamed of you, Rodman Cree!" Molly took the sheet line in herfingers once more. "Yes, sir, just plain ashamed of you for being aquitter! Why, if the wind wasn't coming up, I believe I'd make you walkashore. So there!"
"It wouldn't make me feel any worse than I do now."
Scudding across the lake, ruffling the placid water into combingwaves, a gust of wind was leaping toward them. Molly surveyed it withapproval. Her chin was set in a firm little curve, and she nodded herhead, quite as if she had suddenly come to a decision.
"Watch!" she said.
As the first breath of the breeze reached them, she let out the sheet.In less than a minute, as it tautened, the canoe was racing before theromping wind, its lateen sail almost at right angles to the craft.
In the exhilaration of the speed, Rodman forgot his troubles. "Be readyto turn--come about, I mean," he warned, "or you'll go ashore."
"I know what I am going to do," answered Molly, a peculiar note in hervoice. "You sit tight and wait."
Straight as an arrow, the bow cut the water, with the growing windtugging hard at the filled sail, till the canoe seemed pulled ahead bysome great but invisible water animal.
"Ready!" shouted Rodman. "Sail's on the port side, you know; don't comeabout to port."
"Well, I'm going to."
"You'll upset!"
"I won't upset! I know I can come up into the wind by swinging tostarboard, but I'm going to show you that I can do it the other way,too."
"Molly!"
"You're just a passenger. You sit still and watch." They were barelytwenty-five yards from the shore.
"Coming about!" shouted Molly.
Instead of turning to starboard, she deliberately forced the canoe toport. There was a moment of suspense. Then, exultingly, the quickeningwind lost its grip on the sail, shivered it an instant as it hit theedge, and finally banged it violently across the canoe.
"Keep your feet free of the lines!" Rodman yelled, as he threw hisweight toward the windward side, in an attempt to counterbalance itspower.
"Look out for yourself!" Molly flung back. "I'm going--"
She never finished her sentence. It was choked short as the canoeheeled abruptly and dumped its occupants into four feet of coolSeptember lake.
For a moment they stood facing each other; Molly laughing, Rodmanfuriously out of temper.
"Why--why don't you do what you can do?" he demanded.
"Why don't you?" Molly retorted.
There was something in her voice that took the anger out of his system.
"Wha--what do you mean?"
Molly pointed to a swimmer far over to the left. "Who's that?"
Rodman shaded his eyes. "It's Specs. What's that got to do with it?"
"How do you know it's Specs?"
"Well, I'm pretty sure it is a _Scout_, because that's where the Scoutsgo in swimming. Specs has quit trying for the football team; so he'sthe only one that would be in swimming, on account of the game thisafternoon. And I know the way Specs swims. He uses the overhand stroke,and he does it a good deal better with his right arm than his left."
"There you are!" Molly was triumphant. "Why don't you take your ownadvice, and do what you can do? You are a wonderful observer. Younotice everything, and you remember it, too. You can do as much thatway as any other. You were right when you said that a girl should beelected to one of the offices, and they all know you were right, nomatter what they say. You noticed something there, and you had thecourage to tell everybody else about it. What if you can't make theteam? If you just do your best, the time is going to come when you willaccomplish as much by seeing as the rest will by doing."
The look on Rodman's face was a queer mixture of shame and pleasure. Heswallowed hard.
"You're right, Molly. You--you tipped us over here on purpose, didn'tyou?"
Molly smiled, but said nothing.
"Yes, you're right," admitted Rodman Cree. "And I'll--well, I'll provethat you are." He swallowed again. "Now, if you say so, we'll walk thisboat to shore and get another start."
For the third time that morning, he smiled. As he towed the light canoeashore, he even whistled.
Boy Scouts of Lakeville High Page 7