The Lucky Seventh Part 21

"He isn't advanced at all!" blurted d.i.c.k. "What he has learned he has forgotten. He-he's two years behind those requirements, Mrs. Townsend."

"Dear me! And I had hoped--" She sighed tremulously. "What do you advise?"

"I advise you to make Harold understand that he's got to do what I tell him to, and that if he doesn't he will be punished."

"But I never could punish him!"

"No'm, I'm sure of that," agreed d.i.c.k. "You let me do it."

"You?" she faltered. "Could you-that is--"

"I don't mean whip him, Mrs. Townsend, or anything like that. I'll find a way that will answer quite as well."

"Could you really? But how?"

"I don't know just yet," d.i.c.k owned. "But I'll find a way. Really, Mrs.

Townsend, you'll have to do something of that sort. Harold's just wasting his time and mine. And I can't take your money when I'm not earning it."

"Oh, but I'm sure you are! Even if-if Harold doesn't get on very fast, it is a great relief to me to know that for two hours a day at least he is in good care and not-not running around with those horrid bell-boys.

I'm sure that's worth every penny of the money!"

"Not to me, ma'am. I mean I wouldn't be satisfied to go on with things as they are now. I wish you'd try my way, Mrs. Townsend. All I'd want you to do would be just to tell Harold that he is to do absolutely as I tell him to, and that there is no use in his appealing to you."

"We-ell, if you're quite certain it won't break his spirit or-or anything like that," agreed Mrs. Townsend doubtfully. "I do want him to get on, Mr. Lovering. If only he had half the studiousness that Loring has!"

"He can study very well when he wants to," replied d.i.c.k dryly. "And I'm pretty sure I can make him want to if you will just stand back of me, Mrs. Townsend."

"I will, really and truly," she said. "Thank you so much, Mr. Lovering.

I-I'll speak to Harold this evening, and--"

"Couldn't you speak to him now just as well, please?"

"Now? Why, I suppose so. If you wish. Perhaps I'd better, and get it over with." Mrs. Townsend sighed deeply. "Will you send him to me, Mr.

Lovering?"

"Yes'm, if I can find him," answered d.i.c.k. "I'm afraid, though, he's gone off somewhere. I'll look him up, Mrs. Townsend. Thank you very much for-for helping me."

Harold was not in his room where d.i.c.k had left him, and inquiry around the corridor of the hotel at first failed to elicit any information.

Ultimately, however, d.i.c.k found a boy who had seen Harold walking down the beach about a half hour before and d.i.c.k set off in the indicated direction toward the distant point of rocks that jutted out into the sea.

CHAPTER XV

ON THE ROCKS

It was hard going for d.i.c.k, for his crutches sank into the sand nearly to the depth of their rubber tips, but he persevered, and after some ten minutes of "crutching" arrived at the end of the beach where the point of rock from which the place received its name advanced from the gra.s.sy bluff and waded far into the breakers. Harold was not in sight when d.i.c.k reached the bottom of the ledge; but a few moments later when by careful climbing d.i.c.k had reached the seaward end of the rock, he came into view. The receding tide had left a long and narrow pool in a cleft of the ledge, a pool whose sides were festooned with delicate seaweed and set with purple mussels and green and brown snails and in whose bottom pink starfish crawled. Harold, perched at the edge of the pool, was looking fascinatingly into the clear green depths and didn't hear the soft tap of d.i.c.k's crutches until the older boy was almost beside him.

Then he turned startledly, narrowly escaping a bath in the pool, and scowled at the intruder.

"Had to hunt for me, anyway, didn't you?" he asked sneeringly.

d.i.c.k paid the question no heed. Instead, he moved to the edge of the pool and peered interestedly into it. He didn't have to feign interest, he was interested. It seemed a long time to d.i.c.k since he had crouched, as Harold was crouched now, and gazed fascinatingly at the wonders of a rock pool. Nor had he done it very frequently, for climbing over the ledges is hard and risky work for a boy without two good legs. Harold continued to frown at a wavering starfish in the depths, but presently, as d.i.c.k did not speak, he shot a curious glance at him.

"Gee," he said to himself, "you'd think he'd never seen starfish and things before!"

d.i.c.k took off his hat and wiped his moist forehead. Then he lowered himself cautiously to a seat on the rock. "Regular natural aquarium, isn't it?" he asked pleasantly. Harold's reply was an unintelligible growl. "Lots of queer things in there," went on d.i.c.k musingly.

"Sure; I just saw a whale," replied Harold sarcastically.

"Did you? Your eyes must be pretty good," returned d.i.c.k, with a smile.

"I dare say, though, I see something you don't."

Harold viewed him suspiciously. Finally: "What?" he asked.

"A sea-anemone."

"A sea-what?"

"Sea-anemone." d.i.c.k laughed. "I sea-anemone; what do you see?"

"That's a punk joke!" scoffed Harold.

"I'm not joking. I'll point him out to you. Lean over this way. See that purplish-brown thing on the side near the bottom? Looks like a flower, sort of. See?"

"Sure! Is that it? It isn't a flower, though; it moves, don't it?"

Harold was interested in spite of himself.

"Yes, it moves, and it isn't a flower. It's a polyp. It's name is Metridium something or other; I forget the rest of it."

"What's a polyp? An animal?"

"Y-yes, of a low order. About as much as a sponge is."

"Pooh, a sponge is a vegetable!" derided the other.

"Not exactly. Those things that move are little tentacles with which it feeds itself," said d.i.c.k, pointing again at the anemone.

"What's it eat?" asked Harold curiously.

"All sorts of animal matter that floats around in the water and that is so small we can't see it."

Harold observed him suspiciously. "I don't believe it's alive at all,"

he said presently. "It's just a sort of seaweed, and it moves because the water moves."

"Think so?" asked d.i.c.k. "Then put your hand down there toward it and see what happens."

"It won't-bite, will it?" asked Harold doubtfully.