Tooner Schooner (21 page)

“I know they bitched you up, Tooner,” Velma said. “But it’s all set. If I’m lying I’ll buy you a brand new schooner out of my own pocket. You never let anybody guess the boat was in her name, and while I’m reminding you of things, Tooner, you weren’t above stretching the charter laws a wee bit in your own favor.” The noise coming from the receiver subsided a little. “The Coronado Islands?” Velma cried. “Swell! Hurry up, man. Time’s a-wastin’!” Velma dropped into her desk chair with a thud. “You broke a spring in the engine? Won’t it even limp?” Miss Tinkham lay back in a chair and fanned herself with a magazine. Mr. Cobb undid his necktie. “Okay, Tooner.” Velma’s voice was hoarse. “Don’t do anything till you hear from me. Stand by for a call. If there
is
any answer to this one.” She turned in the chair.

“You heard what he said. It’s rough, having the thing almost settled and then have the crummy boat not able to navigate. I don’t know why we even bother with him,” she muttered.

“The same reason we all do,” Miss Tinkham said.

“I
DON’T KNOW HOW
it ain’t dawned on you,” Mrs. Feeley said.

Velma and Miss Tinkham stared at her. Mr. Cobb and Mrs. Rasmussen stopped eating.

“They ain’t but one way to get them papers. Go get ’em ourselves.”

“How are we going to get to the Coronado Islands and back before next week?” Velma said.

“You’ve fit along too many fronts all day,” Mrs. Feeley said kindly. “Water taxi; motor launch…”

“Sea planes!” Velma cried. “You’re right. Only trouble is, the commercial airlines don’t have many of those for hire. And I don’t know a single private owner who would lend us one.”

“What we should have is a helicopter,” Miss Tinkham said. “So long as we’re in the realm of the imagination, why should we deny ourselves the latest inventions?”

“A whirly birdy!” Velma jumped up.

Mrs. Feeley came over and stroked Velma’s forehead. “Sit back, lamb, and let Feeley look after you. Your fan belt’s slippin’.”

“The egg beater!” Velma’s eyes gleamed. Mrs. Feeley looked pityingly at Mrs. Rasmussen and shook her head.

“When them solid ones crack up…tchk, tchk.”

“C’mon,” Velma was on her feet, “if you’re going with me. The Coast Guard has one. I’m going to make them take us out to rescue him. His engine won’t run. If they won’t do that, we’ll tell them he took my boat without leave. They’ll bring him in and lock him up. At least we will have a chance to get the papers.”

“Velma, dear,” Mrs. Rasmussen said, “are you sure you’ve got all your buttons?”

Velma nodded. “They get in for close work where a plane couldn’t even come near. We’ll put the bill of sale in a bottle and drop it down to him. If he has the registration all ready for us to pick up, we’re set.”

“I thought you weren’t going to bother with protecting him any more?” Miss Tinkham smiled. “You’ll have to telephone him on that device again, if you expect him to co-operate.”

“We’ll scoop it up as we go by,” Mrs. Feeley said. “If he don’t want to be towed by them Coast Guards, he better rig a spring outa bailin’ wire. He’d never survive the disgrace o’ bein’ towed. Run, Mrs. Rasmussen, tell Ol’-Timer to stand by to help Tooner, while I get my pants on.”

Mr. Cobb looked embarrassed.

“I’ll contact Tooner from the office. Meet us there.” Velma’s fatigue had vanished.

“I’d love to go, but I haven’t written my column for tomorrow,” Mr. Cobb said. “Lord knows when this wild-goose chase will end.”

“Without your help, we wouldn’t be this far,” Velma said.

Mrs. Feeley was back in a few minutes clad in her dungarees.

“Sunshine, dear,” she said. “Be a good girl and keep outa trouble; God only knows if you’ll ever see any of us alive again, but it’s all for the flag, dear.”

Mrs. Rasmussen galloped in, followed by Old-Timer carrying a glass jar full of springs, bolts, screws and other small articles of taste and utility. He wore a Navy watch cap and carried a dip net over his shoulder.

“Gawd, this is somethin’ like our usual speed! Wonder how close Chartreuse an’ him is to Yuma?”

The duty officer at the Coast Guard Station looked silently at the assorted humanity lined up in front of his desk.

“This is all highly irregular, you know, Mrs. Yandell,” he said.

“It is a rescue mission, Captain.” Velma knew he had only half as many stripes as a captain, but she had not lived around the armed services for nothing. “The captain is unable to repair the engine by himself. I am supplying a mechanic at my own expense.” She turned to Old-Timer. “All I ask of you is transportation.”

“I’d have to reach the vessel first to take a bearing on his position. Has he a ship-to-shore telephone?”

“I have talked to him twice today, sir.” Velma was losing patience but managed to hold on to her temper.

“I could only spare one man.” He weakened.

“It’s only about an hour’s trip on the engine. How long would it take you in the helicopter?”

“The time element is nothing, really,” the officer said.

“That’s good enough. How many of us can go?” Velma said.

“This is strictly against the rules.” The man ruffled his hair till it stood on end.

“Captain, dear,” Mrs. Feeley cried, “we’ll be back in half an hour an’ nobody the wiser.”

“Jenkins,” the officer said wearily to the neat enlisted man who stood at attention, “stand by to dispatch a helicopter to the aid of schooner
South Wind,
Coast Guard Number C-5.”

“Aye aye, sir.” The lad saluted smartly and tried not to grin.

“How many, sir?” Velma said.

“Two and the pilot. I’ll lose numbers for this.”

“Would it help if we signed a release?” Velma said. “All you have to worry about is your pilot.”

“It’s not my pilot I’m worrying about,” he said.

“We’ll draw straws,” Mrs. Feeley said. “Ol’-Timer has to go.”

“You are the one who really thought of it, Mrs. Feeley. If you want to go, I won’t draw,” Velma said.

“Lend us a book o’ matches, sonny.” The Coast Guardsman standing by took out three matches, broke them into varying lengths and held them out carefully concealed in his hand.

“Long straw rides,” he said.

“You won it fair an’ square.” Mrs. Rasmussen clapped Mrs. Feeley on the back.

“Dearest Mother!” she cried. “Is it that little glass fish bowl I’m to get into?” The pilot helped her in. Old-Timer looked the contraption over and paid strict attention as the pilot showed him the steel landing sling from which he was to swing onto the deck of the schooner. “Nothin’ to it!” Mrs. Feeley said. “Just like droppin’ a sack o’ pitt-atoes.”

Miss Tinkham and Velma were giving names and addresses to a coastguardsman.

“Don’t forget, Danny’s my next o’ kin,” Mrs. Feeley shouted. “I’m sorry for everythin’ mean I ever done! Look after Miss Tinkham an’…” the Plexiglas door closed and the little blades of the helicopter began to turn slowly. Mrs. Feeley observed a moment of silence, out of respect for the Coast Guard. “Ain’t near as sickly-like as them elly-vators.” Mrs. Feeley was surprised to see the ground many feet below her; it began to look like bits of patchwork quilt and soon was replaced by the calm expanse of the bay.

“This here daylight savings is the thing,” she remarked to the pilot. He did not deign to answer. “Broke up his acey-ducey game,” Mrs. Feeley muttered. Old-Timer was less voluble than usual, gazing steadily into the ocean. Mrs. Feeley liked the way the clouds swooshed by. “Don’t seem like we’re movin’ at all. We’ll never find him at this rate, lad,” Mrs. Feeley prodded the pilot. “Can’t you send her along a bit?”

Old-Timer pointed at the instrument panel.

“Gawd! I thought that was gallons o’ gas!” Mrs. Feeley whispered. The pilot motioned to Mrs. Feeley to look down. “That’s him! To-o-o-o-o-o-o-ner!” she screamed. “We’re standin’ still! Just like one o’ them hummin’birds in the fewshers! How long will she stay gentle, young man?”

The pilot was getting ready to launch Old-Timer.

“Goo’bye, darlin’!” Mrs. Feeley shrieked as he got onto the sling. “You been a good an’ faithful friend to me these many years! Just remember, you ain’t no actor-bat on that trapeze! His paper’s in your bottle. Guard it with your life now!” She hushed as the little egg beater hovered over the deck of the schooner. Captain Dowdy stood on the deck, one vast grin splitting his face.

“’Y God,” he bellowed above the noise of the propellers, “this is where it hits the fan, ent it?” He held a pickle jar in his left hand. His right hand was extended to help Old-Timer out of the sling and onto the deck. The helicopter buzzed steadily.

“The jar!” she bellowed. “Gimme the jar, Ol’-Timer!” She grabbed the dip net and shoved it through the opening left by the sling. Captain Dowdy dropped the bottle into the net.

“Steady as you go, Mate,” he bellowed. “H’ist it up slow an’ don’t drop it!”

“Who ever heard o’ me droppin’ a bottle?” Mrs. Feeley shouted back. “Fix that busted spring an’ hurry on home!” The pilot put out a hand and dragged Mrs. Feeley back by the shirttail as he raised the sling to its riding position.

“Good on you, lad,” she said. “In another minute, I’d a been skinnin’ the cat on that bar meself. I’m bound to have one o’ these or bust a gut.” She scratched her head. “The only thing…” After a moment she had the solution: “One o’ them old-fashioned iron hitchin’ weights we used to drop on the ground from the buggy. That’d take care o’ the parkin’!”

“It was over ’fore it happened.” Mrs. Feeley held out the jar triumphantly. “He looked like his old self for a change. Young feller, if you ever feel for a beer, drop in to see us.”

“We really should say goodbye to the commanding officer,” Miss Tinkham said.

“Make it a straight telegram,” Velma said. “Ten words.”

Miss Tinkham and Mrs. Feeley went in and came back in record time for them.

“An’ I told ’em I’d not call ’em the hooligan Navy no more.”

“Tommy Ryan at the airport is flying me to Yuma. I can just about beat Chartreuse and Ethelbert to town.”

“You’d oughta go by helly-copter,” Mrs. Feeley said smugly. “That’s what I want for Christmas.”

“A common plane will have to do,” Velma said. “You going?”

“I’ve had my treat,” Mrs. Feeley said. “Take Miss Tinkham and Mrs. Rasmussen. You won’t be gone long. These ain’t the ol’ oxcart days, you know.”

“Take my wallet,” Mrs. Rasmussen said. “You ain’t got a cent in them jeans. You’re gonna be hard to live with for a while after that ride.”

The pilot had Velma’s plane all revved up.

“Who would have said we should have this wonderful experience?” Miss Tinkham said. “But we must not forget they have had three hours’ head start.”

“Not scared?” Velma said.

“Just thrilled to death,” Miss Tinkham said.

The cabin plane was noisy but otherwise very comfortable. No one spoke during the ride which was much too short to suit Mrs. Rasmussen or Miss Tinkham.

“Nice landing,” Velma said to the pilot. “Where can I get a cab?”

“There are usually one or two hanging around the field,” he said. “Otherwise, you telephone from that booth. Any idea how long you’ll be gone?”

“No idea. You wait,” Velma said as the three hopped into a rickety taxi. “Drive us to the best bar in town.”

“Do you think we have time, Velma?” Miss Tinkham said.

“I’m going to leave you there and telephone to see if they have arrived. Don’t want anyone in sight but me. Give them a little extra hotfoot, in case they’ve reasoned things out.”

Mrs. Rasmussen ordered beer and had finished her first one when Velma rejoined them.

“They’re there. I had to say who was calling before the manager would admit they’d arrived,” she said. “I kept the cab. If all goes well, I’ll be back in a short while.”

“No matter what,” Mrs. Rasmussen lifted her glass, “Tooner can’t say Velma didn’t try to straighten out the mess we all cooked up.”

“I am sure no one could have a better friend,” Miss Tinkham agreed.

“Not even Chartreuse?”

“I’ll breathe easier when the papers are signed,” Miss Tinkham said. “Even a woman of Chartreuse’s basic stupidity should smell a mouse when Velma suddenly befriends her.”