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full of glass and chewed it to make himself spit blood. Then he stuck his belt full of pistols and brandished a dirk and cussed a blue streak—pulled off a regular bughouse parade up and ​down the deck, swearing he was Satan and that his ship was called 'Hades.' He wasn't any chocolate sundae pirate, he wasn't. He was a genu-wine blood-and-thunder guy, he was.

      At this violent explosion from the mild-eyed, velvet-cheeked Legs, the other two scouts broke into a roar.

      "Oh, Legs, naughty boy, ain't you ashamed of yourself?" mocked Jimmy.

      "Got it all wrong, too," added Cat. "The saphead didn't see the note that said it wasn't the same Blackbeard who scouted in these parts. Why don't you take a squint down in the cellar when you are reading? Then you find what they say upstairs ain't so."

      "Ah, get out! Hanged if I saw it," declared the muddled Legs. "Don't believe it was there, either. Anyhow, I don't see why they want to stick in junk like that to spoil a dandy good story."

      "Hello, Central!" called Cat into his fist, raised to his mouth to represent a telephone. "Give me Legs's top story. How's the weather up there, Legs? Foggy as usual? I thought so."

      "Don't cry, Legs," laughed Jimmy. "You'll ​forget it before you're a hundred. See here, fellows, the pirate business is sort of on the blink now, but I certainly would like to spend about two years sailing around the world. That's a long sight better education than what you get in books. But blessed if I want to swab decks. You can't look at the scenery and study the customs of the natives while you are splicing ropes and splashing water around all day. Wonder if they'd take me on one of these pleasure yachts as an entertainer. I can play the guitar and do card tricks—"

      "That's right, Jimmy," interrupted Legs, now recovering his usual good humor, "blow off to hear yourself talk. But tell you what's a fact. If you can speak 'steen languages, you can get a fat job on 'most any old ship. Easy berth, too. Father picked up a fellow in Newport News who can tie Spanish up in a bow knot, believe me, and, as Father can't talk anything much but American, he is giving him all sorts of money just to help him chin the Greasers down there in Mexico."

      "That straight?" said Jimmy. "Gee! I sure will take that Spanish course in High ​School next session, and when I get up on it, I'll run down and open an airplane factory in Brazil."

      "Come off, they don't speak Spanish in Brazil, nut," corrected Legs. "They talk Portuguese."

      "All right, then. Can't phaze me. I'll go on to Bonus Airs."

      "Huh! Reckon you do need some Spanish! Bonus Airs!" sneered Legs.

      "What is it if that ain't right!" insisted Jimmy.

      Legs scratched his head, but apparently without extracting any information therefrom.

      "Tell you the truth, I've forgotten, but I'm dead certain you're a million miles off. I know that much."

      "Huh-huh-huh-huh!" grunted Jimmy. "Better find out something yourself before you try to give me lessons."

      "I know what it is," announced Cat, who had just been in consultation with a gentleman in the seat in front; "it's Bwanus I-res, and it's the capital of Argentine Republic."

      "You fudged, Cat," detected Jimmy, almost ​sticking his accusing finger in Cat's eye. "I saw you get the dope. Can't put that over on us."

      The informer smiled over his newspaper, while Cat twisted his mouth ludicrously. "Anyway, I did it," he protested.

      "Give you a dime to do it again," Jimmy baited him.

      "Don't you know Shakespeare never repeats," said Cat, with sham solemnity.

      "But Shakespeare's cat does," retorted Jimmy. "Cat, you are some fraud. Know where you are going? "

      "Anyway, I've got a return ticket. Say, boys," he suddenly shouted, "we're there!"

      Instantly six eager eyes, which had been giving but fleeting attention to the familiar sand dunes along the seashore, were focused on two landmarks just ahead, indicating the end of the first leg of their journey. One was the century-and-a-half-old stone lighthouse, now in disuse; the other, its modern successor whose revolving light at night guides a host of seacraft through the great strait between Cape Charles and Cape Henry.

      ​"Knapsacks up," yelled Jimmy. "Hurrah, all off for the Cape!"

      In wild excitement, each lad grabbed up the slim roll of luggage lying at his feet, made for the door and bounded out upon the sand. To the right was the vast blue Atlantic; and to the left, over the sand hills, the shores of the Bay of Lynnhaven, ancient site of the Indian village of the Chesapeakes, where, in the year 1607, the doughty adventurers from the good ships Susan Constant, Goodhope, and Discovery, made their first landing before sailing on to what was to be the first permanent settlement of the English in the New World, the famous foundation on the island of Jamestown.

      Jumping Off at Cape Henry

       Table of Contents

      Layout 4

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      CHAPTER II

       Table of Contents

      JUMPING OFF AT CAPE HENRY

       "Well, fellows, here I am!"

      It was a hearty, ringing voice that struck the boys' ears as its owner, whose every movement proclaimed the perfect coordination of the muscles beneath his aviator costume, strode along the station platform to greet his young visitors. A firm-set chin, brown eyes with wrinkles of perpetual good humor about them, a high forehead, a wholesome, tanned skin, a boyish shock of brown hair with a pronounced cowlick this—was Tom Hardy's outer man. At first sight, Legs and Jimmy lost all awe of him.

      As Cat rushed up, the airman seized the boy's hand in such a viselike grasp that the victim squirmed, "ouched," and yelled for mercy.

      "Why not introduce me to your chums, Mutt and Jeff?" demanded the host.

      "Doggone it, how can I when you're mashing every bone in my flipper?" cried Cat, still writhing. "Lemme go, will you?"

      ​"Just showing you how glad I am to see you. There now."

      Tom Hardy beamed on the three boys.

      Cat, released but still nursing his crumpled hand, proclaimed in the tone of a circus barker, as he nodded at his lanky companion, "This sawed-off fellow here is William Madison Moseley Hatton, known for short as Legs."

      "With that name, no wonder he's stunted," laughed Hardy, at the same time giving Legs a hearty clap on the shoulder, instead of the dreaded handshake.

      "And this," proceeded Cat, indicating Jimmy, "the tallest specimen of scout out of captivity, is named Jimmy Todd. If he ever sported a middle name he's lost it, and he's shed every nickname we fellows ever gave him. First, we called him 'Tadpole'; then, when he shot up 'bout two inches, we dubbed him 'Dusty,' 'cause the seat of his pants is so near the ground that they're always covered with dust; then, when he tumbled for one of the calicks in High, we nicked him 'Spooney'; and when he got to handing out that limerick stuff, we gave him 'Kicks,' but somehow, we always get back to ​Jimmy. I reckon it just naturally fits in better with Todd."

      Hardy was already shaking Jimmy's right hand while the lad used his left to ball a fist at the barking Cat.

      "That'll do for today, Miller," said Hardy, as he released Jimmy's hand. "Don't use up all your words. May need a few when you grow up and get in the lawyer game. Jimmy and Legs, then, are these fellows' names to me and I'm plain Hardy. See! Don't want anyone to be mistering anybody. Not even the cook does it at Seagulls' Nest. Now, let's beat it."

      He directed

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