Vane of the Timberlands | Page 6

glow from the cabin skylight. He fancied, however, that his comrade
would rise to the occasion, and he helped his guests up.
"My partner, Carroll. Mrs. Marvin and her daughter; Miss Kitty Blake.
You have seen them already. They're coming down with us to catch the
steamer."
Carroll bowed, and Vane thrust back the cabin slide and motioned the
others below. The place was brightly lighted by a nickeled lamp,
though it was scarcely four feet high and the centerboard trunk
occupied the middle of it. A wide cushioned locker ran along either
side a foot above the floor, and a swing-table, fixed above the trunk,
filled up most of the space between. There was no cloth on the table,
but it was invitingly laid out with canned fruit, coffee, hot flapjacks and
a big lake trout, for in the western bush most men can cook.

"You must help yourselves while we get sail upon the boat," said Vane
cheerily. "The saloon's at your disposal--my partner and I have the
forecastle. You will notice that there are blankets yonder, and as we'll
have smooth water most of the way you should get some sleep. Perhaps
you'd better keep the stove burning; and if you should like some coffee
in the early morning you'll find it in the top locker."
He withdrew, closing the slide, and went forward with Carroll to
shorten in the cable; but when they stopped beside the bitts his
companion broke into a laugh.
"Is there anything amusing you?" Vane asked curtly.
"Well," drawled Carroll, "this country, of course, isn't England; but, for
all that, it's desirable that a man who expects to make his mark in it
should exercise a certain amount of caution. It strikes me that you're
making a rather unconventional use of your new prosperity, and it
might be prudent to consider how some of your friends in Vancouver
may regard the adventure."
Vane sat down upon the bitts and took out his pipe.
"One trouble in talking to you is that I never know whether you're in
earnest or not. You trot out your cold-blooded worldly wisdom--I
suppose it is wisdom--and then you grin at it."
"It seems to me that's the only philosophic attitude," Carroll replied.
"It's possible to grow furiously indignant with the restraints stereotyped
people lay on one, but on the whole it's wiser to bow to them and
chuckle. After all, they've some foundation."
Vane looked up at him sharply.
"You've been right in the advice you have given me more than once.
You seem to know how prosperous, and what you call stereotyped,
people look at things. But you've never explained where you acquired
the knowledge."

"Oh, that's quite another matter," laughed Carroll.
"Anyway, there's one remark of yours I'd like to answer. You would, no
doubt, consider that I made a legitimate use of my money when I
entertained that crowd of city people--some of whom would have
plundered me if they could have managed it--in Vancouver. I didn't
grudge it, of course, but I was a little astonished when I saw the wine
and cigar bill. It struck me that the best of them scarcely noticed what
they got--I think they'd been up against it at one time, as we have; and
it would have done the rest of the guzzlers good if they'd had to work
with the shovel all day on pork and flapjacks. But we'll let that go.
What have you and I done that we should swill in champagne, while a
girl with a face like that one below and a child who dances like a fairy
haven't enough to eat? You know what I paid for the last cigars. What
confounded hogs we are!"
Carroll laughed outright. There was not an ounce of superfluous flesh
upon his comrade, who was hardened and toughened by determined
labor. With rare exceptions, which included the occasions when he had
entertained or had been entertained in Vancouver, his greatest
indulgence had been a draught of strong green tea from a blackened
pannikin, though he had at times drunk nothing but river water. The
term hog appeared singularly inappropriate as applied to him.
"Well," replied Carroll, "you'll no doubt get used to the new conditions
by and by; and in regard to your latest exploit, there's a motto on your
insignia of the Garter which might meet the case. But hadn't we better
heave her over her anchor?"
They seized the chain, and a sharp, musical rattle rang out as it ran
below, for the hollow hull flung back the metallic clinking like a
sounding-board. When the cable was short-up, they grasped the
halyards and the big gaff-mainsail rose flapping up the mast. They set it
and turned to the head-sails, for though, strictly speaking, a sloop