Jim Spurling, Fisherman or Making Good   By: Albert Walter Tolman (1866-)

or Making Good

by

ALBERT W. TOLMAN

Illustrated

[Illustration: [See page 279

HE PLUNGED INTO THE SEA AND DRAGGED HIMSELF TOWARD THE ROCK TO WHICH HIS FATHER WAS FASTENED]

[Illustration]

Harper & Brothers Publishers New York and London

JIM SPURLING, FISHERMAN

Copyright, 1918, by Harper & Brothers Printed in the United States of America

TO MY BOYS ALBERT AND EDWARD

CONTENTS

CHAP. PAGE I. SMASHED UP 1 II. A FRESH START 18 III. TARPAULIN ISLAND 29 IV. MIDNIGHT MARAUDERS 41 V. GETTING READY 53 VI. TRAWLING FOR HAKE 66 VII. SHORTS AND COUNTERS 78 VIII. SALT WATER GIPSIES 90 IX. FISTS AND FIREWORKS 102 X. REBELLION IN CAMP 114 XI. TURN OF THE TIDE 128 XII. PULLING TOGETHER 138 XIII. FOG BOUND 150 XIV. SWORDFISHING 162 XV. MIDSUMMER DAYS 174 XVI. A LOST ALUMNUS 186 XVII. BLOWN OFF 198 XVIII. BUOY OR BREAKER 208 XIX. ON THE WHISTLER 221 XX. SQUARING AN ACCOUNT 233 XXI. OLD FRIENDS 243 XXII. PERCY SCORES 255 XXIII. WHITTINGTON GRIT 269 XXIV. CROSSING THE TAPE 283

ILLUSTRATIONS

HE PLUNGED INTO THE SEA AND DRAGGED HIMSELF TOWARD THE ROCK TO WHICH HIS FATHER WAS FASTENED Frontispiece

THE CAMP AT SPROWL'S COVE Facing p. 56

LEANING AGAINST THE MAST HOOP THAT ENCIRCLED HIS WAIST, HE LIFTED THE LONG LANCE AND POISED IT FOR THE BLOW " 166

KNEES BRACED TIGHTLY AGAINST THE SIDES OF THE STERN, HANDS LOCKED ROUND THE STOUT BUTT OF THE LANCE, HE FOILED RUSH AFTER RUSH OF THE BLACK FINNED, WHITE BELLIED PIRATES " 172

THEY STOOD CLOSE TOGETHER ON THE CIRCULAR TOP, HOLDING ON TO THE CROSSED BAILS, WAIST HIGH " 222

"WE NEED THAT SLOOP AND WE'RE GOING TO HAVE HER!" " 252

JIM SPURLING, FISHERMAN

JIM SPURLING FISHERMAN

I

SMASHED UP

"Here comes J. P. Whittington, Junior, Esquire, in his new Norman! Some speed what?"

The three Graffam Academy seniors, Jim Spurling, Roger Lane, and Winthrop Stevens, who were sitting on the low, wooden fence before the campus, earnestly discussing the one thing that had engrossed their minds for the past two weeks, stopped talking and leaned forward.

On the broad, elm lined street beyond the Mall suddenly appeared a cloud of dust, out of which shot a gray automobile. Its high speed soon brought it to the academy grounds, and it came to an abrupt stop before the fence.

"Pile in, fellows!" shouted the driver, a bareheaded youth in white flannels, "and I'll take you on a little spin."

He was a slim, sallow lad of seventeen, with a straw colored pompadour crowning his freckled forehead. The sleeves of his outing shirt were rolled up above his elbows, revealing his bony, sunburnt arms. He wore a gay red tie, and a tennis blazer, striped black and white, lay on the seat beside him.

"No, thanks, Percy," replied Lane. "Sorry we can't go; but we're too busy."

Spurling and Stevens nodded as Whittington's light blue eyes traveled inquiringly from one to the other.

"Ah, come on!" he invited. "Be sports! Let's celebrate the end of the course. Just to show how good I feel, I'm going to scorch a three mile hole through the atmosphere between here and Mount Barlow faster than it was ever done before. Tumble aboard and help hold this barouche down on the pike while I burn the top off it for the last time."