"Dixon, Franklin W - Hardy Boys 014 - The Hidden Harbor Mystery (original)" - читать интересную книгу автора (Dixon Franklin W)

Scanner's Notes:

This book was considered so politically incorrect by Grosset & Dunlap by the early 1960s that it was rewritten out of order during the purge of all the old Hardy Boys books. Although the 14th book in the series, it was the third book rewritten (and the first bearing almost no relationship to the original).

So that fair warning is given, the book contains negative stereotypes about blacks in the south in the 1930s, including the kind of "sho' 'nuff" Negro dialect that filled Mark Twain's books. If this kind of story might offend you, don't download. I am not uploading this book to promote any kind of white power objective or any of that idiocy. It is important that books like this be preserved and not swept under the literary rug.

I will post in doc, rtf, text, and html format.

Scanned and OCR'd from the 1935 Edition (apparently, however, the text does include the mention of the next story, which means it might be a later reprint) on a UMAX Astra 1220 P scanner using Textbridge Classic as the OCR engine. The only major problem was the Negro dialect; editing the sections where blacks talk required quite a bit of looking back and forth from the book to the screen. I also tried to avoid making fixes to the original. For example, the book uses the word "meaningly" when "meaningfully" is clearly intended. In addition, the word "Negro" is randomly capitalized throughout the book.



CHAPTER I

A STORMY NIGHT


"THIS is going to be a terrible night on the open sea," said Joe Hardy.
"I wish the captain would speed up," responded his fat chum, Chet Morton, with anxiety. "The ocean is getting rough, and the sooner we reach Bayport the better it will suit me."
"Just the kind of a setting for a mystery," returned Frank Hardy. "Now that we have the handwriting specimens in the Pennyweather case with us, I'm about ready for something new."
The three boys were seated at a table in the restaurant of the Resolute, a small coast liner. Frank Hardy, a tall, dark lad of about sixteen was the oldest of the trio. His brother Joe, a fair, curly-haired youth with a pleasant face was a year his junior, as was also Chet Morton, a fat, red-cheeked lad with a great appetite for fun and food.
"It is getting rough," agreed Frank, looking around the large room. "Not many passengers eating dinner tonight."
The vessel pitched and rolled continuously as it battled its way through the heavy sea. The three boys were good sailors, however, and had spent most of their lives within sight of the ocean. They were now returning from Larchmont, which was down the coast in one of the Southern states, to their home city of Bayport on Barmet Bay.
Fenton Hardy, a famous detective, the father of the Hardy boys, had sent his sons to Larchmont to procure some handwriting specimens from a client of his, a Miss Pennyweather. They were essential for use in the case upon which he was working. Greatly to the delight of Frank and Joe, their chum Chet had succeeded in obtaining permission from his parents to accompany them on the journey.
"Nearly all the passengers are in their staterooms tonight," grinned Chet. "Boy, I'm glad the ship's motion doesn't bother me. If there is anything worse than a real hearty dose of seasickness, I don't know what it is."
"It doesn't seem to be bothering that fellow over there," remarked Joe quietly.
The only passenger in the dining saloon besides themselves was a tall, sad-looking man about forty-five, who was sitting morosely at a table over in a corner, eating his dinner in gloomy silence. His face was flushed, his eyes were dull, and every now and then he would hiccough loudly.
"He's had too much to drink," muttered Chet.
"Have you noticed him watching us ever since we came on board?" asked Joe.
Frank looked at his brother in surprise. "Then it wasn't just my imagination," he said. "I had the same idea as yourself about him, but J didn't want to mention it for fear you might think I was trying to stir up a scare."
"Ever see him before?" asked Chet, now greatly interested in the situation.
The Hardy boys shook their heads. They were unable to even guess what it was all about.
"Then why should he be watching you?" Frank shrugged, plainly puzzled. "Maybe he is following us. After all, those handwriting specimens are mighty valuable."
Chet whistled.
"I hadn't thought of that," he said. "By the way, I suppose you've put them in a safe place?"
"They're locked up with our luggage in the stateroom," Joe told him.
While the boys were talking, the melancholy man pushed back his chair, arose, steadied himself for a moment against the table, and then made his way across the room. As he walked he staggered a little, and finally lurched out into the passage.
"He's been drinking, all right," said Frank. He beckoned to the waiter, who came over.
"Do you know the name of the passenger who just went out?" he asked.
"That is Mr. Rand, sir, replied the waiter. "Mr. Ruel Rand."
''Pretty tipsy, isn't he?'' queried Chet.
To everyone's surprise, the waiter shook his head.
"I can't understand it myself," he told the boys. "Anyone would think Mr. Rand was intoxicated, but he has been drinking nothing but fruit juices."
"Perhaps he isn't well," Joe suggested as the only solution to the man's behavior.
The boys dismissed Mr. Rand from their thoughts for the time being, finished their meal, and went up on deck. It was a wild night. Out of the stormy darkness great waves crashed against the ship as it labored northward. A dense, yellow fog hung over everything, and the lads could scarcely see the bridge above. Every few moments the deep, throaty voice of the fog-horn would boom its mournful warning into the night.
The boys were not nervous ordinarily, but they realized that the present condition was cause for grave concern. A ship's officer suddenly passed by them, his face tense and serious.
"Stay away from the rail, boys!" he advised them tersely, then hurried on to his duties.
It was a night that portended disaster. Everyone was in an expectant mood, as if he felt that a catastrophe of some kind was impending.
"If the ship should lose its way in this atmosphere we'd be in a fine mess," observed Chet. "I hope the captain knows what he's doing."
"This fog is a regular old pea-souper," said Joe. "I shouldn't want the responsibility of bringing this boat safe into port."