THE COLCHESTER CLUB CHANGES ITZ NAME

“What in the world are you doing over here, fellows?” asked Dory Dornwood, as the four passengers of the Missisquoi tumbled in over the stern of the Goldwing.

“And what under the breezes of Lake Champlain are you doing in this boat?” shouted Thad Glovering, who was the first to get a footing in the standing-room of the Goldwing.

“What boat is it?” asked Nat Long in a blustering manner.

“What are you going to do with her, Dory?” demanded Dick Short.

“Can’t you take us over to Burlington in her?” queried Corny Minkfield.

“How many questions do you think I can answer at once, fellows?” replied Dory.  “I am going over to Burlington as soon as the weather is fit; and you can go with me if you like.”

“All right, Dory!  Hurrah for Dory Dornwood!  You are all right, and so are we:  only we are half starved, for we haven’t had any breakfast this morning,” said Thad Glovering.

It must be confessed that the party that arrived in the Missisquoi were not very promising-looking boys.  They had a wild, harum-scarum appearance and manner, which fully justified the description Captain Vesey had given of them.  In a word, they were evidently wild boys; and in this respect they did not differ much from Dory himself.

They are the boat-builders whose exploits and achievements are to be recorded, and they may as well be introduced at this as at any other time.  Thad Glovering was an orphan, who lived with his uncle.  As this relative had several children of his own, the added one was a burden to him, for he had but small wages.  Thad declared that he was willing to work; but up to this time nothing had been found for him to do.  The worst that could be said of him was that he was wild.

Nat Long’s father was a deck-hand on a steamer; and, as he was away most of the time, Nat was permitted to have his own way.  His mother was dead; and his older sister, who had the care of the family, found herself unable to control him.  He was not a confirmed bad boy, and had worked for a year in one place, and done very well.  A change in the business had thrown him out of work, and he had been unable to find another situation.  Idleness led him into mischief; and, without some kind of control, it was only a question of time when he got into the hands of the law for some crime.

Dick Short and Corny Minkfield were the sons of widows, both of whom had some property.  Their mothers were able to support them without work; but work was the one thing they needed, whether it was with the head or the hands.

These five boys lived near together, and they had been cronies from their earliest school-days.  Two of them were usually well dressed; and the others were somewhat ragged, and considerably patched, showing the efforts of their protectors to keep them decent.  They had all been to school up to the present time, and now it was vacation; and the next thing to be decided by their friends was what should be done with them.  Dick and Corny were to go to the high school; but the others must go to work, and earn their own living,-do something for the support of their parents.

Dory had gone to work before the school closed for the summer, and all the boys talked as though they intended to do something.  But they did not feel like going to work in vacation time.  They had always had great larks on the lake when school did not keep, and they were not disposed to dispense with the good time the present year.

It could not be said that one of these boys was really bad.  But they kept all kinds of company; and, in the absence of any strong controlling force, they were in great danger of becoming “hard boys.”  Sometimes they assisted about the steamers and other vessels; and, by making themselves useful, they obtained the privilege of sailing on the lake.  Their associations were not always of the best character.  They were all “smart boys;” and wise and steady people who knew them wished they might be put to some useful labor, or be subjected to some salutary control.  Mrs. Short and Mrs. Minkfield had both been warned of the peril of their sons; and both had considered the means of redeeming them from the bad company into which their habits threw them.  But they had not done any thing beyond reasoning with the boys, who always promised to mend their ways.

Assisted by his four cronies, Dory Dornwood had built a sort of bateau, a flat-bottomed craft, in which they used to row about the lake near the shore.  It was a rude boat; for the young boat-builders had few tools, and very inferior lumber for the construction of the bateau.  But it would carry them all, and Dory was the captain of the craft.  She was called the Colchester; and the boys formed a club for aquatic sports, to which they gave the name of the boat.

Doubtless the Colchester Club gave a great deal of satisfaction to its members.  Unfortunately the Colchester broke adrift in a September squall, and went to pieces on Colchester Reef, as reported by the light-keeper.  No other boat could be obtained; but the members all said that as soon as they got to work they should give a portion of their earnings for the purchase of a suitable craft for the association.  Up to this time they had not gone to work, and the successor of the Colchester did not appear.

Dory proceeded to answer the questions of his fellow-members of the Colchester Club.  The boat in which they found him belonged to him; and this was the most astounding statement he made in the course of the interview.  They opened their eyes, and stared at Captain Dory, as they called him, in silent wonder.  Then they looked the boat over with renewed interest, and seemed to be unable to believe the statement of their companion.

“The Colchester Club shall have the use of her when I am on board,” added Dory magnanimously.

“That’s handsome; and we shall have the biggest kind of times,” added Thad Glovering.  “I’ll tell you what we’ll do, fellows.  We will change the name of the club, and call it after this boat.  What is her name, Dory?”

“You will find it on the stern, and also on the bowsprit,” replied the skipper of the Goldwing.  “It isn’t a bad name either.”

Two of the members of the club looked over the stern, and two others rushed to the bow.  The name was of the utmost consequence, and Dory thought it was better for them to read it for themselves than for him to tell it.  Besides, there was a good deal of style in the way the name was put on in the three places.

“Goldwing!” shouted Corny Minkfield, who was the first to read the name on the stern.  “And there is a gold wing under it.”

“Goldwing!” repeated Dick Short, as he read the name on the heel of the bowsprit.  “And there is a gold wing here too.”

“Isn’t that a splendid name for a boat!  Goldwing!” exclaimed Nat Long.  “I don’t think you could find any thing better than that if you should study for a month.”

“Or any thing better for a club,” added Thad Glovering.  “The Goldwing Club!  How do you think that sounds, fellows?”

“I don’t believe any thing could sound any better,” added Dick Short.  “But we haven’t looked the boat over yet.”

All hands proceeded to attend to this duty at once.  The Colchester had been a rough, flat-bottomed craft, with neither shape nor comeliness about her.  Whatever first-class sailboats the members of the club had seen had been only at a distance; and consequently their ideal of beauty, symmetry, comfort, and convenience in a boat was not very high.  The Goldwing was perfection itself to them, though it might not have been to more experienced observers.  They were ecstatic in their praises of the Goldwing, and did not believe there was a finer sailboat on the lake than she was.

“You don’t mean to say that you own this craft, Dory Dornwood!” said Thad when the party had exhausted their vocabulary of fine words applicable to a beautiful sailboat.

“I have said it once, and I will say it again if it will do any good,” replied Dory.  “The Goldwing is mine, and she don’t belong to anybody else.  You can go the last cent you’ve got on that.”

“Get out, Dory!” exclaimed Dick Short, punching the skipper in the ribs.  “You are selling us too cheap, Dory.”

“I’m not selling you at all!” protested Dory.  “I wouldn’t take twenty-five cents apiece for you, though that would make a dollar.”

“You can’t expect us to believe that you own such a magnificent boat as this, Dory, unless you tell us where you got her,” said Corny Minkfield very seriously.

“I can expect it, and I do expect it,” added Dory, taking the auctioneer’s receipt from his pocket.  “I shall prove to you that she is mine, and without saying another word.”

Dory handed the receipt to Corny, and said nothing more.  The sceptic read the paper out loud, and of course that settled the question.  There was no room for a doubt after the reading of the receipt.

“Forty-two dollars!” exclaimed Corny, as he handed the receipt back to the skipper.  “Judging by the cost of the Letitia, she ought to be worth four or five hundred dollars.”

“Forty-two dollars is nothing for a boat like this,” added Dick Short, whose mother was worth money, and therefore he had less respect for forty-two dollars than most of the other members.

“But where did you get the forty-two dollars?” asked Thad, who had hardly ever possessed even half a dime at one time.

“Haven’t I proved that the Goldwing is mine?” demanded Dory rather warmly; for he did not want his fellow-members of the Goldwing Club skirmishing about in the region of the great secret of his lifetime.  “All I have to say about it is, that I came honestly by the money, and I don’t want any more questions asked.”

Dory Dornwood, though he was rather wild, scorned to invent a lie to explain where the money came from, as perhaps some of his companions might have done under similar circumstances.

The other members of the Goldwing Club looked at one another; and Nat Long winked at Corny Minkfield, as much as to say “There is a cat in the meal somewhere.”  After the imperative warning from the skipper that nothing more was to be said about the forty-two dollars, no more questions were asked; but it was evident that the members all kept up a tremendous thinking on the subject.  But even this matter became stale in a few minutes in the excitement of the hour.

“Forty-two dollars is dirt cheap for a boat like the Goldwing,” said Dory, breaking the silence.  “I have no doubt she cost four or five hundred dollars; but I ought to tell you that she has a bad name.”

“A bad name!  The Goldwing?” exclaimed Thad; and all of the party seemed to think it quite impossible that such a splendid boat as the Goldwing could have any thing but a first-class reputation.

“She drowned the man that owned her.  She upset, and then went to the bottom.  Now, if any of you want to go on shore, you can.”

The members of the Goldwing Club looked aghast at one another.