  In the earlier days of Johnny’s experiences on the Chicago river, he had made many strange friends. Among them was an old man who owned a boat, a clumsy but quite seaworthy craft in which he was accustomed to paddle about the river and at times even on the lake. This boat had been kept in a small brick structure close to the base of a wharf. The old man had once shown Johnny where he kept the key and had told him to help himself to the boat whenever he needed it for a short trip. He had not seen this old man since his return to the city. “Wonder if he’s still alive, and if his boat and the key are still there?” he said to himself as he neared the river. “If it is, that’s the surest way to get out to Ben Zook’s island.” A few moments’ walk brought him to the spot. The key was there in its old place and, once the door was open, Johnny found the boat in its place and in good repair. The grips of the oars were worn smooth from recent use. A warm feeling swept over Johnny at this discovery. In this ever changing world it is good to discover that an old time friend is still in the land of the living. “Just take you out for a little exercise,” he whispered to the boat as he sent her gliding into the water. It was a glorious night for a row. A low-hanging, golden moon, a lake that was ripply but not too rough, and balmy night air—who could ask for more? Johnny’s splendid muscles relaxed and expanded, expanded and relaxed with the harmony of a well directed orchestra. “Fine!” he breathed, “I’ll soon be there.” He was, too; almost sooner than he wished. He regretted the necessity of bringing this grand little trip to an end, but the hour was late. Just as he turned to leave the boat a faint delicious odor smote his nostrils. “Hot dog!” he exclaimed as he went racing over the rubbish heaps that lay between the shore and Ben’s cabin. In his eagerness he forgot that Ben Zook was not expecting him. The look of alarm which appeared on the little old man’s face as he sprang to his feet at sound of footsteps sent a stab of self-reproach to the boy’s heart. “It’s only me, Ben, only Johnny Thompson!” he shouted reassuringly. The next moment he was shaking the island hermit’s hand and sniffing delightedly. “Hot dog!” he said again. “Yep, Johnny, you diagnosed the case. Old man eatin’ hot dog this time of night. Ought to die of indigestion. Draw up a chair and help yourself. “Don’t fall over my heatin’ plant,” he warned as Johnny, taking a step backward, struck something that gave forth a hollow sound. “What is it?” he asked. “My heatin’ plant; goin’ to be when I get her installed. Goin’ to be good’n cold out here this winter. House is too small for a stove. Goin’ to be stylish, I am; have a outside hot water plant. That old tank is good as new. There’s old pipe enough round the dumps to make my coils and radiation. I’ll borrow tools some day and put her together. “Johnny,” the old man exclaimed as he helped him to a piping hot frankfurter on a stick, then settled back in a huge arm chair, “you’d be surprised at the things that get brought out here. This chair now; pretty nifty, eh?” “Looks all right.” “Found her out here. There’s about everything you want out here; bricks, coal, wood, milk bottles, cookin’ utensils, three or four baby buggies an’ everything else. “And, Johnny,” his voice dropped almost to a whisper, “the other day I found something that looks real valuable. Mebby you’ll take it over town an’ see. Mebby you would, Johnny. They wouldn’t think nothin’ of it if you had it, but if I took it over an’ it was the real thing, they’d take me by the neck an’ say: ‘Ben, you been stealin’.’” Going back into the back corner of his house, he loosened a brick in the floor and drew out a small black velvet case. “There’t is, Johnny. Saw it stickin’ out from the end of a heap of ashes. Wind’d been blowin’ middlin’ stiff an’ had blowed a lot o’ fine stuff away so it showed. Open her up.” Johnny started as the lid was lifted. A flash of light that made the firelight seem dim had struck his eye. “Diamonds,” he breathed. “I dunno, Johnny. I thought it might be so.” Reaching up, Johnny took a small mirror from the wall. Then, taking a diamond set in a pin from the case, he drew it across the glass. There followed a scratching sound. As he lifted the diamond away he saw a distinct white line on the glass. “Looks like the real thing,” he said in a low tone. “Can’t be quite sure. And what a lot of ’em! This one, a brooch with six; a lavalliere with four; two ear-rings with one each; and four loose ones. If they’re real, they’re a fortune. Been stolen, I suppose?” “That’s what I figured, Johnny. Stole, then the thief had a hard time to make a clean getaway. He hides ’em in a ash can, intendin’ to come back for ’em. The ashman comes along and away they go.” “Might be right,” said Johnny. “You’ll take ’em over and see about ’em, Johnny?” “Glad to.” He put the case in his pocket. “Have another hot dog, Johnny?” “Sure will.” “You got my message? The orange wrapper?” Johnny nodded. “He’s been at it again.” “Who? At what?” “That big stooped man with a limp. He’s been out here again, standin’ on the shore close to the city an’ shakin’ his fists an’ cursin’ worse’n a pirate.” “He has?” Johnny was surprised. “What did you do?” “Well, I tried to get close to him but a stone rolled under my foot an’ I guess he heard me. Anyway, he went lopin’ off like a antelope, an’ that’s all I saw of him.” “Queer he’d come back out here,” Johnny mused. Then of a sudden a thought struck him. Perhaps this man was not a firebug at all, but a thief. Perhaps this case of diamonds had not been brought out here in a dump wagon, but by this strange man. Perhaps he had hidden it here. Perhaps there were other cases hidden on the island. He thought of the diamond merchant’s place on Randolph Street, and of that man Knobs haunting the same building. What if Knobs and the hooked nose man with the limp were in a partnership of crime? Well, at least it was something to think about. “Do you know, Johnny,” said Ben Zook, suddenly changing the subject, “I’ve got to sort of like this island. ’Tain’t much account as it is, all broken bricks and dust, but in time grass would grow on it—tall grass that waves and sort of sighs in the breeze. I’d like it a lot, then, Johnny.” Ben’s voice grew earnest “I’d like to own this island; like to have it always to myself.” “You don’t want this island, Ben,” said Johnny quietly. “Let me tell you what it’s going to be like, and then I’m sure you wouldn’t want it all to yourself. Ben, bye-and-bye all this rough ground is going to be smoothed down. The island will be broadened and fine rich dirt will be hauled on. Grass will be sown and pretty soon it will all be green. Trees will be planted and squirrels will come to live in them.” “I’d like that, Johnny.” “There will probably be a gravel walk winding in and out among the trees,” Johnny continued. “Tired women with little children, women from those hot cramped flats you know of in the heart of the city, will come here with their children. They’ll sit on the grass and let the cool lake breeze fan their cheeks while their children go frolicking away after the squirrels or throw crumbs to pigeons and sparrows. “There’ll be a lagoon between this island and the shore, a lagoon of smooth, deep water. There will be boat houses and nice clean-hearted boys will bring nice girls out here to take them riding in the boats. “And perhaps on a fine Sunday afternoon there will be a band concert and thousands will come out to hear it. But you know, Ben, if you had it all to yourself they couldn’t do any of these things. You don’t really want it now, do you, Ben?” “No, Johnny, I don’t.” For a time Ben was thoughtful. When at last he spoke his voice sounded far away. “I’ve tried never to be selfish, Johnny. Guess mebby if I’d held on to things more, not given so many fellows that was down and out a boost, I’d have more of my own. That’s a fine dream you got for Ben Zook’s island. I’d be mighty proud of it, Johnny. I shore would.” Again he was silent for a long time. “Johnny,” he said at last, “do you see that path of gold the moon’s a paintin’ on the lake?” “Yes, Ben.” “Sort of reminds me of a notion I had when I was a boy about the path to Heaven. Foolish notion, I guess; sort of thought when the time come you just walked right up there. “Foolish notion; but Johnny, here’s a sort of idea I’ve worked out settin’ thinkin’ here all by myself. It’s a heap of fun to live, Johnny. I get a lot out of it; it’s just like I’d never grown up, like I was just a boy playin’ round. “And you know, Johnny, when I was a boy there was a big family of us and we always had a lot to do. I’d be playin’ with the other boys, and then suddenly my mother’d call: “‘Ben, come here.’ “Just like that. And I’d go, Johnny; always went straight off, but before I went I’d say: “‘Well, so long, fellers, I got to go now.’ I’d say it just like that. “And you know, Johnny, I’ve been playin’ round most of my life an’ havin’ a lot of fun, even if other folks do call it workin’, so when that last call comes from somewhere way up above I sort of have a feelin’ that it’ll come from someone a lot bigger an’ wiser than me, just like my mother was when I was a boy. An’ I hope I’ll be brave enough to say, just as I used to say then: “‘Well, good-bye fellers, I got to go now.’ Don’t you hope so, Johnny?” “I hope so, Ben,” Johnny’s voice had grown husky. “An’, Johnny, when my mother called me it wasn’t ever because she felt contrary and wanted to spoil my fun; it was always because she had something useful she wanted me to do for the bunch. I’m sort of hopin’, Johnny, when that last call comes it’ll be for the same reason, because the one that’s a lot bigger an’ wiser than me had got somethin’ useful he wants me to do for the bunch of us. Do you think it’ll be that way, Johnny?” “I—I’m sure it will, Ben. But Ben, you’re not very old. That time’s a long way off.” “I hope so, Johnny. It’s a grand privilege to live. But you can’t tell, Johnny; you can’t, can you now?” For a long time after that they sat there in silence. Johnny was slowly beginning to realize that he liked this strange little Ben Zook with his heart of gold. “Look, Johnny!” Ben exclaimed. “A fire!” “What! Another?” cried Johnny. “Down there by the water front.” Johnny followed his gaze to the south where there was a great blaze against the sky. “It’s queer,” he said after ten seconds of watching. “It doesn’t really seem to be on the shore. Looks as if it were on the far end of this island.” “The island, Johnny? What could burn like that out here? Look at her leap toward the sky!” “All the same, it is. Come on, Ben. We may learn something. Arm yourself, Ben. It may mean a fight.” As he said this Johnny picked up a scrap of gas pipe two feet long. “I’ve not forgotten what you said about striking first and arguing after,” he chuckled. “I’ll take the hand grenades,” said Ben, loading an arm with half bricks. Thus armed, they hurried away over a rough path that ran the length of the island. They had not covered half the distance to the end when the flare of light began to die down. It vanished with surprising rapidity. Scarcely had they gone a dozen paces, after it began to wane, when the place where it had been, for lack of that brilliant illumination, appeared darker than the rest of the island. “What about that?” Ben Zook stopped short in his tracks. “Come on! Come fast!” exclaimed Johnny, determined to arrive at the scene of this strange spectacle before the last glowing spark had blinked out. As he rushed along pell-mell, stumbling over a brick here, leaping a mound of clay there, quite heedless of any danger that might surround him, he might have proven a fair target for a shot from ambush. No shot came, and in time he came to a comparatively level spot of sand in the center of which there glowed a few coals. After bending over these for an instant he scraped away the last remaining sparks with his bit of gas pipe, then stood there silently waiting for the thing to cool. “What was it?” Ben asked as he came up. “Don’t know.” Johnny drew a flashlight from his pocket and threw its circle of light on the spot. “Listen!” whispered Ben, pulling at Johnny’s coat sleeve and pointing toward the lagoon. Faintly, yet quite distinctly, Johnny heard the creak of oar locks. “A boat,” he whispered back. “Yes, Johnny, they was somebody out here. And I bet you it was—that man!” “The limping man?” “Yes.” “Well, what do you suppose was the reason for the bonfire?” Johnny bent over to pick up a fragment of black cardboard heavily coated with black paint. This was curved about, forming the segment of a circle. The inside of the circle was black and charred like the inside of a giant firecracker that has been exploded. Immediately Johnny’s mind was rife with solutions for this fresh mystery. The men were thieves. They had come to this deserted spot at night to divide their loot and to burn any damaging evidence, such as papers, wrappers and whatever else might be connected with it. They were smugglers. The flare of light was a signal to some craft lying far out on the lake, telling them that all was clear and that they might run in. Other possible solutions came to him, but not one of them seemed at all certain. So, in the end, having pocketed the one bit of evidence, he walked back with Ben to his shack. There he promised Ben to return soon to sit out a watch with him on the island; then going down to his boat, he pushed her off. An hour later he was in his own bed fast asleep, with Ben Zook’s diamonds safe under his pillows. His last waking thought had been that if those were real diamonds there would be a reward for their return, and that the reward should go to Ben Zook. It would at least be a start toward the purchase of his long-dreamed-of poultry ranch in the country. |
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