The Stowaway Girl | Page 5

hard times, an' your two thou' would make the skipper's job in my new ship a certainty."
Coke's brick-red face darkened. He breathed hard.
"Wot new ship?" he demanded.
Verity smiled knowingly.
"It's a secret, Jimmie, but I must stretch a point for a pal's sake. Dickey Bulmer's goin' to marry my niece, an' 'e 'as pledged himself to double the capital of the firm. Now I've let the cat out of the bag. I'm sorry, ole man--pon me soul, I am--but w'en Dickey's name crops up on 'Change you know as well as me 'ow many captain's tickets will be backed wi' t' brass."
This time, if so minded, the robin might have trilled his song adagio con sostenuto without fear of interruption by those harsh voices. Neither man spoke during so long a time that the break seemed to impose a test of endurance; in such a crisis, he who has all at stake will yield rather than he who only stakes a part.
"S'pose we talk plainly as man to man?" said Coke thickly, at last.
"I can't talk much plainer," said Verity.
"Yes, you can. Promise me the command of your next ship, an' the Andromeda goes on the rocks this side o' Monte Video."
Verity jumped as though he had been stung by an infuriated wasp.
"Coke, I'm surprised at you," he grunted, not without a sharp glance around to make sure no other was near.
"No, you ain't, not a bit surprised, on'y you don't like to 'ear it in cold English. That's wot you're drivin' at--the insurance."
"Shut up, you ijjit. Never 'eard such d--d rot in all me born days."
"Listen to it now, then. It's good to 'ave the truth tole you some times. Wot are you afraid of? I take all the risk an' precious little of the money. Write me a letter----"
"Write! Me! Coke, you're loony."
"Not me. Wait till I'm through. Write a letter sayin' you're sorry the Andromeda must be laid up this fall, but promisin' me the next vacancy. 'Ow does that 'urt you?"
Verity's cigar had gone out. He relighted it with due deliberation; it could not be denied that his nerve, at least, was superb.
"I'm willin' to do anything in reason," he said slowly. "I don't see where I can lay 'ands on a better man than you, Jimmie, even if you do talk nonsense at times. You know the South American trade, an' you know me. By gad, I'll do that. Anyhow, it's wot you deserve, but none the less, I'm actin' as a reel friend, now ain't I? Many a man would just lay you up alongside the Andromeeda."
"I'll call at your office in the mornin' for the letter," said Coke, whose red face shone like the setting sun seen through a haze.
"Yes, yes. I'll 'ave it ready."
"An' you won't back out of them extry stores? I must sweeten the crew on this run."
"I'll supply the best of stuff--enough to last for the round trip. But don't make any mistake. You must be back afore September 30th. That's the date of the policy. Now let's trot inside, an' my gal--Mrs. Dickey Bulmer that is to be--will give you some tea."
"Tea!" snorted Coke.
"Well, there's whisky an' soda on tap if you prefer it. It is rather 'ot for tea. Whew! you're boilin'? W'y don't you wear looser clo'es? Look at me--cool as a cucumber. By the way, 'oo's the new man you've shipped as second? Watts is the chief, I know, but 'oo is Mr. Philip Hozier?"
"Youngster fillin' in sea-service to get a ticket an' qualify for the Cunard."
"Thoroughly reliable sort of chap, eh?"
"The best."
It was odd how these men left unsaid the really vital things. Again it was Coke who tried to fill in some part of the blank space.
"Just the right kind of second for the Andromeda's last cruise," he muttered. "Smart as a new pin. You could trust 'im on the bridge of a battleship. Now, Watts is a good man, but a tot of rum makes 'im fair daft."
"Ah!" purred Verity, "you must keep a tight 'and on Watts. I like an appetizer meself w'en I'm off dooty, so to speak, but it's no joke to 'ave a boozer in charge of a fine ship an' vallyble freight. Of course, you're responsible as master, but you can't be on deck mornin', noon, an' night. Choke Watts off the drink, an' you'll 'ave no trouble. So that's settled. My, but you're fair meltin'--wot is it they say--losin' adipose tisher. Well, come along. Let's lubricate."
* * * * * *
The Andromeda sailed on the Tuesday afternoon's tide. She would drop the pilot off Holyhead, and, with fair weather, such as cheered her departure from the Mersey, daybreak on Thursday would find her pounding through the cross seas where St. George's Channel merges into the wide Atlantic.