Tom, we repeat, did not try to induce his father to reconsider the decision he had made in regard to the Storm King, and the manner in which his son's wages ought to be disposed of, for he knew that all the promises he could make, and all the arguments he could bring to bear upon him, would have no effect. The yacht was lost to him, and that was a settled fact. He regretted it exceedingly, but still he was not so much troubled about that, as by the thought that he could no longer use his money as he pleased. This was like the law against going outside the gate after dark—unreasonable and unjust; and was made simply because his father "didn't want him to enjoy himself if he could help it." He had fully made up his mind to save his next two weeks' wages to send for the "lucky package," and he was certain that his second trial of the lottery scheme would prove successful. The reason it had failed before was, because some dishonest post-office clerk had stolen the letter that contained his ten dollars; but now he would be on the safe side, for he would send his money by express. When his prize arrived (he would send all his own money this time, so that, when the five thousand dollars came, he would not be obliged to divide it with any one), it had been his intention to order Mr. Graves to build another yacht for him, that would be as far superior to the Storm King, in point of speed and finish, as she was better than Bob Jennings's old scow. But he could no longer indulge in these glorious anticipations. His splendid scheme had at last received its death-wound, and, worse than all, there was not a single boy in the village who sympathized with him. Even the fisher-boy had called him a Jonah, and refused to have any thing more to do with him. However, Tom was not willing to let the matter drop there. If Colonel Steele, and the rest of the academy fellows, supposed that he would permit them to enjoy their new vessel, they were destined to be sadly disappointed. If he did not own and sail that yacht, no one about that village should. He had said it more than once, and he was in earnest; and his father, and every body else in Newport, would very soon find out that his desires and claims were not to be set aside with impunity. Tom did not then make up his mind what he would do; but when he stood in the door of his father's office, about four o'clock that afternoon, and saw the Storm King sail majestically out of the harbor, manned by a crew from the academy—and her new captain sprung upon the rail and proposed three cheers for Mr. Newcombe—the scene acted like a spur upon his flagging ideas, and in an instant his resolve was taken. He waited until the yacht had rounded the pier and shaped her course down the bay, and then he sauntered out on the wharf, where the fisher-boy was at work at his wood-pile.

"Bob Jennings," said he, "do you still believe me to be a Jonah?"

"Well, I am a little afraid of you," was the reply. "You didn't get the yacht after all. Those academy fellows seem to be delighted with her."

"They had better use her while they can," answered Tom, shaking his head threateningly. "They will not have her very long. I suppose you don't want any thing more to do with my plans?"

"No, I believe not. Money is what I need now, and I can make more by sawing wood than I can by helping you in your grand schemes."

"Stick to it, then," said Tom, angrily. "I hope you will be a poor man as long as you live. Look out for me, now. You are going back on me like all the rest of the Spooneys, and I'll be sure to get even with you."

The fisher-boy did not quite understand this last remark; but, before he had time to ask any questions, Tom had walked to the edge of the wharf, and was beckoning to Sam Barton. When the yawl came up, he climbed down into it, and was ferried across the harbor. He did not get out, however, when he reached the opposite side, but sat in the boat and held a long and earnest conversation with Sam. Bob, who had watched all these movements, thought he must have been telling him some secret; for, when two or three of the ferry-boys came up to hear what Tom was saying, Sam ordered them to go away and attend to their own business. Finally, the bully pulled the yawl under the wharf out of sight; and Bob, who kept one eye directed across the harbor, did not see them come out again until the six o'clock bell rang.

Since he had begun the work of retrieving his lost fortune, the fisher-boy had worked early and late. The first peep of day found him at his wood-pile, and, as the moon shone brightly every night, it was sometimes nine or ten o'clock before he left the wharf. He ate his breakfast before he started from home, and, in order that he might not lose a moment from his work, he brought his dinner and supper with him. He looked upon every instant of time as too valuable to be wasted, but the singular movements of Tom Newcombe had excited his curiosity, and for the next two hours his work progressed rather slowly. He wondered what his aristocratic friend had to say to that fellow! He was satisfied that Tom had some new idea in his head, but he could not imagine what it could be that he should need the assistance of Sam Barton in carrying it out. The only conclusion he could come to was, that Tom was trying to borrow ten dollars from the bully to send for the "lucky package." Sam was rich, as fortunes were measured in Fishertown, and it was not likely that he would refuse to accommodate Tom with a few dollars, believing, as he did, that he was able to pay him a big interest, and that there was no danger of losing it. If that was the object of Tom's interview with the bully he must have been successful; for, when the six o'clock bell rang, and Sam brought his passenger back to his own side of the harbor, Bob saw that he was in excellent spirits. He walked toward the office snapping his fingers and whistling a gay tune, and as he passed by the fisher-boy he shook his head at him, as if to say, "I am all right now!"

Bob worked late that night. Even after Mr. Henry had closed his store, and the wharf had been deserted by every body except Mr. Newcombe's night watchman, he kept busy in spite of his weary muscles and heavy eyelids. Besides being anxious to earn the twenty-six dollars, with which to settle his indebtedness to Mr. Graves, the fisher-boy had another object in working so late. He was punishing himself. Every time he stopped to wipe the perspiration from his face he would say:

"It serves you just right, Bob Jennings! I don't pity you in the least. You were well off in the world at one time. You had money in the bank, and were not ashamed to look any man in Newport in the face. Now look at you! Go to work, and don't be fooling away your time here!" Then Bob would put another stick of wood on his saw-horse, and his tired arms would drive the saw as if his life depended upon getting his pile of wood done in the shortest possible space of time.

About half-past nine o'clock the fisher-boy thought it time to go home. He ceased his work and stood looking at his pile of wood he had cut that day, when, upon raising his eyes, he saw a boy spring behind the corner of Mr. Newcombe's warehouse. Had this happened a month before, he would have paid no attention to it; but, as he had not yet given up all hopes of recovering the Go Ahead No. 2, nor forgotten that Sam Barton was his bitter enemy, and only awaiting a favorable opportunity to be revenged upon him, the simple fact of a boy dodging behind the warehouse was enough to arouse his suspicions. He had recognized the spy, and knew him to be one of the bully's particular friends; but what was he doing about the wharf at that hour, and why was he watching Bob? The fisher-boy was sure that he was watching him, or he would not have taken so much pains to keep out of his sight. He did not feel altogether safe for he was afraid that Sam and his band were lurking behind some of the neighboring buildings, intending to waylay him on his way home; in which case he would probably be very severely handled. They were five or six to his one, and if they were resolved to have a fight with him, he could not hope to come off unharmed. But Bob, knowing that he had never given Sam Barton, or any other boy about Fishertown, any cause for enmity, had no idea of standing still and allowing himself to be whipped. Without removing his eyes from the corner of the building where the spy had disappeared, he picked a small, round stick of wood from the pile, sawed it in two, and, after testing the strength of both pieces by pounding them upon the wharf, he shouldered the one he thought he could use to the best advantage in case of an attack, and set out for home. He walked along at a brisk pace, casting anxious glances around every corner he passed, and keeping a sharp lookout for enemies in the rear; but the only person he saw was the boy who had been watching him on the wharf, and who was now following him at a respectful distance. The spy's movements indicated that he did not wish to be seen. Every time Bob stopped and looked around, he would step into a door-way, or drop down behind a box or barrel on the sidewalk; and when the fisher-boy walked on, he would follow him as before. He performed his work in a very clumsy manner, for Bob saw every move he made; and, before he reached Fishertown, he had changed his mind in regard to the spy's object in following him. He was not awaiting an opportunity to signal to Sam Barton that the time had come for him to "get even" with his rival, but he was simply watching Bob to see that he went home. Now, why did he want him to go home? Undoubtedly, because his chief had some project in view, which he was afraid to attempt until he knew that the fisher-boy was in bed and asleep. This was the way Bob looked at the matter, and subsequent events proved that he was right.

Being no longer afraid of an attack, the fisher-boy threw away his club, and walked on faster than ever. He did not turn again to look at the spy, until just as he reached home, when a single glance told him that he was still in sight. Instead of going into the house, Bob kept on around it, and took his stand at one corner, where he could observe the movements of his pursuer when he came up. About twenty yards from where he stood was another cabin, whose inmates had retired to rest; and presently the spy appeared, and stopped in the shadow of this cabin. He glanced hastily around, to make sure that there was no one in sight, listened attentively for a moment, to satisfy himself that all was quiet in the cabins, and then seated himself on the ground, and rested his elbows on his knees, as if he had decided to remain there during the rest of the night.

For the next half hour neither Bob nor the spy scarcely moved a muscle. The latter sat gazing intently at the house, as if he was trying to look through the boards to obtain a view of what was going on inside; and the fisher-boy stood in his concealment, wondering how long his strange visitor intended to remain there, and trying in vain to determine what Sam's object could be in sending a boy to watch him at that time of night; for, that the bully was at the bottom of the whole affair, Bob did not for a moment doubt. Finally, the spy began to grow restless; and, after stretching his arms and yawning, as if he had become very sleepy, he arose to his feet, and with cautious steps approached the place where Bob was standing. The fisher-boy's fears that he had been discovered were speedily put at rest, for the spy passed within ten feet of him, and kept on around the house. Having thus satisfied himself that none of the family were stirring, he broke into a run and started back toward the village, followed by Bob, who had resolved to find out the cause of these mysterious movements, if he did not sleep a wink that night. The spy kept on at a rapid pace, until he reached the wharf, where he again became cautious in his movements. Mr. Newcombe's watchman was walking up and down behind the warehouse, and the spy did not want to attract his attention. He moved across the wharf on his hands and knees, and then, after casting suspicious glances around him, he suddenly disappeared from the view of the fisher-boy, who ran swiftly to the edge of the pier, and looked over into the harbor, just in time to see Sam Barton's yawl moving slowly out of sight among the spiles. This was enough to satisfy him that something unusual was going on, and he became more determined than ever to see the end of all these strange proceedings. He made up his mind to follow that boat wherever it went; and, there was but one way that he could do it, and that was by swimming. He waited fully five minutes, in order to give the yawl time to get so far under the wharf that he would not be discovered, and then he let himself down into the water and swam in among the spiles. There he found himself in almost Egyptian darkness, but he could hear the occupants of the yawl whispering to each other, and that guided him in the pursuit. Presently the light of a lantern flashed through the darkness, and, as its rays fell upon the faces of the boys in the yawl, Bob was astonished to recognize, in one of them, his friend Tom Newcombe; and he was still more amazed when he saw one of the crew remove the board that concealed the entrance to the cave. He watched the band, as, one after the other, they disappeared through the opening, until Sam Barton, who came last, pulled the board back to its place, and Bob was left alone in the darkness.

The moment Sam disappeared the fisher-boy struck out for the cave, intent upon getting close enough to it to see what was going on inside, and to overhear the conversation carried on between its occupants.

The entrance had been so carefully concealed that not a ray of light could be seen; but he had noted the exact position of the cave; and, besides, he was guided by the loud barking of a dog, which refused to keep silent, in spite of a severe beating somebody was giving him. The noise led Bob directly to the cave, and when he crawled out on the bank and listened a moment at the door, he found, to his joy, that he could distinctly hear every word that was said.

"Kill him, Friday!" he heard the bully exclaim, probably addressing himself to the person who was beating the dog. "Make him hush that noise, or the first thing we know we'll have visitors. Stand back a little out of his sight, Tommy. You're a stranger to him and he don't like your looks!"

"Are you not afraid that some one will hear him?" asked Tom.

"That's not likely, unless that ar Bobby Jennings, or Mr. Grimes, is on the watch. Will Atkins, are you sartin an' sure that you see Bob go home?"

"Am I sartin an' sure that I've got a pair of eyes?" asked Atkins. "I know that he is abed and fast asleep afore this time."

"Gentlemen will please come to order, now!" said Sam, when Friday had succeeded in quieting the dog. "Take off your hats an' set down like men had oughter do. The first thing we have got to 'tend to, is to settle this business with Tommy. He says he has seed enough of them swells in the village; he is down on Bobby Jennings; he wants to go with us, an' is willin' to furnish his share of the outfit. He has promised to keep a still tongue in his head, an' to obey all orders; an' now we must give him a name."

"Let me be the first mate," said Tom, who, having held high offices in several societies, thought himself worthy of being second in authority in the Crusoe band. "I am a first-class sailor, you know."

"We aint goin' to have no mates," interrupted Sam. "I am captain, governor, chief, an' all the rest of the officers in one. I can manage these fellers without any help."

"Call him Friday's Father!" said Jack Spaniard. "That's a good name."

"O, now, I don't like it," drawled Tom. "Was Friday's father a brave man?"

"Well, the book don't say much about him," replied Sam.

"He was a nigger," said Will Atkins.

"O, now, I don't want to be named after a darkey," whined Tom. "Wasn't there some brave, strong white fellow in Crusoe's band?"

"Call yourself Muley, then!"

"Who was he?" asked Tom, who, it was evident, had never read Robinson Crusoe.

"He was the chap the governor throwed overboard when he ran away with Xury and the boat," replied Sam. "He was a brave feller, an' a reg'lar water-dog. He swam four miles to reach the shore."

"I don't like the name a bit," said Tom. "I would rather be called captain, or mate, or general, or something."

"I am the only officer in the band," repeated Sam. "If you don't like any of them names, pick out one for yourself."

That was something Tom could not do. He was not acquainted with the names of any of the characters in the book, and consequently he was obliged to consent to be called after the Moor Robinson had thrown overboard.

"That's settled," said Sam, opening the dilapidated copy of Robinson Crusoe, and taking from it a sheet of soiled foolscap; "and the next thing is for you to sign the shipping articles. Listen to 'em."

The "shipping articles" were like a good many similar documents Tom had written—rather badly mixed up—but, by listening attentively, the eavesdropper outside of the cave got an insight into matters; for thus far every thing had been Greek to him. He learned, to his intense astonishment, that Sam and his friends had organized the society with the express purpose of hunting up an island somewhere in the ocean and living Crusoe life. He also discovered that Sam was the supreme ruler of the band; that his orders must be obeyed without the least hesitation; and that any boy who exposed the secrets of the society, or was detected in trying to get up a mutiny, would be punished as the chief thought proper. As Sam read this part of the "shipping articles," he put on a terrible frown, and spoke in a very gruff voice, which was, no doubt, intended to convince the new member that if he dared to be guilty of treason, his punishment would be something awful. Tom, having never before held the rank of private in any secret organization, hesitated a little about signing away his liberty. Sam had the reputation of being a terrible tyrant, and he did not want to put himself too much in his power. However, he had no alternative that he could discover. The members of the Crusoe band were the only friends he had; he had cast his lot with them, and he had already gone too far to desert them.

"What do you say, Tommy?" asked the chief, when he had finished reading the "shipping articles." "Them's our rules, an' you can say yes or no to 'em, jest as you like."

"I say yes!" answered Tom. "I'll obey all orders."

The new member then stepped up to the flour barrel, and affixed his signature to the paper with a blunt lead-pencil, about an inch in length, which was the only thing in the shape of writing material possessed by the band. He was then hailed as a member by the chief, who shook him cordially by the hand and patted him on the back, while the others complimented him in language that grated harshly on his ears.

"No time for foolin', fellers!" said the chief, at length. "Set down agin, an' let's have a talk about the Storm King."

"There aint no need of talkin' much about her," said Friday. "It wouldn't be healthy for us to get into a fight now. We might get whipped, an' that would be the last of the Crusoe band."

"We ought to have her," said Sam, "for she'd jest suit us. What do you say, Tommy?"

"I say, take her by all means," replied the new member. "I joined you because I thought you would go to sea in her."

"But mebbe we can't get her. We don't like the looks of the muskets them 'cademy fellers carry. They might punch us with their bayonets."

"We must run that risk," said Tom, who would have been the last one to face the muskets of the students. "I am not captain of this band; if I was, I would capture her."

"Well, if you could do it, I guess I can," said Sam. "But, before we lay any plans fur capturin' that boat, we ought to find out exactly how the land lays. Friday, you an' Jack Spaniard will go up to the 'cademy to-morrow, an' see how many fellers there are to guard her. If there's not more'n six or eight of 'em, we'll have her; but if they are too heavy for us, we'll have to stick to our old plan of goin' to sea in my yawl. The meetin' is out, now."

Upon hearing these words the fisher-boy, who had stood just outside the door of the cave while all this conversation was going on, stepped back into the water, and concealed himself behind the timbers that supported the wharf, believing that, as the meeting had been dismissed, the band would at once leave their hiding-place. No doubt they would have done so if it had not been for Tom Newcombe. As this was his first visit to the cave, he was greatly interested in every thing he saw, and he stopped to examine the different articles, and to ask the chief's advice about the share of the outfit he was expected to furnish. The fisher-boy heard the talking, and thinking they might be saying something that would be useful for him to know, he crawled out of the water, and again took his stand close to the door of the cave, just in time to hear Tom remark—

"I thought you knew something about Bob Jennings's skiff."

"In course I did," replied Sam, with a laugh. "An' as you are one of us now, I'll tell you all about it." Then the chief began and gave the new member a complete history of the rivalry that had so long existed between himself and Bob, and wound up by describing the manner in which he and his band had obtained possession of the Go Ahead No. 2, to all of which the fisher-boy listened eagerly.

"You'll paint her over, give her a new name, and sell her to somebody, to raise a few dollars to help along your expedition, will you?" said he to himself, when Sam had finished his story. "Not much, Mr. Barton! I'll see that this little game of yours—"

The fisher-boy's soliloquy was interrupted by an event that was as sudden as it was unexpected. One of the band threw open the door of the cave, whose interior was presented to Bob's astonished view. He saw the shot-guns and powder-flasks that were hung up against the walls, the heavier articles that were piled in the corners, the bull-dog which was chained opposite the entrance; but, plainer than all, he saw the Go Ahead No. 2, occupying the middle of the cave. Bob took these things all in at a single glance, and his first impulse was to spring into the cave and square accounts with the governor, by giving him a good drubbing. The next thought that occurred to him, however, was, that he was in a very dangerous situation. He had discovered something that might send Sam Barton to the House of Refuge for a few years, and there was no knowing what the bully might do if he got his hands upon him. More than that, the boy who had thrown open the door, and who had started back in dismay as the rays of the lantern fell upon Bob's face, very speedily recovered himself, and alarmed the band by exclaiming

"Well, if here aint that ar Jennings!"

"Bobby Jennings!" repeated Sam Barton in alarm, "Where?"

"Just outside the door, listenin' to every word we said!"

"Get out there every one of you!" commanded the chief, who readily comprehended the situation, and saw the necessity of prompt action. "Don't let him get away, unless—"

There was no need of Sam's finishing the sentence The boys knew very well what would happen if Bob Jennings made his escape, and they all sprang out of the cave, determined to effect the capture of the eavesdropper.