Читать книгу Wyndham's Pal - Bindloss Harold - Страница 3

Commodore Chisholm sat in his smoking-room and knitted his brows while Wyndham talked. The room was small and plainly furnished and the books on the shelves were all about the sea; narratives of old explorers' voyages, works on naval tactics, and yacht registers. Wyndham spoke fast and with marked eagerness, and when he was moved he had a strange power of persuasion, but now and then Chisholm frowned. Although he knew he must give way, he hesitated. There was something romantic and, so to speak, exotic, about Wyndham, and Chisholm liked sober English calm.

For all that, he loved his daughter, whom he had long indulged, and knew her mind. He had only two children, Jack and Flora, and his wife was dead. Chisholm had loved her well and married rather late. It was for her sake and because his pay was small he left the navy and took a post in the service of a public navigation board. Although he held his navy rank he was generally given his yachting title, the "Commodore." He was scrupulously just, frank, and rather slow; a man at whom his friends sometimes smiled but always trusted. Now he frankly wished his daughter had chosen another lover. It was not that he disliked the fellow; he knew his family history and what business men thought about Wyndham Brothers. Still, it looked as if Flora was satisfied.

"You ask me rather a hard thing," he remarked when Wyndham stopped. "However, if Flora agrees, I suppose I cannot refuse. It's obvious I owe you much."

"You mean my pulling Jack out of the water? I don't want to urge this. It was really nothing, and the lad swims well."

"There is some risk in trying to swim through a net of iron rods when a four-knot current runs through the holes; as I expect you knew when you plunged. Besides, it's plain Jack was excited and a little off his balance. The others went for a punt; you saw the real danger and steered him through."

Wyndham imagined Chisholm was struggling with his prejudices and trying to be just. He had a generous vein and the Commodore's honesty moved him.

"My strongest argument is that I love Flora," he declared.

"It counts for much," said Chisholm, who felt his sincerity. "Still, there are other matters one must talk about."

"That is so, sir," Wyndham agreed. "Well, I know I'm asking much and I'm handicapped. I'm poor; when I took the family business I took a load of debt and some distrust. We're not a conventional lot; we have long been reckless and adventurous."

He stopped for a moment, and then, while Chisholm approved his frankness, went on: "All the same, I'm young; the house's fortunes can be mended and its credit made good, and I have an object for putting my heart into the job. It will be something of a struggle, sir, but I've got a fighting chance, and with Flora's help I feel I'm going to win."

"How do you propose to mend the house's fortunes?" Chisholm asked.

"For a start, I've planned to visit our factories abroad, study our trade on the spot, and turn out incompetent agents. I'll begin in West Africa and then cross to the Caribbean. I expect to use our trading schooner."

Chisholm looked up, rather quickly, and Wyndham saw his interest was roused. When one talked about boats the Commodore was keen, and Wyndham's voyage was, so to speak, safe ground.

"It's a long run," Chisholm remarked.

"The slavers' road, sir," said Wyndham, who meant to lead him on. "A slow beat against the Guinea current until one clears the windward ports and works up to the Pambier; and then a fast reach across open water in the North-East Trades. The early adventurers used smaller boats than mine."

"They pushed off from the Azores and Canaries, north of your track, and carried the North-Easter farther across. If you get to leeward, you'll strike the equatorial calms. But what about your boat?"

"She's an old ninety-ton yacht, the Columbine, and was rather famous once."

"Columbine?" said Chisholm, who took down a yacht register. "Here she is! Good builders, men who stuck to oak and teak. But she's thirty years old."

Wyndham smiled. The Commodore was getting keen; he was as enthusiastic as a boy when he talked about the sea.

"I understand she's pretty sound and I must use the tools I've got. Her draught is light. We can cross river bars and get into shallow lagoons. Our factories stand by the mangrove creeks the slavers haunted. Wyndhams' were slavers long since."

"An old house!" said Chisholm. "Your folks were pioneers. There's something in a long record; habits and characteristics go with the blood of an old stock."

"Sometimes that has drawbacks, sir," Wyndham remarked.

Chisholm did not follow him and Wyndham saw he was musing about the romance of the sea.

"But what about your crew?" the Commodore asked.

"I expect to keep the Liberian Krooboys now on board. A half-tamed, reckless lot, but every Krooboy's a sailor."

"I know; fine stuff, but needs management," Chisholm agreed. "I was on patrol along the Guinea coast – a long time since. Blazing sun, roaring bars, steaming mangrove swamps, and sickness. For all that, there's a fascination you get nowhere else, unless it's on the Caribbean and coast of Brazil. The world's alike on the lines of latitude and man's morals follow the parallels." He paused with a dreamy look and then resumed: "I'm getting old and have my duty; but if I could, I'd go with you."

For a time they talked about the voyage, and then, with a half-embarrassed smile, Chisholm pulled himself up. "I'm forgetting. There are things I ought to ask – "

Wyndham told him how much money he had, and when Chisholm looked thoughtful, went on: "I don't expect your consent to our marrying yet. It's not long since I took control of the business and much depends on the arrangements I hope to make at our factories. Things will look better when I come back."

"It's possible. But you do not know."

"I really do know, sir," Wyndham declared. "You can make my ability to put things straight a stipulation, if you like. I'm willing to be tested. I feel I can't fail."

Chisholm studied him for a moment or two. Wyndham's eyes sparkled; he looked strangely forceful and resolute, and Chisholm thought he understood why Flora had been carried away. The fellow was handsome and romantic. Besides, he was a fine sailor, and Chisholm knew his pluck.

"Very well," he said. "We'll let it go like that. The wedding must wait until you come back, but I wish you luck."

Wyndham thanked him and when he went off Chisholm pondered. Perhaps he had agreed rather weakly; he had meant to be firmer, but Wyndham had led him to talk about his voyage. Anyhow, the fellow had charm. It was hard to refuse him and Chisholm had seen he was sincere. By and by he got up and lighted his pipe. The thing was done with and he had given his consent. Somehow he had been persuaded and after all if Flora was satisfied —

Chisholm had not stipulated that nobody should be told and Flora's friends had much to talk about. Mabel Hilliard was disturbed, and when Marston came to her mother's house one evening took him to the garden.

"Bob," she said, "I suppose you know Wyndham is going to marry Flora?"

"I do know," said Marston. "In fact, I approve. Flora is nearly the nicest girl I've met. However, I imagine you're not satisfied."

"I am not. Flora has been my friend since we were children. I am very fond of her and think she is quite the nicest girl you have met."

"Bar one!" Marston interposed.

Mabel smiled. "Oh, well, I expect your judgment's biased, Bob. But let me go on, although it's rather awkward ground. Wyndham has charm, he's picturesque; something of the gentleman-adventurer type. I think that's what I mean."

"But you don't like the type? I thought it appealed to a girl's imagination. Anyhow, although we're getting conventionalized, there are gentlemen-adventurers and we have jobs for them yet."

"I am not romantic," Mabel replied, with a twinkling glance. "I like sober men, even if they're sometimes slow; men who keep a promise but don't protest much. One doesn't want to be dazzled. A steady light is enough."

Marston was silent for a moment or two. Mabel's trust moved him and he was half embarrassed. Then he said: "There's a remark of yours I can't let go. No ground you think you ought to venture on is awkward to us. Very well. You don't approve Harry's marrying Flora, but what line d'you want me to take? I can't give him up and you're not going to give up your friend. It wouldn't be like you."

"I want you to stick to him closer than before. Flora and he may need us both. One feels that Wyndham's unstable, and you make good ballast, Bob."

"Well, I suppose I'm heavy enough and you have given me an easy job. It's curious, but not long since I told Harry I'd see him out if he wanted help and yesterday he hinted he'd like a partner for his voyage South. In a way, of course, I don't want to go."

Mabel hid her disturbance and mused. She was modern and sometimes frivolous, but she was very staunch and loved two people well. She did not want Bob to go and yet she thought he ought. Mabel had an instinctive distrust for Wyndham, although she liked him. She felt that with his temperament he would run risks in the South and he must be protected, for Flora's sake. Flora had promised to marry Wyndham and Mabel knew she would keep her word. Well, sober, honest Bob, who was really cleverer than people thought, was the man to take care of him.

"If Wyndham urges it, I must let you go," she said.

Marston gave her a steady glance, and nodded.

"I understand. Of course, I think your notion's ridiculous. Harry doesn't need a fellow like me, but you mean well. Although, in one way, I'd frankly like the trip, in another I'd much sooner stay."

"I know," said Mabel. "You're a dear, Bob."

Then she got up, smiling, and advanced to meet Chisholm and Flora, who came up the garden path.

Wyndham urged Marston to go with him, and a week or two afterwards Flora and Mabel stood on the deck of a paddle tug crossing a busy river mouth. The day was dull and a haze of smoke from two towns hung about the long rows of warehouses and massive river walls. Out in the stream, a small steamer with a black funnel and a row of white deckhouses moved seawards with the tide. The figures grouped along her rail got indistinct, but Flora's eyes were fixed upon two that stood away from the rest, until they faded. Then the African boat vanished behind the towering hull of an anchored liner.

Flora turned and lowered her veil, for her eyes were wet. Chisholm was on board the tug, but he was some distance off. Mabel was near, and her look was strained.

"In a way, it's only a long yachting trip," the latter remarked.

"No," said Flora; "we both know it is not. It's a rash adventure; Harry is going South, as his people all have gone, and some did not come back."

"Of course he'll come back! Travel's safe and easy now. They'll have no adventures, except perhaps, at sea."

"I'm not afraid of the sea," Flora said in a quiet voice. "It's the tropic coast; the big muddy rivers that get lost in the forest, and the dark lagoons among the mangrove swamps. The country's insidious; its influence is strong."

Mabel forced a smile. She thought Flora was not disturbed about the physical dangers, such as fever and shipwreck. It looked as if she knew her lover.

"Anyhow, Bob is going with Harry, and Bob is not romantic," she remarked. "In fact, he's the steadiest, most matter-of-fact man I know. Nothing excites Bob much. It's very hard to carry him away."

Flora gave her a grateful look. Since she must not criticize Harry, they could not be altogether frank, but she saw Mabel understood. The men they loved had very different temperaments, and Bob would be a useful counterbalance. He was sober and practical: one could trust him. It was hard to own that, in a sense, she could not trust Harry. He was rash, and Flora did not like the stories about the Wyndhams who had not come back. However, Bob was going, and she imagined she owed Mabel much.

"I like Bob," she said. "I expect it cost you something to send him with Harry."

"He wanted to go."

Flora put her hand in the other's arm. "But you might have stopped him."

"He's Harry's friend," said Mabel. "I am yours. After all, that counts for something, but we won't talk about it now. Your promising to marry Harry has drawn us closer. It's an extra tie, because all Bob's friends are mine."

The tug's whistle shrieked as she swung across the tide to the landing stage and Flora looked down the river. In the distance, where granite walls and warehouses got small and indistinct, the African boat melted into the smoke and mist. Flora felt strangely forlorn and half afraid.