Читать книгу Seibert of the Island - Gordon Young - Страница 13

This was how Williams had come to have dealings with Alan Penwenn.

In his prowling and dodging about, criss-crossing from one out-of-the-way place to another a little more out of the way, Williams had from time to time found oyster-beds well worth fishing. Fine shell was as good as gold ore if got to market; pearls better than nuggets, and far more scarce.

Williams had made trouble for many persons, and as he was known to most of them by sight he could not very well go into port himself and sell his shell, and if he turned it over to a trader on a share-and-share basis the chances were that the trader took what care he could not to meet with Williams again.

Now, feeling an unusually strange need for a comparatively large amount of money, Williams had ventured on a new plan. He hid the pirate under Captain Douglas, South Sea trader, and hoped to interest some man that had large affairs on the sea, and who could easily dispose of shell in whatever quantities it might be brought. As he was more likely to be recognised in an Australian port than elsewhere he had come to San Francisco, bringing a hundred pounds or so of good specimen shell.

He called first at the office of Penwenn, Penwenn & Co.

An old, one-armed fellow with a roll in his legs and bright buttons on his coat took the name of Captain Douglas to Mr. Penwenn; and after a long time he came back with an air of humbleness to say that Mr. Penwenn would see him at once.

The one-armed man led on, rolling down the wide hall like a dismasted clipper in a seaway. They passed an open door, where bareheaded men with pens behind their ears lay peeringly against a high, sloping desk, as if grappling and pinning down the ledgers before them; and still another doorway, that showed a cavernous store-room in which queer odours mingled, swirling the thoughts to far Eastern market-places. A row of closed doors, then one with a highly-polished brass plate: "Mr. Penwenn, Jr."

Mr. Penwenn, Jr., had become the only Penwenn; but the firm's name remained unchanged, and "Jr." stayed on the brass plate, which was shined by the one-armed sailor every morning.

The office was small and filled with big chairs, worn slick by the heavy bodies of sea captains, for a captain just ashore sits in a chair with much more weight than can be accounted for by gravitation. Many dust-covered things were set about on the shelves—a broken nautilus; a small jade god—or demon perhaps; a lacquered box or two; a chunk of sandalwood; and strange plumes from an unknown bird. Under glass was the model of a Penwenn ship, and about on the walls were pictures of other ships and shipping scenes. On the top of Mr. Penwenn's desk the photograph of a pretty young woman smiled perpetually through a heavy silver frame, through which the faces of other women, one after another, had peered, and listened to the strange jargon of sea-trading, echoes of storms that had smashed things, mutterings of unruly crews more dangerous than the storms.

A tall, slightly stooped man, somewhat above thirty, got up cordially to meet Williams.

Mr. Penwenn was something of a polished man, though when out for a pleasurable evening—and he went out frequently—he liked the gaiety to have a good deal of noise. His rather long face was angular, with all the bones showing. The light eyes—a chilling blue—were steady as bits of crockery, and as lifeless. His fingers were long and bony—very long, yet not without a certain grace in their movement.

It was told of him that he never forgave an injury. His grandfather had been a granite-headed Scotchman, and the Scotch blood had come down to him mixed with Spanish. In his dealings with men he was smooth of manner, a little overly gracious at times, yet proud of his inner contempt for them. Socially he presented a smoothly careless aspect, engagingly polite, but somehow ironic except toward women that pleased him. He was fastidious, very careful of his personal appearance, and with a poise that suggested a rather supercilious air when he was not deliberately courteous. His friends knew that he had a weakness for ideas that seemed shrewd; that he liked to be praised, even pretty thickly, and talked about favourably; and that if his vanity was hurt he was implacable.

He said with a thin-lipped smile that he was pleased to meet Captain Douglas. Would he not sit? And have a cigar? Penwenn flipped open the lid with a generous flourish. No? Ah, excellent tobacco though. And what could he do for the captain?

Williams told him in few words, and showed a small handful of pearls, each wrapped separately in a little chamois bag, and an ounce or so of seed pearls. He mentioned the specimen shell on the Islander, out in the bay. He knew the elder Penwenn had occasionally gone into ventures of the kind, and Williams offered to show the way to the grounds and get the shell out if Penwenn would do the marketing and furnish a ship.

It was, if a little unusual, not an unreasonable offer. The main thing was that Penwenn could market the shell at a better advantage, and sell what pearls they found at three or more times the price a trading captain could demand, since such a captain would be at the mercy of swindling buyers; also Penwenn could furnish a hold that would bear off more than a little trading schooner, and the grounds could be stripped the first trip.

Mr. Penwenn was remarkably easy to interest. He spoke of his pleasure in taking a chance on out-of-the-way ventures. His father and grandfather, he said, had put ships to sea. It was in his blood.

Mr. Penwenn's interest soon grew to enthusiasm. The next time that Williams called he was even more cordial, and extended an invitation to dinner, hinting that it would be a lively dinner; and Williams, with no grace at all, refused.

To bind the bargain between them, Penwenn gave a cheque and took the pearls; this was accepted, cashed, supplies bought for the Islander, and the remainder of the money Williams threw into the desk drawer.

Penwenn had said that they would have to wait until the Molly McDonald, overdue with grain and wool, from Sydney, arrived. She would be the ship for the clean-up.

Williams had waited; and McGuire, dipping from time to time into the drawer, loafed about and drank more than would have been good for two men.

This very day the Molly McDonald had come. A Penwenn tug met her outside the bay, took her by the nose, and, impatiently hustling her through the Golden Gate, shoved and bumped her into the dock where she belonged, and, lazy hussy, should have been long before.

Nada, at the eleventh hour, came to them with the story of Penwenn's treachery.