Читать книгу Blood Will Tell - Benjamin Rush Davenport - Страница 4

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“You don’t mean that Mr. Dunlap has consented to your going out to Australia in charge of the ‘Adams,’ do you, Captain Jack?”

The man who asked the question, as he rose from the desk at which he was sitting, was quite half a head taller than the sea captain whom he addressed. His figure was elegant and graceful, though slim; his face possessed that rare beauty seen only on the canvas of old Italian masters, clearly cut features, warm olive complexion in which the color of the cheeks shows in subdued mellow shadings, soft, velvet-like brown eyes, a mouth of almost feminine character and proportion filled with teeth as regular and white as grains of rice.

Save only that the white surrounding the brown of his beautiful eyes might have been clearer, that his shapely hands might have been more perfect, had a bluish tinge not marred the color of his finger nails, and his small feet might have been improved by more height of instep, Walter Burton was an ideal picture of a graceful, handsome, cultivated gentleman.

“Yes, Mr. Burton, I am to sail as master of the ‘Adams.’ How soon can I get a clearance and put to sea?”

“It is an absolute outrage to permit you to go to sea again so soon. Why, Captain, you have had hardly time to get your shore legs. You have not seen many of your old friends; Miss Dunlap told me last evening that she had not even seen you.”

Burton’s voice was as soft, sweet and melodious as the tones of a silver flute, and the thought of the young sailor’s brief stay at home seemed to strike a chord of sadness that gave added charm to the words he uttered.

“I expect to dine with my cousin tomorrow evening and will then give her greeting upon my home coming and at the same time bid her goodby upon my departure.”

“I declare, Jack, this is awfully sad to me, old chap, and I know Lucy will be sorely disappointed. You know that we are to be married next month and Lucy has said a dozen times that she wished you to be present; that you had always been a tower of strength to her and that nothing could alarm or make her nervous if, as she put it, ‘brave and trustworthy Jack be near.’”

The sailor’s face lost some of its color in spite of the tan that sun and sea had given it, as he listened to words that he had heard Lucy say when, as a boy and girl, they had climbed New Hampshire’s hills, or sailed along Massachusetts’ coast together.

“I shall be sorry if Lucy be disappointed, but I am so much of a sea-swab now that I am restless and unhappy while ashore.”

What a poor liar young John Dunlap was. His manner, or something, not his words, in that instant revealed his secret to Burton, as a flash of lightning in the darkness discloses a scene, so was Jack’s story and reason for hurried departure from Boston made plain.

By some yet unexplained process of mental telegraphy the two young men understood each other. Spontaneously they extended their hands and in their warm clasp a bond of silent sympathy was established. Thus they stood for a moment, then Burton said in that sad, sweet voice of his:

“Jack, dear old chap, I will get your clearance papers tomorrow and you may put to sea when you please, but see Lucy before you sail.”

Ere Dunlap could reply the door of the manager’s office opened and there entered the room a man of such peculiar appearance as to attract the attention of the most casual observer. He was thin, even to emaciation. The skin over his almost hairless head seemed drawn as tightly as the covering of a drum. The ghastliness of his dead-white face was made more apparent by the small gleaming black eyes set deep and close to a huge aquiline nose, and the scarlet, almost bloody stripe that marked the narrow line of his lips.

“Beg pardon,” said the man, seeing someone with Burton, and then, recognizing who the visitor was, added:

“Oh, how are you, Jack? I did not know that you were with the manager,” and he seemed to put the faintest bit of emphasis upon the word “manager.”

“Well, what is it, Chapman?” said Burton somewhat impatiently.

“I only wished to inform you that I have secured a master for the ‘Adams.’ Captain Mason, who was formerly in our employ, has applied for the position and as he was satisfactory when with us before I considered it very fortunate for us to secure his services just now.”

“The ‘Adams’ has a master already assigned to her,” interrupted the manager.

“Why! When? Who?” inquired the superintendent eagerly.

“The ‘Adams’ sails in command of Captain Dunlap here.”

The gleaming black eyes of Chapman seemed to bury their glances into the very heart of the manager as he stretched his thin neck forward and asked:

“Did you give him the ship?”

“J. Dunlap made the assignment of Captain Jack to the ship today at his own request and contrary to my wishes,” said Burton abruptly, somewhat annoyed at Chapman’s manner.

It was now the turn of Jack to stand the battery of those hawk eyes of the superintendent, who sought to read the honest sailor’s soul as he shot his glances into Jack’s clear gray eyes.

“Ah! Cousin Jack going away so soon and our Miss Lucy’s wedding next month. How strange!” Chapman seemed speaking to himself.

“If that is all, Chapman, just say to Mason that the firm appointed a master to the ‘Adams’ without your knowledge; therefore he can’t have the ship,” said Burton with annoyance in his tone and manner, dismissing the superintendent with a wave of his hand toward the door.

When Chapman glided out of the room, the man moved always in such a stealthy manner that he appeared to glide instead of walk, Burton exclaimed:

“Do you know, Jack, that that man Chapman can irritate me more by his detective demeanor than any man I ever saw could do by open insult. I am ashamed of myself for allowing such to be the case, but I can’t help it. To have a chap about who seems to be always playing the Sherlock Holmes act is wearing on one’s patience. Why, confound it! If he came in this minute to say that we needed a new supply of postage stamps he would make such a detective job of it that I should feel the uncomfortable sensation that the mailing clerk had stolen the last lot purchased.”

Jack, who disliked the sneaky and secretive as much as any man alive and had just been irritated himself by Chapman’s untimely scrutiny, said:

“I am not astonished and don’t blame you. While I have known Chapman all my life, I somehow, as a boy and man, have always felt when talking to him that I was undergoing an examination before a police magistrate.”

“Of course I ought to consider that he has been with the house for more than forty years and is fidelity and faithfulness personified to ‘J. Dunlap,’ but he is so absurdly jealous and suspicious that he would wear out the patience of a saint, and I don’t pretend to be one,” supplemented Burton.

“Half the time,” said Jack, glad apparently to discuss Chapman and thus avoid the subject which beneath the surface of their conversation was uppermost in the minds of both Burton and himself.

“I have not the slightest idea what ‘Old Chap,’ as I call him, is driving at. He goes hunting a hundred miles away for the end of a coil of rope that is lying at his very feet, and he is the very devil, too, for finding out anything he wishes to know. Why, when I was a boy and used to get into scrapes, if ‘Old Chap’ cornered me I knew it was no use trying to get out of the mess and soon learned to plead guilty at once,” and Jack smiled in a dreary kind of way at the recollection of some of his boyish pranks.

“Well, let old Chapman, the modern Sherlock Holmes, and his searching disposition go for the present. Promise to be sure to dine with Lucy tomorrow evening. She expects me to be there also, as she is going to have one or two young women and needs some of the male sex to talk to them. I know that she will want you all to herself,” said Burton.

“Yes, I’ll be on hand all right tomorrow night and you get my papers in shape during the day, as I will sail as early day after tomorrow as the tide serves,” replied the captain.

“By the way, Jack! Send your steward to me when you go aboard to take charge of the ‘Adams’ in the morning. Tell him to see me personally. You sailors are such queer chaps and care so little about your larder that I am going to see to it myself that you don’t eat salt pork and hard tack on your voyage out, nor drink bilge water, either.”

“You are awfully kind, Burton, but you need not trouble yourself. I am sure common sea grub is good enough for any sailor-man.”

As they walked together toward the front door, when Captain Jack was leaving the building, in the narrow aisle between the long rows of desks they came face to face with the superintendent. He stepped aside and gazing after them, whispered:

“Strange, very strange, for Jack Dunlap to sail so soon.”

“Be sure to send that steward of yours to me tomorrow, Jack,” called the manager of “J. Dunlap” as the sturdy figure of the sailor disappeared in the fog that filled the crooked street in which Boston’s oldest shipping and banking house had its office.

“And no ship ever sailed from Boston provided as yours shall be, poor old chap,” muttered the manager as he hurried back to his own room in the office. “There shall be champagne enough on board the ‘Adams,’ Jack, to drink our health, if you so will, on our wedding day, even though you be off Cape Good Hope.”

In the gloaming that dark November day the Dunlap brothers were seated close together, side by side, in silence gazing into the heap of coals that burned in the large grate before them. John Dunlap’s hand rested upon the arm of his brother, as if in the mere touching of him who had first seen the light in his company there was comfort.

Burton thought, as he entered the private office that no finer picture was ever painted than that made by these two fine old American gentlemen as the flame from the crackling cannel coal shot up, revealing their kind, gentle, generous faces in the surrounding gloom of the room.

“Pardon me, gentlemen,” said the manager, pausing on the threshold, hesitating to break in upon a scene that seemed almost sacred, “but I was told that you had sent for me while I was out of the office.”

“Come in, Burton, you were correctly informed,” said James Dunlap, still neither changing his position nor removing his gaze from the fire.

“My brother John and I have determined as a mark of love for our young kinsman, Captain John Dunlap, and as an evidence of our appreciation for faithful services rendered to us as mate and master, to make him a present of our ship ‘Adams,’ now loaded for Australia,” continued James Dunlap, speaking very low and very softly.

“You will please have the necessary papers for the transfer made out tonight. We will execute them in the morning and you will see that the proper entry is made upon the register at the custom house. Have the full value of the ship charged to the private accounts of my brother John and myself, as the gift is a personal affair of ours and others interested in our house must be fully indemnified,” continued the old man as he turned his eyes and met his brother’s assenting look.

The flame blazing up in the grate at that moment cast its light on Burton’s flushed face as he listened to the closing sentence of Mr. James Dunlap’s instructions.

“Forgive me, sir, but I do not comprehend what you mean by ‘others interested in our house.’ I believe other than yourselves I alone have the honor to hold an interest in your house,” and moving forward in the firelight where he would stand before the brothers he continued, almost indignantly, his voice vibrating with emotion:

“You do me bitter, cruel injustice if you think that I do not wish, nay more, earnestly beg, to join in this gift. I have learned that today that would urge me to plead for permission to share in this deed were it of ten times the value of the ‘Adams.’”

Quickly old John Dunlap, rising from his chair, placing his hand on Burton’s shoulder and regarding him kindly, said:

“I am glad to hear you say that, Burton, very glad. It proves your heart to be right, but it cannot be as you wish. Jack is so sensitive even about receiving aid from us, his kinsmen, that you must conceal the matter from him, put the transfer and new registration with his clearance papers and tell him it is our wish that they be not opened until he is one week at sea.”

“Could the transfer not be made just in the name of the house without explanation? He might never think of my being interested,” urged the manager eagerly.

“You are mistaken, Walter,” said James Dunlap. “Within a month you might see the ‘Adams’ sailing back into Boston harbor. I am sorry to deny you the exercise of your generous impulse; we appreciate the intent, but think it best not to hamper a gift to this proud fellow with anything that might cause its rejection.”

Burton, realizing the truth of the position taken by the brothers and the hopelessness of gaining Jack Dunlap’s consent to be placed under obligations to one not of his own blood, could offer no further argument upon the subject. Dejected and disappointed he turned to leave the room to accomplish the wishes expressed by the twins. As he reached the door John Dunlap called to him.

“Hold on a minute, Burton. Have we any interest in the cargo of the ‘Adams?’”

“About one-quarter of her cargo is agricultural implements consigned to our Australian agent for the account of the house,” quickly answered the manager.

“Charge that invoice to me and assign it to Jack.”

“Charge it jointly to us both,” added James Dunlap.

“No you don’t, James! We only agreed on the ship. John is my godson and namesake. I have a right to do more than anyone else,” exultantly cried the kind hearted old fellow, and for the first time that day he laughed as he slapped his brother on the shoulder and thought of how he had gotten ahead of him.

Burton was obliged to smile at the sudden anxiety of Mr. John to get rid of him when Mr. James began to protest against his brother’s selfishness in wishing to have no partner in the gift of the cargo.

“Now, you just hurry up those papers, Burton. Yes, hurry! Run along! Yes, Yes,” and so saying old Mr. John fairly rushed him out of the room.

“How I wish I were Captain Jack’s uncle, too,” thought Burton sadly, with a heart full of generous sympathy for the man who he knew loved the woman that ere a month would be Mrs. Burton.