Читать книгу Wild Geese Calling - Stewart Edward White - Страница 10

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THE BOAT

THE FOLLOWING SUNDAY morning Len went to church with Sally. He said he wanted to hear Sally play the organ. Furthermore, he instructed John in no uncertain terms to lay off messing around in his new truck garden. John felt no desire to do so, but had a sneaking feeling he ought to, so he slid away to the water front with only a slight and salutary guilty feeling.

There was something queer about the floats. No one was in sight. Furthermore, Svensen’s boat, which, by right of seniority, had been all winter moored to the big float itself, was now moored aft, and a strange craft had taken its place.

John climbed down the ramp to look at her. She was of a type unknown to him. He examined her with curiosity. His eye had been trained to the fishing fleet, so that just at first he did not know whether he admired her or not. He walked back and forth the length of the float, sizing her up; and by the time he had done that a half-dozen times, he knew that he did admire her. She sort of grew on you. She looked so competent, as though she meant business.

The craft was somewhere about forty feet long, built lower to the water and with less beam than the fishing boats. She differed from them also in the lack of hamper. Indeed her decks were almost clean, broken only by a low flat house amidships with solid-looking port lights in its side and a shallow cockpit, not over a foot deep. Both the top of the house and the deck itself were constructed with a slight turtleback curve toward the sides.

Though her freeboard was less than the average fishing boat, her draft was much deeper. John, peering down through the clear water at her stern, was amazed. Must be a lot of head room below, thought John; fellow’d be living mosly underwater, he reflected whimsically and then slapped his thigh in delight. Of course! She was made that way, so she could be entirely underwater—for a brief period—and none the worse! Hence the clean-curved decks and the absence of anything on them to offer resistance. This was a deep-sea craft, built to stay out in anything, without necessity of taking shelter as must even the sturdiest of the fishing fleet at times.

This key idea gave John’s inspection a fresh impetus. It supplied him reasons for a lot of things. Everything was solid. He examined the heavy double shrouds that stayed the masts, spliced neatly around oval pieces of wood with little holes in them through which lighter lines, threaded back and forth, connected them with other oval pieces of wood attached to narrow iron plates down the ship’s sides. John had never seen deadeyes; but he appreciated at once their superiority over the fisherman’s stays and turnbuckles hitched to ring bolts. The advantage of the belaying pins over the usual cleats was not at first as clearly apparent to him, but he puzzled it out—he thought. Hang the coils of running rigging over them, maybe, when the seas ran high. John wished somebody would show up so he could talk about some of these things. Funny nobody was about. Perhaps they’d all gone to a meeting somewhere about this strike business.

He continued to look her over and to speculate. Little bit of a stub bowsprit pointed almost straight forward. Looked kind of funny to John after the longer bowsprits of the Cape Flattery trollers, tilted upward to keep them out of the waves. Waves too big to keep out of where this one goes; John figured that out with a little thrill of delight; that’s why it’s so short and strong, so it can’t be broken off! And so he was now able to see why the mast was stepped so much farther back, so’s to give space for the jib! But he did not quite understand the other little mast farther back. It looked too small, out of proportion. There were plenty of schooner rigs among the fishermen, but the ketch was not used.

So intent was he that he jumped with surprise when, raising his eyes, he perceived that a hatch had slid back and that in it stood a man. In contrast to the craft’s general air of neatness, its owner looked like a tough customer. He had a round head, thick brown hair, tousled and uncombed, and a bushy beard growing high up his cheek bones so stiff and wiry that it thrust forward at a truculent angle from his chin. His eyes were small, slightly bloodshot. They stared steadily and belligerently at John.

“Good morning.” John recovered himself. “I was just admiring your boat.”

The man made no reply, but continued to eye John.

“What firm you with?” he demanded after a moment. His voice was deep and hoarse.

“What firm?” John was puzzled.

“Firm!” the man growled back. “That’s what I said. Ain’t you a broker?”

“I am not!” John was getting tired of the man’s manner.

“Then what the hell you doing here with my boat?” demanded the other harshly. “You’re no fisherman.” The last words were spat out contemptuously.

“I’m not on your boat,” returned John with spirit. “I’m on a public float.”

The stranger grunted. He heaved himself out from the hatch and sat on its combing. John saw that he was short and broad, with a chest like a barrel. He wore a thin shirt and overalls—both dirty—and apparently nothing else. His feet were bare and so browned that evidently that was their usual state. He stared at them vaguely. He seemed to have forgotten John. But presently he looked up as though with a new thought.

“Maybe you’re thinkin’ of buyin’ her?” he suggested, modifying his manner a little.

John laughed.

“Huh!” The man resumed contemplation of his feet. “Well!” He turned his massive head in John’s direction. “What you hanging around for?”

“Because I like it here,” returned John promptly.

“You looking for trouble?” the stranger snarled back.

“Aw, for God’s sake!” John was disgusted.

The other heaved himself up on short bandy legs, slid shut the hatch, snapped a padlock, crossed the narrow deck, stepped over the rail to the float. John watched him warily. But he did not look at John. He turned his back and stumped off down the float, his heavy body rolling slightly from side to side. He seemed to have forgotten John’s existence, but as he set foot on the ramp he spoke back over his shoulder.

“Come have a drink,” he growled.

John stared after him in utter amazement; then, his sense of humor overcoming him, he chuckled. He was startled by an answering chuckle near at hand. He turned. Old Svensen had thrust his head on deck from his own boat, moored next astern the stranger. John looked about him. The fleet had not been deserted after all. Here and there were men popping up from below, like a lot of prairie dogs, thought John with growing amusement. They were all looking after the short powerful figure just topping the ramp.

“Who in hell is that?” John asked.

“Dot feller?” replied Svensen. “Don’t you know dot feller? Dot feller he’s Pirate Kelly. The old son of a bitch,” added Svensen tranquilly, without rancor. “He’s a tough.”

Pirate Kelly, eh! Who was he? Why was he called “Pirate“? Old Svensen was vague. All he was sure of was that he was a son of a bitch. Some of the other fishermen, by now slowly zigzagging toward the float, were more informative. Pirate Kelly was just a tough character, a hard citizen. He’d done about everything that was both maritime and shady; including, it was said, piracy. Hence his name. Last time he was in he had mostly white fox, which he claimed to have bought in trade.

“If he bought them it was because he was outnumbered and out of ca’tridges,” said Marvin. “Or maybe he dished out a few peanuts and such,” he met John’s look of skepticism, “but nothin’ of any worth. And if they didn’t feel like tradin’”—he shrugged his shoulder. “He purty well takes what he wants,” ended Marvin.

“That’s how he got Svensen’s place at the float?” asked John. “What’s the matter with you fellows? You all act scared to death of him.”

They looked down and shifted their feet.

“He’s a bad actor,” mumbled someone.

John was slightly disgusted and more than a little incredulous, for he knew these fishermen to be good men. There was something queer about it. Tom Holt, one of the older men, enlightened him.

“Don’t get the wrong idea, Jack,” he said to John. “We ain’t cowards. But it ain’t worth while, that’s all. This Kelly is only in for a short time, and it’s easier to keep away from him.”

“Strikes me a good licking would do him good,” growled John.

“He’s been licked a many times,” returned Holt briefly. “He don’t mind being licked.’”

“Don’t know when he’s licked,” spoke up someone.

It was difficult for John to understand this attitude, and he could not come to full sympathy with it. John had never made it a point to avoid trouble.

But this was different, they all tried to tell him. The man was a savage fighter. He knew no rules. He used any weapon. He took on one man or a dozen, odds did not matter. He lit into a man on the slightest pretext. He seemed to take no count of time, place or consequences. He had not done so yet, but the impression appeared to be unanimous that he would kill; and that the only reason he had not done so, in the numerous rows in earlier days at the floats, was because either a deadly weapon had not been handy, or he had been prevented by numbers. All right to fight back if it does any good, but what’s the use when you have to keep on doing it? Less’n you make up to murder the man, it’s better just to stay shut of him. What else you going to do?

The logic was irrefutable, but John shook his head, unconvinced. He’d never been walked on, and he didn’t propose to begin. But he let it go. It was only when he was halfway home that it occurred to him that this must be the man Len had been waiting for, with whom he was to return to Alaska!

Obviously this must be the man! John thought to remember that Len had mentioned the name Kelly. Nevertheless he could not believe it. Pirate Kelly and Len! It just didn’t go! That was the reason it had taken him so long to think of it. He hastened his steps.

Len listened to his description.

“Yes, that’s the fellow,” he said. He made no comment. “Didn’t say when he expected to pull out, I suppose?”

“What he said was that he was going to sell the boat,” said John. “He took me for a broker.”

“What’s that?” Len was startled. “He didn’t say nothin’ about that to me. I don’t believe it,” he added after a moment. “It’s just a notion. Was he drunk?”

“I don’t think so. Looked to me like he’d just rolled out.”

Len pondered. He looked troubled.

“Might be,” said he after a while, as though thinking aloud. “He’s come south three months earlier’n usual.”

“I thought you said he was overdue,” ventured John.

“Gettin’ here,” explained Len. “Him and me left Juneau same day, but I was on the steamer. I asked him why he was comin’ south so early, but he ain’t got what you might call a confidin’ nature.” He grinned faintly. “Have any talk with him?”

“Some.”

“What you think of him?”

But John refused to be drawn concerning a friend of Len’s.

“Oh, he’s no friend of mine,” disclaimed Len placidly. “I’ve just knowed him a long time. You don’t need to hold back.”

“Well,” John yielded, “he acts to me like a tough hombre. He’s got that bunch at the floats buffaloed. I don’t know as I’d want to take a voyage with that cuss. Looks like it would be taking long chances.”

“Yes, he’s tough,” admitted Len, “but him and me get on all right. I know how to handle him.”

John examined Len with new interest. Certainly he did not look capable of “handling” Pirate Kelly. But Len had spoken with calm and matter-of-fact confidence. John wished he knew more of Len’s history.

Sally came in from the kitchen to announce that dinner was ready if they wanted to get it. Len made no reference to Pirate Kelly’s arrival, so John also said nothing. That was an etiquette strictly observed in the cow country. Len, to all appearance, had dismissed the matter from his mind. He talked to Sally about sour dough, evidently continuing an argument begun in John’s absence. He wanted to convert Sally to sour dough.

“You make dang good bread, Sally,” said he, “I’m not criticizing that. But it’s yeast bread. It ain’t got the fine grain and the sweet to it, and it ain’t got the chaw to it. This is a heap better’n most,” he conceded, taking up a sample, “but when it comes to stickin’ to your ribs, you might as well open your mouth and let the moon shine in it!”

“I notice you seem to get away with it all right.” Sally laughed in his face.

“Yes ma’am,” agreed Len gravely. “I’m mostly arguin’ on your account.”

“On my account!”

“Yes ma’am. Once you start a batch of sour dough a lot of your trouble is done and over. Once you get her started, all you got to do is to feed her a little flour every day. The older she gets the better she is. I know a fellow’s kept his going ten years. And you take rising. You got to wrop up your yeast dough in blankets, or else near the fire, all night, to keep her warm, or she won’t rise. But sour dough you just stick out anywhere, hot or cold, pay her no more attention, and in the morning there you be, all riz up ready and waiting! And as for hot cakes! I tell you, you just let me start you a batch.”

“Go ahead,” urged Sally. “I’ll do even better. I’ll let you do the rest of the cooking.”

“All right,” Len agreed, “and that way you can get to exercise the spade and mattock on them cedar roots. You’ll find the best ones over near the north fence.”

But after dinner he drew John aside. “I’ll see you later,” he told him. “I’ve got to go find out what that damn fool’s got in his mind.”

He did not return until almost suppertime. He looked troubled.

“You’re right,” he told John seriously. “He means it. I couldn’t get it out of him what he’s up to. But he has some idee he’s workin’ on. Anyway, he’s not goin’ north again. Kind of takes the wind out of me. I was countin’ on him.” Len hesitated, obviously embarrassed. “I don’t want to impose on you folks,” he blurted out, “but if——”

“You’re welcome just as long as you want, and you know it!” John assured heartily.

Len nodded.

“I’ll try to make it worth my keep. And as soon as I catch a job——”

“That’s all right.”

They wrangled a little. Len was firm. As soon as he got a job, he’d pay for his board and lodging—or go where he could do so. John had to give in.

“You’ll have to fix that with Sally,” he finally ducked from under.

Wouldn’t be for very long, anyway, proffered Len. Just till he’d made a stake to get back.... Another small wrangle. Again John had to give in. No, Len would not take his money, as a loan or otherwise. That was flat and final, and he didn’t want to hear any more of that kind of talk. All right, then, that was settled. They went in the house. Sally took one look at them.

“Out with it,” she commanded them. She laughed when they pretended not to understand. “When both of you get on that expression!” said she derisively.

She found no embarrassment in the situation. Bad luck about Pirate Kelly, since Len was so impatient to get back. Of course he must continue to stay with the Murdocks. Indeed, that was one good thing about it; they wouldn’t lose him so soon. Perhaps John could find him a job at the mill. Naturally Len would want to pay board when he got the job. Sally would figure out how much it ought to be.

“Hope he doesn’t,” laughed Sally. “Not too soon, anyway. I wouldn’t dare charge him what a man would cost us. And I like his company. We’re getting the best of it.”

Len looked at Sally appreciatively from under his deep brows, but said nothing. She made the whole situation comfortable, matter of course.

“That’s a funny name,” she said of Pirate Kelly. “Why do you call him that?”

“Mostly because it fits,” said Len.

“But he wasn’t actually a pirate!” expostulated Sally.

“Might have been. He’s done about everything else mean and ornery in the catalogue, from seal poaching to smuggling Chinks, and he’s been plenty tough about it.”

“How do you mean, tough?” Sally was fascinated, largely because of Len’s obvious reluctance to go into details.

“He ain’t one to let little things stand in his way. He’s comparatively respectable right now. He calls himself a trader, and I reckon that’s straight enough—up to a certain point.”

John broke in.

“Isn’t that boat of his pretty small for trading?” he asked.

Len shook his head with derision.

“Don’t let her size fool you. She can take anything the Gulf of Alaska’s got, and that’s good enough for any seas in the world.”

“I don’t mean that. I mean cargo space. How can he carry enough goods?”

“Oh,” said Len, enlightened. “There’s more room than you think; she’s pretty deep. And anyway he don’t need much space. What he gets is mostly fur, and that packs close. White fox mostly. And for trade,” Len continued dryly, “what he needs don’t take up much room. Not if what they say is true.”

Sally took the off side on that. People were always saying things. It was never fair.

“That’s the trouble with her,” John confided to Len aside, “Sally’s a fine gal, but she’s mushy,” and prepared to dodge.

But Sally ignored him, except to remind him with dignity that after all Kelly was a friend of Len’s. Len disclaimed this. “We get along,” said Len, “but I got no more use for him than most folks have.”

“Why not?” asked Sally.

“I ain’t finicky,” Len told her, “and I got lots of good friends that—well—mebbe interest the Coast Guard a mite, but I do draw a line.”

“How?” asked Sally.

Len surveyed her in comical despair.

“You’re worse than a no-seeum,” he complained. Then, as she opened her mouth for another question, he stopped her with a gesture of surrender. “What you trying to do, size up my moral standards or Kelly’s?”

“Both,” said Sally.

“Well, I ain’t going into our past history,” said Len. “’Tain’t fittin’ for a lady. But I got to clear my judgment. I’ll make you a bargain. I’ll tell you one thing about this fellow that I know ain’t rumor. And then if you’re satisfied will you subside?”

Sally nodded. Len settled back in his chair for a yarn.

“All right. Well, a few years ago Kelly took up smuggling, over the line from British Columbia. He worked a lone hand, like he always does. Kind of easy pickin’, in a way, because there’s so many islands and passages and inlets that it ain’t no great trick to dodge across without getting caught. He took on his loads near Vancouver or in the Sound or sometimes on the Victoria side of the Gulf. Then he run them over and landed them most anywhere where the coast was clear. He made good money, they say, and he kept at it for about two years. Then he quit and went to tradin’ up north.” Len stopped in obvious expectation. Sally obliged.

“And why, Brudder Bones, did he quit and go to trading up north?” she mocked.

“Things got too hot for him,” surmised John.

“Not the way you think.” Len was enjoying his own yarn. “Kelly wa’n’t skeered of the Coast Guard. He used to laugh at them to their faces when he saw ’em in town. Told ’em to go ahead and catch him if they could. It wouldn’t do them no good. And it didn’t.”

“Then they did catch him?” asked John.

“They overhauled him two-three times. But he had nothing aboard. They couldn’t prove a thing.”

“You’re the most exasperating man I ever saw!” cried Sally.

“Kelly was smuggling Chinks. He took ’em in three at a time, at a hundred dollars a head,” said Len. “And when the guard boarded him he was the only human aboard. But the hold smelt like a Chinese laundry, and Cap’n Ellis told me himself that one time the smoke was still hanging in the air.”

“I don’t understand.” Sally stared at him, unbelieving.

“Kelly carried a lot of pig iron in his cabin, under the bunks. For ballast, he said.”

“You mean he drowned them?” Sally gasped.

“Suit yourself. Plenty of Chink smells, but no Chinks. Only three at a time, so they would handle easy. And,” added Len dryly, “it’s a good bet, a shortage of pig iron.” He looked at Sally with a curious blend of drollery and sympathy. “Satisfied?” asked Len.

“That’s—that’s horrible!” Sally’s eyes were wide.

“Yes ma’am,” Len agreed placidly, “that’s right. Pirate Kelly’s a leetle mite severe.”

However, when John next saw Pirate Kelly that worthy was anything but severe. This was four days later, and at noon. John often spent the hour between the twelve and one o’clock whistles at the floats. The mill was no more than two minutes away. Partly he went for companionship of the fishermen, whom he liked; but the attraction that drew him was deeper than that. He did not understand it himself. Something within him swung to rest with the satisfaction of the magnet regaining its pole. Indeed often, when the mood took him, he did not descend to the floats at all, but went out on the pile dock that towered above them on the city side, and there ate his lunch and smoked his pipe in solitude and looked down on the pattern of hulls and the forest of masts and out across Elliott Bay and communed beneath his mind with something of the sea. He never missed this high perch when, as today, the sun shone; for in the planking of the dock was a small square hole, and if John lay flat on his stomach and looked through the hole he could see strange and wonderful things. The piles ran down like pillars into dimness, and below the surface the utilitarian clean hardness of above water was clothed in a dull velvet of sea growth, on which blazed bright anemones, like jewels, and starfish clinging, and, if John watched closely, once in a while he caught glimpses of tiny lively crawling creatures that popped out and scurried and popped in again. From them, too, streamed pennants of seaweed that moved slowly, as though half asleep. On a dull day these things were secret, for the surface of the water was blank, like gun metal. But the sun poured from without the screen of the wharf an infusion of soft light, so that the water dissolved into green lucence—like that in the sky sometimes after sunset—a kind of atmosphere in a strange world of suspension without the power of gravity. On every side, and straight down, it deepened until John could see no farther than dimness. Occasionally a school of fish swam by, or paused, resting, and then it seemed they must surely fall, so clear was the medium by which they were sustained. John never tired of staring down through the hole in the plank. There was something hypnotic about the slow, still weaving of this submarine life. The sun passed behind a cloud: it was gone. The sun came out again: there it was once more.

On this day he lay there as usual, concealed by the heavy stringers at the wharf’s edge, when he was aroused by the sound of voices on the float below. At first he paid no attention. Then he recognized one of them as that of Pirate Kelly. He rolled over and looked down.

Kelly was accompanied by two other men. One was a tall lean individual, dressed in neat gray clothes and wearing a gray soft hat. John could see little of his face, but it was evident that this was of the city type. The other was burly, rough looking, in Mackinaw and half boots, just the ordinary bull-necked roustabout who might be anything from a lumberjack to a water-front loafer. He stood throughout a little apart, his hands thrust into his side pockets, staring off into space, apparently content to leave the talking to his companion. But what caught John’s attention, and held it to what followed, was the attitude of Pirate Kelly himself. It was not in character. His domineering truculence had vanished.

John was interested. He dropped back prone behind the stringer and shamelessly listened. At first he thought Kelly was entertaining a possible purchaser and was amused that the prospect of a sale should so completely alter his manners.

“There she is,” he was saying, “and just like I said, she’s fit and able, and I can take her anywhere.”

“Won’t do,” returned the other crisply.

“I’d like to know why not,” complained Kelly.

“I’ve told you. I don’t care how good she is. This is no job for sail. When we want to move we’ll have to move; without any ifs or ands. And move fast. That means steam.”

“But I tell you I know the coast like the back of my hand. I can take you where you won’t have to move, and——”

“Won’t do, and that’s final,” the other cut him short.

“I don’t know nothin’ about steam,” objected Kelly sullenly.

“Who said you did? You know the coast. That’s all I want out of you. Sell her.”

“I’ve been tryin’,” muttered Kelly.

“Borrow on her.”

“I’ve tried that: can’t get a cent. Nobody’s lendin’ these times. Money’s too tight.”

“Give her away, sink her. Get rid of her. But kick through. You’ve monkeyed around long enough.”

A pause.

“I ain’t got the money,” said Kelly at last.

Another pause. Then the man in the gray suit exploded.

“Haven’t got the money!” he repeated, and his tone was belligerent. “God almighty! Have you been trying to four-flush me, you misbegotten bastard? Look here, Kelly, that don’t pay. Didn’t you tell me——”

“I counted on sellin’ and gettin’ at least——”

“You told me, in so many words, that you had the money ready and waiting. Don’t you tell me different. There wasn’t a word said about selling this boat, or anything about this boat, and you know it. Do you think for one minute I’d have——Look here, Kelly,” his voice was level, “you’d better begin thinking. This thing is all lined up, and our money is down. You raise that money or——”

“I got some,” Kelly interposed hastily. “Take that and make me a smaller cut.”

Another silence.

“You damn fool,” the other then resumed disgustedly. “Don’t you realize it isn’t a matter of a smaller cut? We’ve got to lay down the cash. And we’ve two days to do it in. And if we don’t the whole thing is off.” He stopped again, then burst out exasperatedly. “Cash! Cash down! Or we don’t get that boat! And I don’t know where to find another that fills the bill. And before I could find another it would be too late.”

“Can’t you——” ventured Kelly.

“No, I can’t. And that’s flat. I couldn’t raise another nickel on my immortal soul. I’ve hocked my watch. God damn it, Kelly, I’ve a mind——”

“Hold on,” and John chuckled at the deprecation in Pirate Kelly’s voice, “give a man a chance. We got two days. That broker says——”

“Broker, hell!” the other snorted.

John heard the sound of retreating footsteps. He peered over the stringer. The two strangers were halfway up the ramp. Pirate Kelly followed slowly.

John could hardly wait for closing time. He went straight home.

“That Pirate Kelly of yours ain’t so tough,” he told Len gleefully.

Len listened with interest.

“Now I’d admire to know what that’s all about,” said he. “Can’t be just seal poachin’,” he speculated thoughtfully, “nor fish piratin’, nor ordinary smugglin’. Steam would be fine for any of them, of course. But there ain’t no such almighty rush about them. Less’n it might be some special cargo that won’t keep.”

That seemed the most likely, though far from convincing. Sail had always done well enough before. What was there so special about this? They gave it up. But it was sure amusing to hear about Pirate Kelly’s taking it lying down that way. That had never happened before.

“I’d like to meet that cuss with the gray clothes,” said Len, “he must be quite a feller.”

“Oh, I forgot,” said John, “they can take you on at the mill, but not until next week. In the yards. Not much of a job. Handling and piling. And they don’t pay much, I’m afraid.”

Len nodded his thanks.

“What are you going to do, Len, when you get back up north?” asked Sally. “Where will you go?”

“I dunno.” Len shook his head vaguely. “Depends. If I get enough stake I may take a try over in the interior for fun. I may look for a job for a while till I can get started.”

“What jobs are to be had in that country?” John was interested.

“Most any sort, right now. They’re building a new town on Klakan Island they figure is going to be the center of somethin’-or-other. Till they get that put up—and busted,” interpolated Len dryly, “a man can get good wages for most anything he can put his hand to. I might take on for carpenter or painter or somethin’! I’m moderate handy. Then there’s the cannery, of course; but that’s a short season. Might be long enough for me, though. Just so I get a grub stake. What I want right now,” said Len confidentially, “is to find me a place where I can set and watch the mountains to be sure none of them gets stole.”

“I think I’d like that, too.” Sally sighed and looked wistful.

“Yes,” John mocked her. “You lead a hard life, especially now you’ve got Len to wash your dishes.”

Sentimentality never got very far with these two.

After work time the following afternoon John was curious enough to veer aside to the floats on his way home. He wanted to see whether the ketch was still there, whether anything had developed. It was, and so was Kelly, seated hunched atop the deckhouse. The sight amused John. He descended the ramp. Kelly looked up, stared at him a moment, recognized him and stepped to the float. All truculence was gone from his bearing.

“Look here,” said he, “you said you liked this boat. Why don’t you buy her? I’ll let her go cheap.”

An imp of perversity danced in John. He was enormously amused. Knowing what he did, and Pirate Kelly unaware of his knowledge, made a situation that tickled John’s sense of humor.

“I don’t know,” he assumed indecision, “I ain’t even looked her over yet.”

He suppressed a grin at the eagerness with which Kelly rose even to this bit of encouragement. John mentally agreed with Len that the man in the gray suit must be quite a fellow, in which he was probably right. He added to himself, somewhat contemptuously, that Kelly was merely another bully; overrated and collapsible by anybody who would call his bluff. In this John was wrong, as he was to find out, but only many months later.

“Help yourself,” said Kelly.

John stepped aboard and looked fore and aft with a knowing air. He saw little more than he had seen from the float, but somehow he had a different feeling now that he was on the deck. This was no mere humdrum boat. She was a real little ship, and the small boy in John spread his feet a little apart and cocked his eyes knowingly aloft and for a brief moment filled him with a play-acting sensation as though he were a captain pacing his quarter deck. He himself had to grin at this, for two paces on the quarter deck would have landed him overside. But it was fun!

He slid back the hatch and went below. Kelly seemed inclined to leave him to his own devices. John was glad of that. He poked around at random. Kelly, whatever his own dishevelment, was a true sailor. Everything was shipshape and Bristol fashion, tidied down and in its place. There proved to be an astonishing amount of room. John was tall, but he could stand almost at his full height. There were two bunks, with high sideboards to hold you in and a table that doubled in the middle and folded up against the bulkhead out of the way. Two lamps hung in gimbals. John tipped them with his fingers and admired how they would always remain upright no matter what the boat’s motion. The dishes stood on edge in racks. The doors of the lockers and drawers had latches, but also buttons to hold them securely shut. John prowled, admiring all the hundred and one gadgets, time-tried by the sea, unknown to the land. Some were strange to him; with many he had made acquaintance on the fishing craft. But the equipment of the fishing boats was hybrid. They borrowed and used many of the familiarities of the land. Here everything was of the sea.

Forward of the bulkhead was the galley, and here John admired the supreme of compactness and ingenuity. Here was everything a man could think of. Nothing essential lacked. Sally herself could ask for nothing better. All in a space not one tenth the size of her kitchen. And a lot handier, thought John; you could reach out and get anything you needed without taking a step!

For some time he admired the galley in detail. Then he slid aside a door in the next bulkhead. It was not exactly a door, but merely a square opening about large enough for a man to crawl through. John lighted a match to see, for there were no port lights here. Evidently the cargo hold, he decided. There seemed to be a hatch overhead. The hold contained nothing except some sails and coils of rope and an anchor. He returned to the main cabin.

Here he sat down on one of the bunks. For a few moments he looked about him, noting with fresh enjoyment more novelties. Gradually he drifted into a brown study, a blank subjective state, without thought, but alive with sensation. He was no longer seeing the details of the little cabin. He was just enjoying the feel of it.

He was in a curious state of being. Everything was strange. The immobility of the little ship beneath him was unlike the immobility of the land. It was alive. The voice of its quiet was not the shrilling of the land’s quiet times, as at night, but an incessant breathless lap-lap-lapping of wavelets against the hull. He just sat quiet and absorbed. It seeped in and filled him.

He came to with a start and looked about him again. Somehow things had changed. He felt queer, all excited deep down, a funny eager sensation. Recollection came to him. When he was a little shaver he had felt just like that every time he stood in front of the harness shop kept by Al Baxter, at the Dalles, and flattened his nose against the window and worshiped the silver-inlaid Mexican spurs with the carved-leather straps. He’d felt just like this! Something had gripped him, compelled him, a desire against which he was powerless, which he must satisfy. It was the way he felt about Sally sometimes. Suddenly he felt that way about Sally now, but the feeling was all mixed up with the silver spurs and the something that had come into him here. John was a little breathless.

He went on deck and paused for a moment to capture a proper appearance of indifference. John had that much sense left. As he stepped to the float, he touched, almost with tenderness, the miniature ratlines.

“Looks all right,” said he. “How much you want for her?”

“Four hundred. Cash.” Pirate Kelly thrust his beard forward aggressively.

John’s heart bounded into his throat. He had asked the question almost perfunctorily, without expectation. He drew a deep breath.

“I’ll take her,” he found himself saying in a voice he did not recognize.

“She’s yours—soon as you gimme the money.”

“I’ll have it in the morning—no, at noon. I’ll go to the bank at the noon hour. Or I can give you a check.”

“Here, you!” Kelly’s belligerence was back. “I said cash, and I mean cash, and I mean now! Why, you little squirt, why do you think I’m taking a measly four hundred? You know goddam well she’s worth fifteen. If you want her, produce! Otherwise I’m takin’ her out of here on the next tide, and that’s in about three hours.”

“That’s not reasonable,” expostulated John. “You don’t expect me to be carrying around any such amount in my pants, do you? The bank’s closed.” He reflected. He understood more of the situation than Kelly suspected, so he knew Kelly was not bluffing. Obviously if he could not meet the mysterious deadline set by the man in the gray suit, he intended to duck out, probably back to the north. John thought of Casey. Casey might cash a check. Then he remembered that Carghill was working over hours at the mill.

“Come with me,” he told Kelly.

They mounted the ramp and proceeded along the water front to the mill. Sure enough, Carghill was there, working on the books. He heard John through without comment, then walked across the office to the wall telephone.

“Nobody at the bank but the watchman,” he reported briefly after making his call. He waited a moment for John to say something. “I can’t just fork out four hundred dollars without authority, you know.”

John nodded. “I tell you,” said he, “can’t you call up the boss? He might——Hold on!” He had a better thought. “Try Casper. He has a phone at his house. He ought to remember anyway that I got a savings account. That’s all you want to know, ain’t it? Whether I’m good for it or not? It’s a case of push,” he urged, as Carghill hesitated. “Kelly aims to pull out on the next tide if I don’t get it for him now.”

Carghill grunted. He had paid Kelly no attention whatever. He paid him none now. After a moment he returned to the telephone and flipped through its directory in search of the saving teller’s number. He spoke so guardedly into the receiver that John could not overhear, listened for a moment, hung up the hook and crossed to his desk. His face was expressionless. John was afraid to ask.

Carghill rummaged a moment, produced a slip of paper, laid it on the desk.

“Sit down and make out your check,” he told John.

He recrossed the office to a big steel safe and began expertly to twirl the combination.

John sank into the chair before the desk. For ten seconds he sat there without moving. This was the high point of John’s necessity for that boat. He took up the pen and wrote out the check. Carghill returned. He scrutinized the check, took it to the opened safe and deposited it in a shallow drawer with others. He counted out greenbacks in John’s hand.

“There you are,” said he. He went back to the desk and drew the ledger forward under the hanging shaded light. “That’s all right,” he stopped John’s thanks. He did not look up again from the ledger, but after John had in turn tallied the amount to Kelly, he spoke over his shoulder.

“Better take a bill of sale.” Still without looking up he reached with his left hand for a sheet of paper, scribbled for a minute, passed it to John. “Tell him to sign that,” said he. He waved his hand toward the tally desk against the wall.

“Thanks,” said John. He would not have thought of that. Carghill grunted; he was already absorbed in his columns of figures.

Kelly awkwardly scratched his name on the document. He fished a key from the pockets of his disreputable jeans and thrust it at John. He was in a hurry.

“Better get your stuff out now,” John called after him.

“Nothin’ I want,” growled Kelly and disappeared.

John looked uncertainly at Carghill’s back. He followed.

It was by now nearing twilight. He drew a deep breath. He was tingling all over with satisfaction. In that moment he gave no odds to life.

But during the slow and jolting ride in the Second Street car his inner glory began a little to fade in afterthought. His mind was still on the little ship, and he wouldn’t have her one bit different, and he was glad he had bought her. But he began to be just a trifle ashamed of himself that he had gone off half cocked that way. The fishermen would laugh at him if they knew. Not one of them would buy a boat that way. He ought, for instance, to have lifted the floor boards and dug into the frames and sheathing with the point of his knife, testing for dry rot. She looked fine: but you couldn’t tell just by looks. John knew that. He had a moment of indecision whether he’d better go on back and see. But almost instantly he rejected that. His elation returned. Deep down he knew it would not have made any difference. He’d have bought her anyway.

However, another thought sobered him completely. There was Sally. How was she going to like it? Sally would like it, John replied to himself confidently. Everybody, most, had a boat, living right here on the Sound this way. That’s all very well, insisted his newly stirred uneasiness, but this isn’t just a sailboat, like folks keep here on the Sound. It’s a ship. No getting around that. But look at how cheap I got her, argued John, weakening. Four hundred dollars, stated his conscience; and added bluntly and brutally, just the price of that piano you couldn’t afford!

John got off the streetcar at his intersection a changed man. His footsteps became slower and slower. When Sally and Len looked up at his laggard entrance, they saw a wretched and beaten man.

“Well! We began to think you’d run away and left us——” Sally had begun and stopped. “Why, John!” she cried. “What in the world is the matter?”

“I’ve bought a boat,” said John miserably.

Sally stared.

“She cost four hundred dollars,” he confessed.

For ten seconds longer Sally continued to stare. Then she began to laugh. She laughed and laughed and stopped and had to laugh again. John was abashed by the laughter; but his heart stirred. He had never loved Sally more than at that moment. His conscience, however, was unappeased.

“I thought you’d robbed a bank, at least,” Sally gasped finally.

“That’s an awful lot of money,” said John, “and the piano——”

“What in the world would we do with a piano—compared to a boat!” cried Sally. “Oh, what fun!”

“She’s an awful good boat.” John was plucking up a little courage. “You could live on her.”

“What boat is it?” asked Len.

“Kelly’s,” replied John.

Len sat up. “Kelly’s!” he repeated with an air of astonishment. “You got her for four hundred! Well! He must have been up against it!” He whistled. “You sure won’t lose nothing on that!”

Good old Len! He had saved the day, thought John.

“Sure I can’t,” he returned confidently. “That’s what I thought.”

Sally laughed, briefly and skeptically, but brushed the whole matter aside.

“How big is she? Where is she? I’ve got to see her. I can’t wait.”

She was all afire. She ran to the kitchen.

“Come on, you,” she called back. “Feed yourselves. I want to see that boat.”

“You’ll like her,” said Len. “She’s a little beauty.”

They gobbled hastily and piled up the dishes unwashed and locked the house and hurried away. It was by now dark, but the city light at the head of the ramp gave them enough illumination. John unlocked the padlock, and they went below. They lit the lamps hanging in the gimbals. Sally was the most excited of the three. She squealed with delight over everything. Her cheeks were pink, her eyes sparkled, she glowed. John was his own man again. He followed and explained the boat.

She must open every locker, examine every cranny. She even insisted on crawling through the little square door into the cargo hold and squatted there like a little small tree frog, thought John, and looked about her while he held up a match.

After a long time they put out the lamps and locked the hatch and came out on the float, and stood side by side at the end of it, their arms around each other. Len had discreetly vanished.

The lights of the city pricked out its hills like jewels on velvet. They shone fixed and constant, children of the land. But across the waters were other, single, lights, near and far, on wharf ends, on craft at anchor; and each of these seemed to be supported on slim living reflections that wavered and wriggled and danced forward and danced back, children of the restless sea. Beneath them the float moved gently. Sally’s arm tightened in an ecstatic squeeze.

“Oh, John,” she breathed, “I’m so happy!”

John squeezed in response. He felt calm and exalted and benevolent. He had bought Sally a boat.