Lister’s Great Adventure by Harold Bindloss (page 3)

get on guard before I begin my attack.”

“Oh, well,” said Cartwright, smiling, “I know your power. But would you like a cigarette?”

She took the curiously-decorated box he gave her and broke the seal. “Since you don’t smoke these things, Tom, you were rather nice to remember.”

“You had better take the box,” said Cartwright. “I sent for a few when _Titania_ went to the Levant. One understands they’re hard to get in England. But I have something else you like. If you will wait a moment–“

He rang a bell and Gavin entered, carrying two small glasses, a bottle, and some biscuits. When he went out, Cartwright turned the bottle so Mrs. Seaton could see the label.

“Climbing our stairs is a fag,” he said, and filled the glasses.

Mrs. Seaton smiled and took hers. Cartwright saw her rings sparkle and the gleam of her regular, white teeth. The reflection from the grate touched her hair and it shone a smooth golden-brown. He admitted with amusement that Ellen was nearly as attractive as he had thought her thirty years since.

“This is like old times, Tom,” she said. “I remember evenings when you brought me sandwiches and iced cup at a dance–but I don’t think you were ever remarkably romantic.”

Cartwright remembered an evening when they sat under a shaded lamp in a quiet corner of a supper room, listening to music that somehow fired one’s blood. But perhaps it was the iced cup he had generously drunk. All the same he had not been a fool, though he was tempted. He knew something about Ellen then, but he knew her better now. Perhaps it was typical that she had promptly put the box of Eastern cigarettes in her muff.

“Managing ships is not a romantic occupation,” he rejoined.

“Anyway, your welcome’s kind and I feel shabby because I’m forced to bother you. But suppose some of your customers arrive?”

“We shall not be disturbed,” said Cartwright, smiling. “Gavin knows his job.”

“Very well. Do you expect to declare a better dividend at the shareholders’ meeting?”

“I do not. If I’m lucky, I may keep the dividend where it is, but I don’t know yet.”

“Two per cent. is really nothing,” Mrs. Seaton remarked. “I’ve been forced to study economy and you know how I hate to pinch. Besides, I know an investment that would give me eight per cent.”

“Then, if you’re satisfied the venture is not risky, you ought to buy the shares.”

“I want to buy, but it’s a small, private company and the people stipulate I must take a large block. I have not enough money.”

Cartwright doubted, but her plan was obvious. “When trade is slack, one ought to be careful about investing in a private company that pays eight per cent,” he said. “After all, it might be prudent to be satisfied with a small profit.”

“But I’m not satisfied and your dividend is remarkably small! Are you really unable to make it larger?”

“One can’t pay dividends out of capital. Anyhow, one can’t keep it up for long!”

“Then, as I mean to make a plunge, I must sell some of the investments that don’t earn me much. My shares in the line carry a good number of votes and, if people grumble at the meeting, would give you some control. Will you buy them, Tom?”

Cartwright knitted his brows. He thought her hint about the shares giving him useful power was significant. In fact, it looked as if somebody had put Ellen on his track. He wondered whether Manners…. But she must not think him disturbed.

“What is your price?” he asked.

“My price?” she said with a puzzled look he thought well done. “Of course, I want the sum the shares stand for.”

“I’m sorry it’s impossible. Just now the shares of very few shipping companies are worth their face value. For example, five-pound shares in a good line were not long since offered at two pounds ten.”

Mrs. Seaton looked disturbed. “That’s dreadful!” she exclaimed. “But I’m not rich enough to bear a heavy loss, and if you bought my lot, the voting power would enable you to break the grumblers’ opposition. They’re worth more to you than anybody else. Can’t you help me?”

Cartwright gave her a smiling glance, although he was bothered. Ellen was not a fool and he noted her insistence on the value of the shares to him. Where this led was obvious. He had one or two powerful antagonists and knew of plots to force his retirement. Ellen had given him his choice; he must promise a larger dividend or buy her shares at something over their market price. This, of course, was impossible, but he imagined she did not know how poor he was.

“I can’t buy,” he said. “I must trust my luck and fighting power. Although we have had stormy meetings and rates are bad, the line is running yet.”

“If you haven’t enough money, why don’t you ask your wife? She’s rich and hasn’t risked much of her capital in the line.”

“That is so,” Cartwright agreed. Ellen meant to be nasty but he must be cool. “Although my wife is rich, I don’t use her money.”

“You’re not logical, and sometimes your fastidiousness isn’t very marked. However, it looks as if you didn’t marry because Clara was rich. She was romantic before she began to get fat.”

Cartwright’s face got red. He had had enough and saw Ellen was getting savage. She had not forgotten that, in a sense, he ought to have married her, and since he would not buy her shares, she would, no doubt, help his antagonists. Crossing the floor, he poked the fire noisily.

“Shall I give you some more wine?” he asked, and while he was occupied with the glasses the telephone bell rang behind the partition. A few moments afterwards Gavin came in.

“Moreton has rung up, sir. If you can give him five minutes, he’ll come across. He says it’s important.”

Mrs. Seaton put on her coat. “I mustn’t stop when an important customer is coming.” Then she laughed and gave Cartwright her hand. “You are very obstinate, Tom, but I know your pluck.”

She went off. Gavin took away the wine, and Cartwright opened the window. The smell of violets vanished, but when he sat down again he pondered. He knew Mrs. Seaton, and thought she meant to hint his pluck might soon be needed. When Ellen smiled like that she was plotting something.

CHAPTER V

CARTWRIGHT’S SCRUPLES

The drawing-room at Mrs. Cartwright’s house on the Cheshire side of the Mersey was large and old-fashioned. Cartwright thought the stiff, thick curtains and Victorian walnut furniture ugly, but Mrs. Cartwright liked the things and he was satisfied. Clara herself frankly belonged to the old school. She was conventional and often dull, but she had a placid dignity that did not mark all the up-to-date women Cartwright knew. Moreover, the house was comfortable. One got there by the Mersey tunnel and it was only a few minutes’ walk from the station. For all that, the encroaching town had not yet reached the neighborhood, and the windows commanded a pleasant view of clean rolling country and the blue Welsh hills.

Cartwright felt the house was a snug harbor where he could rest when he was too old and battered to front the storms that had for some time been gathering, and sitting by the fire one evening, he speculated about the rocks and shoals ahead. All the same, the time to run for shelter was not yet; he thought he could ride out another gale.

An arch with heavy molding occupied the middle of the spacious room. The folding doors had been removed and curtains partly screened the arch. On the other side, a group of young men and women stood about the piano. On Cartwright’s side the lights were low. He had dined well and liked to loaf after dinner. Besides, he felt dull; his gout bothered him and he had been forced to run for his train. He had begun to find out one could not do that kind of thing. Mrs. Cartwright sat opposite, knitting quietly, and her smooth, rhythmic movements were soothing. Clara was never abrupt and jerky.

“I got a letter from Stormont’s by the afternoon post,” she said. “They have been repaid the mortgage, and there’s something about a foreign bond, drawn for redemption. They want to talk about a new investment.”

Stormont, Wilmot and Stormont were her lawyers, and Cartwright nodded. “The money ought to be earning interest and you can safely buy stock Stormont’s approve. Their judgment’s sound.”

“For all that, I think I’d like to choose for myself. Suppose I bought some shares in the line? I have a number, but it’s really not large and I have felt I’m not supporting the house as I ought.”

Cartwright knitted his brows. Clara did not know much about business, but she was sometimes shrewder than one thought. He wondered whether Mortimer had been talking. If the pup had talked, the thing was ominous, because it implied that others knew the difficulties Cartwright might have to meet.

“Do you imagine the house needs supporting?” he asked carelessly.

Mrs. Cartwright hesitated. “I really know nothing about it; but don’t people grumble when you can’t pay them much and their shares go down? Perhaps if the family owned a good part of the capital, you could take a firmer line.”

It was plain that Clara had been pondering. Mortimer _had_ talked and somebody who was not Cartwright’s friend had informed him. Cartwright was tempted to let his wife do as she wanted: Clara owned shares in the line that he had let her buy when freights were good and she had afterwards refused to sell. Now, however, freights were very bad and the company was nearer the rocks than he hoped the shareholders knew. Cartwright imagined he could yet mend its fortunes, if he were left alone, but the job was awkward and opposition might be dangerous. To command a solid block of votes would certainly help.

For all that, there was a risk Clara ought not to run. His antagonists were getting stronger, and if they meddled and baffled him, the company would fail. Its bankruptcy would not ruin his wife, but she would feel the loss of her money, and he was not going to use Clara for a shield against Ellen Seaton’s attacks. The thing was shabby. All the same, the situation was humorous, and he saw, with an ironical smile, the advantages of Mrs. Cartwright’s plan.

“I’m not a business woman, but I have noted you’re sometimes moody, as if you were anxious, and I want to help,” she resumed.

“You do help. The storms I’ve weathered have left a mark, and now I’m old and strained it’s much to make a quiet port at night. You take all bothers from me, and send me out in the morning, braced for another watch in the pilot-house.”

“Some time you must give another the helm,” said Mrs. Cartwright quietly. “I wish I could persuade you to do so soon.”

Cartwright sighed, for the strain was heavy and he wanted to rest. The trouble was the put-off reckoning for past extravagance was at hand and he shrank from asking his wife to pay. He had not been very scrupulous, but he had his code. Then Hyslop came through the arch, and stopping, noted Cartwright’s awkwardly stretched-out leg.

“Gout bothering you again, sir?” he said. “You ought to lie up for a few days, but I expect you’re needed at the office. I heard the E.P. line had a stormy meeting and the dissatisfied shareholders came near turning out the directors. Johnson declared they only saved the situation by a few votes.”

“They ought to be turned out! A blundering lot! They’ve let a good fleet down.”

Hyslop smiled. He had pale and watery blue eyes that generally annoyed Cartwright. “An awkward doctrine, sir! If all the steamship directors who might have used the shareholders’ money to better advantage were called to account, I imagine a number of respectable gentlemen would find their occupation gone. Besides, when people start deposing rulers they don’t know where to stop. The thing’s, so to speak, contagious, and panicky investors are not logical.”

He went off and Cartwright braced himself. Mortimer meant to be nasty, but his languid malice bit deeper than he knew. Cartwright had hesitated, weighing the value of his wife’s help against his scruples, until his step-son’s hints had tipped the beam. After all, if he used Clara’s money and saved his skin at her cost, the pup would have some grounds to sneer.

“I must keep control for some time yet,” he said. “Times are bad, and if I let go the helm I doubt if my successor could steer a safe course. When the need is gone I’ll willingly give up, but I must bring the old ship into port first. In the meantime, you had better let Stormont’s buy you sound Corporation stock.”

Mrs. Cartwright acquiesced and Cartwright watched the young people beyond the arch. With the stiff curtains for wing-scenes and the lights concealed, the end of the room made a proscenium: it was like looking at a drawing-room comedy on the stage. Two of the girls were pretty and he approved their fashionable clothes. When she was quiet, Grace was almost beautiful, but somehow none had Barbara’s charm. Yet Cartwright thought the girl was getting thin and her color was too bright. A friend of Mortimer’s occupied the music stool and Cartwright admitted that the fellow played well, although he was something like a character from a Gilbert opera.

Lister sat near the piano, and talked to Barbara. He smiled, but his smile had a touch of gravity. Cartwright thought him a good Canadian. A bit rugged perhaps, but staunch, and his quiet sincerity was after all better style than the cleverness of Mortimer’s friends. Cartwright imagined Barbara studied Lister, who did not know. In fact, it looked as if he were puzzled, and Cartwright smiled. Lister had not his talents; when Cartwright was young he knew how to amuse a pretty girl.

The man at the piano signed to Barbara, who got up and began to sing. The song was modern and the melody not marked. Cartwright liked the Victorian ballads with tunes that haunted one and obvious sentiment, but because Barbara sang he gave the words and music his languid interest. After all, the thing was clever. There was, so to speak, not much on the surface, but one heard an elusive note of effort, as if one struggled after something one could not grasp. On the whole, Cartwright did not approve that kind of sentiment; his objects were generally plain. Then he thought the hint of strain was too well done for a young girl, and when Barbara stopped he turned to his wife.

“Are you satisfied about Barbara?” he asked.

“Why should I not be satisfied?”

“I have felt she’s not quite up to her proper form. Looks thin and sometimes she’s quiet. Then why has young Vernon gone off? I haven’t seen him recently.”

“Harry’s in town; he goes home in a few days,” Mrs. Cartwright replied. She hesitated and resumed, “I imagined he wanted to marry Barbara, although she told me nothing about this. Barbara does not tell one much.”

“Do you think she likes him?”

“I don’t know, but I rather think if she had liked him she would have refused.”

“Ah!” said Cartwright thoughtfully. “Well, Vernon’s a good sort, but I see some light; the girl is sensitive and very proud! No doubt, she feels her Canadian adventure–ridiculous, of course! But Barbara’s hard to move. All the same, if Vernon’s the proper man and is resolute–“

“I doubt if he is the proper man,” Mrs. Cartwright replied.

Cartwright pondered. Sometimes Clara did not say all she thought, and his glance wandered back to the group at the other end of the room. Barbara was again talking to Lister. He looked thoughtful and her face was serious. They were obviously not engaged in philandering; Cartwright felt their quiet absorption was significant. After a minute or two, however, the party about the piano broke up and went off. Barbara stopped to put away some music and then came through the arch.

“Mr. Lister wants to go a voyage,” she said to Cartwright. “I suggested you might help him to get a post on board a ship.”

“I imagine he did not suggest you should persuade me?”

“Certainly not! He refused to bother you,” Barbara replied and, with some hesitation, added: “However, perhaps in a sense we ought to help.”

“That is so,” Cartwright agreed. “Why did Mr. Lister come to Liverpool?”

“He wanted to go round the shipping offices. Mother told him our house was always open–“

Cartwright nodded, “Of course! Well, I’ll think about it and may see a plan.”

Barbara went off and Cartwright looked at his wife. “I don’t know if this is a fresh complication; but if she refused Harry, she’d no doubt refuse the other. Perhaps it’s important that she’s willing he should go to sea.”

“One is forced to like Mr. Lister and we owe him much,” Mrs. Cartwright remarked.

“Certainly,” Cartwright agreed. “However, it looks as if some engineering talent is all he has got, and I think a long voyage is indicated–” He stopped, and resumed with a twinkle: “For all that, the fellow is not an adventurer, and I married a rich woman.”

Mrs. Cartwright gave him a gentle smile. “I have been happy and Barbara is not; but, in one sense, I don’t imagine we need be disturbed. Barbara has not recovered from the jar.”

She got up, and Cartwright dozed until he heard a step and Lister crossed the floor.

“Hallo!” he said. “Are you going? There is no train just now.”

Lister said he meant to walk to the tramline, but Cartwright asked him to stop for a few minutes.

“Barbara tells me you are trying for a post in an engine-room,” he remarked.

“That is so,” said Lister with a touch of embarrassment. “Still, I didn’t mean Miss Hyslop to bother you.”

“Barbara likes to meddle and I’m a ship-owner. To begin with, why d’you want to go to sea?”

“I must go to sea or back to Canada,” Lister said, smiling. “I’ve had a pretty good holiday, but my wad’s nearly gone.”

“Then, wouldn’t it be prudent to return to your occupation?”

“I haven’t an occupation; I turned mine down. It’s possible I’ll find another, but I’m not ready yet. In Canada, we’re a restless, wandering lot, and I want to look about the world before I go back. You see, when you only know the woods and our Western towns–“

Cartwright saw and sympathized. He remembered how adventure called when he was young. Well, he had got adventure, but perhaps not the kind Lister seemed to enjoy. Anyhow, he had not started off with an empty wallet to look about the world.

“How much does your roll amount to?” he asked with a bluntness he sometimes used.

When Lister told him he laughed. The young fellow was good stuff; Cartwright liked his rashness.

“Well,” he said, “you have pluck, and if you’re obstinate, pluck takes you far. Have you got a promise from any of our shipping offices?”

Lister said he had not. There were some difficulties about certificates. He had sailed on lake boats and made coasting voyages, but the English Board of Trade rules were strict. Then he looked at the clock and Cartwright gave him his hand.

“Come and see me at the office. We’ll talk about this again.”

Lister thanked him, and when he had gone Cartwright mused. The young fellow was not an adventurer; anyhow not in the sense Shillito was an adventurer. His honesty was obvious, it was plain he did not want Barbara’s money, and Cartwright thought he did not know she was rich. In fact, he was Barbara’s sort. There was the trouble. Cartwright weighed this for a time and then went to sleep.

CHAPTER VI

A NASTY KNOCK

Frost sparkled on the office windows and Cartwright, with his feet on the hearthrug studied an Atlantic weather chart. The temperature reported by the liners’ captains was low, and winter had begun unusually soon. Since Cartwright had hoped for a mild November, this was unlucky. As a rule, cargo is plentiful at Montreal shortly before the St. Lawrence freezes and the last steamers to go down the river do so with heavy loads. Cartwright’s plan was to run a boat across at the last moment and pick up goods the liners would not engage to carry, and he had sent _Oreana_ because she was fast. When the drift ice began to gather, speed was useful.

A cablegram two or three days since stated that she had sailed, and Cartwright, who knew the St. Lawrence, calculated the progress she ought to have made. Perhaps he had cut things rather fine, but Captain Davies was a good navigator and would push on. Although the narrow waters below Montreal, where the stream runs fast between the islands, would be open, Lake St. Peter was freezing, and the liner _Parthian_ had some trouble to get through. Still the channels were not yet blocked, and when Davies had passed the Narrows he would get open water down the gorge to Quebec. Allowing for cautious navigation, Davies ought to be near Rimouski at the mouth of the river, and his passing would, no doubt, soon be telegraphed from the signal station. Cartwright admitted that to get the message would be some relief.

By and by his bookkeeper came in.

“Direct cablegram from Davies, sir.”

Cartwright took the form and frowned. The message was not from Rimouski and ran: “Delayed Peter; passing Quebec.”

“Awkward, sir,” Gavin remarked sympathetically.

“Very awkward,” said Cartwright. “Davies needed all the time he’s lost. It will be a near thing if he gets out.”

He picked up the weather chart and got no comfort. “Cable Malcolm at St. Johns. You’ll find questions in the code-book about ice and wind.”

Gavin withdrew and Cartwright grappled with disturbing thoughts. He had counted on _Oreana’s_ earning a good sum, and had engaged a paying cargo for her when she got back. In fact, the two good runs ought to have made the disappointing balance sheet he must shortly submit to the shareholders look a little better. All the same, there was no use in meeting trouble. Davies had passed Quebec, and if he made good progress in the next twenty-four hours, one might begin to hope.

Below Quebec there were awkward spots where steamers used buoyed channels, and if these were blocked by ice Davies must risk crossing the shoals. If he got across, the water was deep and he need only bother about the floes until he came to the Gulf. Since Belle Isle Strait was frozen, Davies would go South of Anticosti and out by the Cabot passage, but the Gulf was often dark with snow and fog, and one met the old Greenland ice. Well, much depended on the weather, and Cartwright went to get his lunch.

The restaurant under a big building was warm, and for a time Cartwright occupied his favorite corner of the smoking-room. His tips were generous, and so long as he was punctual the waitress allowed nobody to use his chair. The noise of the traffic in the street was softened to a faint rumble, the electric light was cleverly shaded, and his big chair was easy. He got drowsy, but frowned when he began to nod. The trouble was, he was often dull when he ought to be keen. His doctor talked about the advantages of moderation, but when one got old one’s pleasures were few and Cartwright liked a good meal. At the luncheon room they did one well, and he was not going to use self-denial yet.

By and by a merchant he knew pulled up a chair opposite. “Very cold and slippery outside,” he remarked. “I nearly came down on the floating bridge, and looked in for a drink. A jar shakes a man who carries weight.”

“What were you doing on the floating bridge?” Cartwright asked.

“I went to the stage to meet some Canadian friends on board the _Nepigon_. They’d a bad voyage; thick mist down the St. Lawrence, and they lost a day cruising about among the floes in the Gulf. What about your little boat?”

“I understand she’s coming down river.”

“Hasn’t she started rather late?”

“If I’d sent her sooner, the _Conference_ would have knocked me out,” Cartwright rejoined. “I’d have got nothing but low-rated stuff the liners didn’t want. One must run some risks.”

The other nodded. “That is so, when shareholders must be satisfied. Well, I expect I’m lucky because my partner’s a good sort. When you needn’t bother about other folk’s greediness, you can take a cautious line. Now I come to think of it, I heard some of your people grumbling. I hope your boat will get across all right.”

He got up and Cartwright pondered. If outsiders knew his shareholders were dissatisfied, things were worse than he had thought and he might expect trouble at the next meeting. Then he looked at his watch, but his chair was deep and when he tried to get up his leg hurt. He sank back again. Gavin knew where to find him if a reply from St. Johns arrived.

By and by his office boy, carrying a cable company’s envelope, came in, and Cartwright’s hand shook when he opened the message. It stated that an easterly gale and snowstorm raged about the Newfoundland coast and the thermometer was very low. The gale would drive the drift ice up the Gulf and pack the floes. Things looked bad. Cartwright felt he ought to get about and make some plans to meet the threatened blow, but he did not see what he could do.

He sat still. The other customers had gone, and all was quiet but for the faint rumble of traffic and soothing throb of an electric fan. Cartwright mused about _Oreana_ and pictured Davies sheltering behind the wind-screens on his bridge and trying to pierce the snow, and the look-out man half frozen in the spray that leaped about the forecastle. _Oreana_ was a wet boat when she was loaded deep. Now and then, perhaps, a buoy loomed in the tossing flakes. One tried to read the number and see the color. Then the steering-engine rattled as the rudder was pulled across and _Oreana_ headed for another mark.

The work was nervous, because dangerous shoals bordered the channels and Davies must let the steamer go. He knew when a risk must be run and the engineer was staunch. The trouble was, _Oreana’s_ boilers were bad; the money Cartwright durst not spend on repairs would have been a good investment now. Still, the old boat was fast, and Davies would drive her full-speed.

The captain’s job would not be easier when he left the shoals. The easterly gale would send the floes up stream. Cartwright knew the strange chill one felt when ice was about and the faint elusive _blink_ that marked its edge in the dark. Sometimes one did not see the blink until the floe was almost at the bows, and when the look-out’s startled cry reached the bridge one must trust to luck and pull the helm over quick. Then to dodge the floe might mean one crashed upon the next. It was steering blind, but, as a rule, the sailor’s instinct guided him right. Farther on, the river got wide and in thick weather one saw no lights: Davies must keep mid-channel and trust his reckoning while he rushed her along. For a thousand miles the old boat’s track was haunted by dangers against which one could not guard, and Cartwright thought she carried his last chance to mend his broken fortunes.

If she were wrecked, the reckoning he had long put off must be fronted, for when his embarrassments were known his antagonists would combine and try to pull him down. One must pay for one’s extravagance, but to pay would break him, and if he were broken, Mortimer would sneer and Grace treat him with humiliating pity. He would be their mother’s pensioner, and to lose his independence was hard. He had long ruled, and bullied, others.

By and by a waitress moved some glasses and Cartwright looked up with a start. The afternoon was nearly over; he must have gone to sleep. Returning to the office, he gave his bookkeeper some orders and then went to the station. The pavements were slippery with frost, and tall buildings with yellow lights loomed in the fog. Cartwright shivered, but reflected that Davies, fighting the snow and gale, was no doubt colder. For a day or two he must bear the suspense, and then, if no cablegram arrived, he could take it for granted that _Oreana_ had reached the Atlantic. After dinner he sat by the fire and smoked while Mrs. Cartwright knitted.

“In the afternoon I went to Mrs. Oliver’s and met Mrs. Seaton,” she said presently. “She talked to me for some time. At the beginning, I thought it strange!”

“It’s pretty obvious that you don’t like her,” Cartwright remarked.

“Ellen Seaton is not my sort, but I understand she was a friend of yours.”

“She was my friend,” said Cartwright carelessly. “It’s long since, and I rather doubt if she is my friend now.”

“Then why did she buy her shares in the line?”

“Ellen did not buy the shares. Seaton bought them when shipping was good.”

Mrs. Cartwright looked relieved and Cartwright resumed: “All the same, I don’t see her object for telling you she was a shareholder.”

“She wanted to sell her shares to me; I knew she had some plan when she crossed the floor. I was talking to Janet, but Ellen got Janet away and persuaded a young man on the other side to move. It was clever. I don’t think Mrs. Oliver or anybody else remarked what she was doing. But you know Ellen!”

“I know Ellen rather well,” said Cartwright dryly. “However, when you saw she wanted to get you alone, why did you indulge her?”

“For one thing, I was curious; then it wasn’t worth while to spoil her plan. I didn’t think Ellen would persuade me, if I did not approve.”

Cartwright smiled. Clara did not argue much and generally agreed with him, but sometimes she was as immovable as a rock. He pictured with amusement the little comedy at Mrs. Oliver’s, but all the same he was annoyed.

“Well, Ellen wanted you to buy her shares? Did she give you any grounds?”

“She declared she wanted money. Then she said it would help you if I took the lot. There might be a dispute at the meeting; the directors’ report would not be satisfactory. People would ask awkward questions, and she expected some organized opposition. It would be useful for you to command a large number of votes.”

Cartwright’s face got red. Ellen was well informed; in fact, it was ominous that she knew so much. Had she not been greedy, he thought she would have kept the shares in order to vote against him, but she obviously meant to sell them before the crash she expected came. If a number of others agreed with her, his retirement would be forced.

“What price were you to pay?” he asked.

Mrs. Cartwright told him, and he laughed. “If Ellen found a buyer at a number of shillings less, she would be lucky! Well, I understand you didn’t take her offer?”

“I did not,” said Mrs. Cartwright tranquilly. “When I wanted to buy some shares not long since, you did not approve. Since you refused to let me help, I didn’t mean to be persuaded by Ellen Seaton!”

“You’re staunch,” said Cartwright and Mrs. Cartwright resumed her knitting. In the morning he went to the office sooner than usual, but there was no news and the dark, cold day passed drearily. When he started for home Gavin promised to wait until the cable offices closed, and Cartwright had gone to dinner when he was called to the telephone. When he took down the instrument his hand shook.

“Hallo!” he said hoarsely. “Is that you, Gavin?”

“Yes, sir,” said a voice he knew. “Cablegram from Davies just arrived, part in code. I’ll give it you slow–“

“Go on,” said Cartwright.

“_Oreana_ ashore east Cape Chat, surrounded ice, water in fore hold. Think some plates broken; have abandoned ship. Salvage impossible until ice breaks.”

There was a pause, and Gavin added: “That’s all. Have you got it, sir?”

“I’ve got enough,” Cartwright replied.

He hung up the instrument, and going back to the dining-room, drained his glass. Then he turned to Mrs. Cartwright, who had remarked his grim look.

“I’ve got a nasty knock. _Oreana’s_ in the ice and may be wrecked. Anyhow, we can’t get her off until spring, and she’s the best of the fleet.”

Mrs. Cartwright gave him a sympathetic glance and signed a servant to bring another plate. As a rule she did not say much. She studied her husband quietly and was not much comforted when he resumed his dinner. This was characteristic, but it was plain he had got a nasty knock.

CHAPTER VII

THE SHAREHOLDERS’ MEETING

The afternoon was dark and electric lights burned along the cornice of the room engaged for the shareholders’ meeting. The room was big and cold, and as Gavin moved about the table on the platform his steps echoed hollowly. He was the company’s secretary and was putting down papers by the blotting pads. A group of gentlemen, engaged in thoughtful talk, stood by the fire. They were directors of the line and did not look happy. Nominally, by the company’s constitution, the shareholders elected the Board; in practice, Cartwright had, so far, appointed the directors, and meant, if possible, to do so again. The gentlemen by the fire were eligible for reelection, and Cartwright was satisfied, although he had not chosen them for their business talent. Their names were good in Liverpool and their honesty was known. Cartwright did not want clever men. He was head of the house and knew it would totter to a disastrous fall unless he kept his firm control.

Now and then Gavin gave his employer a keen glance. Cartwright’s lips were rather blue and the lines round his eyes were sharply drawn. His white mustache stuck out, and one got a hint of stubbornness, but except for this his face was inscrutable. Although Gavin thought Cartwright would score again, he was anxious. Nobody but Cartwright could persuade the dissatisfied shareholders to accept _that_ balance sheet.

Cartwright himself felt in rather good form. He had curtailed his lunch and been satisfied with a single glass of liquor that generally braced him up. He imagined he would need all his skill and coolness before the meeting was over. The trouble was, he might not get much support. The directors did not know all he knew, but they knew something, and he saw one or two hesitated. Then Mrs. Cartwright was ill, and although she had given her husband her proxy votes, had sent Mortimer. Mortimer was entitled to come because he had some shares, but Cartwright did not know the line he meant to take. The pup did not like him and was cunning. Presently Cartwright looked at his watch.

“They won’t be long. I imagine we are going to have some opposition.”

“It’s very possible,” one of the others agreed. “A two-per-cent dividend is disappointing and we are paying this by cutting down the reserve fund. Then people know we have lost the use of our best boat for six months and may lose her for good. When we reduced our insurance, I urged that we were rash.”

“We saved a good sum and economy was needful,” Cartwright rejoined. “Insurance is expensive for our type of boats.”

“The balance sheet looks bad. I’ll admit I’d sooner not be accountable for a state of things like this,” another remarked.

Cartwright smiled. The balance sheet looked better than it was, but Jordan had given him a useful lead. He knew his colleagues’ weaknesses and how they might be worked upon.

“We are all accountable. I have consulted you frankly and you approved my plans.”

Jordan gave him a rather doubtful look. “Anyhow, we must front an awkward situation. Suppose the shareholders ask for an investigation committee?”

“We must refuse,” said Cartwright, with quiet firmness. “A frightened committee would probably urge a drastic re-construction scheme, the writing off much of our capital, and perhaps winding up the line. When rates are bad and cargo’s scarce, one must take a low price for ships; our liabilities are large, and I imagine selling off would leave us much in debt–“

Cartwright paused. He saw his remarks carried weight and knew his co-directors. He would give them a few moments for thought before he finished his argument.

“Very well,” he resumed. “Jordan declares he does not like to be accountable for an unsatisfactory balance sheet. I take it he would much less like to be made accountable for a bad bankruptcy! No doubt you sympathize with him?”

It was obvious that they did so and one said, “If I thought my occupying a seat on the Board would lead to this, I would sooner have given my shares away!”

“I have not talked about my feelings,” Cartwright went on. “All the same, I am head of the old house; you can imagine I do not want to see it fall. But rates are not always low, and if I’m not embarrassed by rash meddlers, my persuasion is, I can keep the fleet running until better times arrive.”

He saw he had won them. The number of shares they owned was not very large: for the most part, the men were rich and not disturbed about their money. They valued a high place in business and social circles and their good name. To be entangled by a bankruptcy was unthinkable.

“Then, I feel we ought to support you,” Jordan replied. “For all that, our power’s not very great. We are going to meet some opposition and if the dissatisfied people are resolute they can turn us out.”

“So long as I know the Board will back me, I’m not afraid of the shareholders,” Cartwright declared.

“You imagine you can save the situation?” a red-faced gentleman remarked.

“It’s possible,” said Cartwright dryly.

“Very well,” said the other. “We must try to see you out.”

They went to the table soon afterwards and the shareholders began to arrive. They were not numerous, and the scattered groups emphasized the bareness of the big echoing room. Cartwright studied the people as they came in. Some looked gloomy and some stubborn; a few looked frankly bored. There were five or six women and two whispered, while the others glanced about with jerky movements. Cartwright’s face hardened when he saw Mrs. Seaton, and then he noted Hyslop in a back row. He thought Hyslop looked languidly amused.

When all was quiet, he took the notes Gavin handed him, glanced at the paper, and put it down. Then, speaking in a steady voice, he gave the report of the year’s work and talked about the balance sheet. He was frank but not apologetic, and claimed, in view of the difficulties, that the directors had well guarded the company’s interests. When he stopped there were murmurs of approval, as if some of the despondent had begun to hope; the cautious admitted that Cartwright had made a bad situation look better.

One or two asked questions, which he answered candidly, and then there was a pause and somebody moved the adoption of the chairman’s report and balance sheet. His seconder made a short nervous speech, and Mrs. Seaton got up at the end of the room. She pushed back her veil, took out her handkerchief, put her hand on a chair in front, and gave the directors an apologetic smile.

“I don’t know if it is usual for a woman to speak at a business meeting, but I have a number of shares in the line and it’s long since I got a good dividend,” she said. “Two per cent is ridiculous and my lawyer tells me I could get four per cent, where the security is really good.” She paused and added naively: “To have twice as much to spend would be very nice.”

Somebody laughed and Cartwright braced himself. Ellen Seaton was cleverer than she looked, and he thought her dangerous, but in the meantime he durst not stop her.

“One feels that security’s important and it’s plain ours is not first-class,” she resumed. “Well, I suppose if we accept the report, it means we are satisfied to let the company’s business be managed on the old plan?”

“It does mean something like that,” a man agreed.

“Then I’m _not_ satisfied. For one thing, I want a proper dividend.”

“We all want a proper dividend,” somebody remarked.

Mrs. Seaton smiled, as if she were encouraged. “To go without is disappointing, but perhaps the dividend is not most important. I’d like to feel my shares were worth the money they cost, and find out they are not. We have drawn on the reserves and I expect this implies we are losing money. You can’t go on losing money very long, and we ought to stop while we have some capital left.”

A number of the others applauded and she continued: “Our directors have worked very hard. To manage ships that don’t pay must be tiring and perhaps we oughtn’t to ask them to bear the heavy strain. Could we not choose somebody with fresh ideas to help?”

“That’s what we want!” said one. “The Board needs new blood!”

Then the storm broke and for a time Cartwright lost control of the meeting. Mrs. Seaton had loosed passions he might have restrained and the shareholders were frankly moved by fear, distrust, and greed. Men got up, asking angry questions and shouting implications, but for a few minutes Cartwright sat like a rock and let them rage. When they stopped and there was an awkward pause, Mortimer Hyslop got up. He looked languid and his voice was soft, but Cartwright admitted his speech was clever.

He and Mrs. Cartwright, whom he represented, owned shares in the line, and he had not risen before because the chairman was his relation. Now, when attacks, perhaps not altogether justified, had been made on the Board, he was forced to state his conviction that nobody else could have steered the company past the dangers that threatened. One must admit the situation was bad; and for a minute or two Mortimer cleverly indicated its drawbacks. For all that, he argued, it was rash to change pilot and officers in the middle of a storm. The officers they knew and had trusted must be left control until the gale blew over.

Mortimer sat down and Cartwright knitted his brows. On the surface, his step-son had taken the proper line. Mortimer meant to support the Board, but he had indicated that he did so because it was his duty. His remarks about the dangers by which the company was surrounded had made things look worse. All the same, he had calmed the meeting, but Cartwright did not know if this was an advantage. Criticism was harder to meet when the critics were cool.

Another man got up and began to talk in a quiet voice.

“Mr. Hyslop has an object for trusting the chairman that we have not got. We won’t grumble about his staunchness, but we are entitled to weigh his arguments, which are not altogether sound. He owns the situation is awkward and the outlook dark, but he urges us to trust the officers who got the ship in danger. One feels this is not remarkably logical. Then he declares nobody else could have kept the fleet running. I think the claim is rash. In this city we are conservative and names long known in business circles carry an exaggerated weight; we expect a man to work wonders because his father started a prosperous line, and another because he long since made a lucky plunge. Men like these are often satisfied with former triumphs while times and methods change. We want fresh thought and modern methods. It’s obvious the old have brought us near the rocks!”

Cartwright saw the shareholders were moved and the time for him to speak had come. He got up and fronted a doubting and antagonistic audience. His face was inscrutable, but he looked dignified.

“We have heard angry criticism and hints about slackness,” he began. “Some of you have suggested rejecting the report, a committee of inquiry, and new members for the Board, but no substantive motion has been put. Well, before this is done, I claim your patience for a few minutes. If you are not satisfied, I and your directors are jointly accountable. We stand together; if you get rid of one, you get rid of all. This is a drastic but risky cure–“

He paused and one or two of the gentlemen at the table looked surprised. It was plain they felt the chairman had gone farther than he ought. The red-faced man, however, smiled as if he approved and Cartwright resumed:

“Times are bad, the markets are flat, and goods are not moved about the world. I venture to state no steamship company is free from embarrassments. You can, no doubt, find men with business talent equal to ours and give them control; but you cannot give them the knowledge, gained by long experience, one needs to grapple with the particular difficulties the Cartwright line must meet. The personal touch is needed; your manager must be known by the company’s friends, and its antagonists, who would not hesitate to snatch our trade from a stranger. They know me and the others, and are cautious about attacking us. In all that’s important, until times get better, _I am the company_–“

Cartwright stopped and drank some water. He saw he had struck the right note and began again:

“I will not labor the argument; the thing is obvious! If I go, the line will stop running before the new men learn their job. Well, I’m old and tired, but it would hurt to see the house-flag hauled down; it was carried by famous oak clippers in my grandfather’s time. You hesitate to risk your money? I risk mine and much that money cannot buy; the honor of a house whose ships have sailed from Liverpool for a hundred years!”

The shareholders were moved and one heard murmurs of sympathy. Boldness paid, and Cartwright saw he was recovering his shaken power, but it was not all good acting. To some extent, he was sincere. He got his breath and resumed:

“I don’t urge you with a selfish object to let me keep my post; I’d be relieved to let it go. Counted in money, the reward for my labor is not large. I want to save the Cartwright line, to pilot it into port, and, if there is no rash meddling, I believe I can. But I warn you the thing is in no other’s power. Well, I have finished. You must choose whether your directors go or not.”

There was an awkward silence, and then somebody asked: “Will the chairman state if he has a plan for meeting a situation he admits is difficult?”

Cartwright smiled rather grimly. “I will not make a public statement that might be useful to our antagonists! So long as I am chairman, you must trust me. My proposition is, give us six months, and then, if things are no better, we will welcome a committee of inquiry. In the meantime, a motion is before the meeting–“

“It is proposed and seconded that the directors’ report and balance sheet be accepted,” Gavin remarked.

The resolution was carried, the directors were reelected, and the meeting broke up. Cartwright sat down rather limply and wiped his face.

“I pulled it off, but they pushed me hard,” he said. “At one time, it looked as if our defenses would go down.”

“You have put off the reckoning; I think that’s all,” one of the directors remarked.

“We have six months,” said Cartwright. “This is something. If they call a meeting then, I imagine I can meet them.”

He signed to Gavin, who helped him with his big coat, and went off to the underground restaurant, where he presently fell asleep in a chair by the fire.

CHAPTER VIII

A STOLEN EXCURSION

Barbara stopped at the top of James Street and looked down hill to the river. The afternoon was dark and the pavement wet. Thin fog drifted about the tall offices, lights shone in the windows, and she heard steamers’ whistles. Down the street, a white plume of steam, streaking the dark-colored fog, marked the tunnel station, and Barbara glanced at a neighboring clock.

She could get a train in a few minutes, but she would be forced to wait at a station on the Cheshire side, and there was not another train for some time. She had bought the things she needed and did not know what to do. One could pass half an hour at a cafe; but Mrs. Cartwright did not like her to go to a cafe; alone and Barbara frowned impatiently. Her mother was horribly conventional and Barbara missed the freedom she had enjoyed in Canada. In fact, it was very dull at home; Grace’s correct serenity and cold disapproval made one savage; Mortimer’s very proper friends were tiresome.

Barbara was restless and dissatisfied. She wanted to play an active part and feel she was alive. Moreover, since she came home she had felt she was being watched, and, so to speak, protected from herself. Her relations had forgiven her Canadian escapade, but they meant to guard against her doing something of the kind again. Perhaps from their point of view, they were justified, but Barbara was not tempted to make a fresh experiment. She had not yet got over the shock; she saw how near her romantic trustfulness had brought her to disaster and thought her faith in men and women had gone. This was perhaps the worst, because she was generous and had frankly trusted people she liked.

Now she imagined the gloomy day had re-acted on her spirits. She was moody and longed for something that would banish the dreariness. Starting down hill for the station, she stopped abruptly a few moments afterwards. Lister was crossing the street, and if she went on they would meet. It was some time since she had seen him and she noted with surprise that he wore a rather soiled blue uniform. His cap, which had a badge in front, was greasy, and he carried an oilskin coat.

He walked quickly, looking straight in front, with his head well up, and Barbara got a hint of purposeful activity. Barbara liked him much, but she had, as a rule, quietly baffled his efforts to know her better. She waited, rather hoping he would pass, until he looked round and advanced to meet her.

“I’m lucky!” he remarked, and his satisfaction was comforting. “It’s long since I have seen you.”

“You know our house,” Barbara rejoined.

“Oh, well,” he said with a twinkle, “when I last came, you talked to me for about two minutes and then left me to play billiards with your brother. He was polite, but in Canada we play pool and my game’s not very good. I imagined he was bored.”

“Mortimer is like that,” said Barbara. “But why are you wearing the steamship badge and sailor’s clothes?”

Lister laughed. “They’re engineer’s clothes. I go to sea; that’s another reason I didn’t come over.”

“Ah,” said Barbara. “Did my step-father get you a post on board ship?”

“He did not. He told me to look him up at the office, but I didn’t go. One would sooner not bother one’s friends.”

“Canadians are an independent lot,” Barbara remarked. “In this country, we use our friends for all they are worth, and we’re justified so long as they want to help. If Cartwright said he would help, he meant to do so. But what ship are you on board?”

“_Ardrigh_, cross-channel cattle boat. She’s unloading Irish steers, sheep and pigs not far off. Will you come and see her? I don’t suppose you’ve been on board a Noah’s ark before.”

Barbara did not hesitate. She doubted if Mrs. Cartwright would approve and knew Grace would not, but this was not important. Grace disapproved all she did and the stolen excursion would break the monotony. Then Lister’s twinkling smile appealed, and somehow her reserve vanished when she was out of doors with him.

“I’d like to go,” she said.

“Then, come along,” he urged, and they started for the elevated railway at the bottom of the street.

While the electric cars rolled along the docks Barbara’s moodiness went. She could not see much in the fog. Wet warehouse roofs, masts and funnels, and half-seen hulls floating on dull water, loomed up and vanished. Inside the car, lights glimmered on polished wood; the rattling and shaking were somehow cheerful. Barbara felt braced and alert. Lister talked and she laughed. She could not hear all he said, because of the noise, and thought he did not hear her, but she did not mind. She liked his cheerfulness and frank satisfaction. The gloom outside and the blurred lights in the fog gave the excursion a touch of romantic adventure.

They got down at a station by a muddy dock-road. Ponderous lorries with giant horses rolled out of the gloom between stacks of goods; wet cattle were entangled in the press of traffic, and Barbara was relieved when Lister pushed back a sliding door. Then she stopped for a moment, half daunted by the noise and bustle, and looked about.

Big lights hung from the room of the long shed, but did not pierce the gloom that lurked between the piles of cargo. A flock of sheep, moving in a dense woolly mass, came down a gangway; squealing pigs occupied a bay across the piles of goods. The front of the shed was open and in places one saw a faint reflection that looked like water. Opposite Barbara, the gap between the low roof and dock-sill was filled by a deckhouse and a steamer’s funnel. Steam blew across the opening farther on, and in the vapor bales and boxes shot up and rattling chains plunged down. Through the roar of the winches she heard coarse shouts and the bellowing of cattle.

Lister took her to a slanting plank that spanned a dark gulf and she saw dim water and then the hollow of a steamer’s hold. Men who looked like ghosts moved in the gloom and indistinct cattle came up a railed plank. Barbara could not see where they came from; they plunged out of the dark, their horns glimmering in the beam of the lamps.

After a few moments Lister helped her down on the steamer’s bridge-deck. The boat listed away from the wall. Her tall red funnel was inclined sharply, much of her side was above water, and muddy streams poured from the scuppers on the after deck, where men with long boots pulled a hose-pipe about. The boat was horribly dirty, but her lean bows and the length of the iron engine-room casing indicated speed.

A man came along the bridge-deck, and Barbara thought the gold bands on his cap indicated the captain. He stopped and when he glanced at Lister she blushed, for there was a hint of sympathetic understanding in her smile.

“We won’t want you until high-water,” he said and went off.

Barbara hoped Lister had not seen her blush and thought he had not. He took her down some iron steps and to a door in a dark passage.

“Our mess-room,” he said. “I expect it’s the quietest spot on board the ship.”

He pushed the door open and stopped. The small room was bright with electric light and a young man and woman sat opposite each other at the table. The man’s uniform was stained by oil; the girl was pretty and fashionably dressed, but Barbara knew her clothes were cheap. She stood at the door, hesitating, and the man gave Lister a smile like the captain’s.

“I didn’t expect you yet, but come in,” he said. “The tea’s not cold, and Mike has made some doughnuts.”

“Mr. Robertson, my chief,” Lister said to Barbara, and the man presented Lister to his companion, and put a machine in a box on the floor. “Now there’s room; I was pulling out the indicator diagrams,” he added. “Won’t you take off your coat, Miss Hyslop, and try Mike’s doughnuts?”

The little room was hot, and when Barbara hung up her furs she noted the other girl’s appraising glance. Miss Grant poured some black tea from a big cracked pot and pushed across a tin of condensed milk and a plate of greasy buns. When Barbara picked one up and looked at it doubtfully Robertson opened a drawer.

“We pull ours in two, but I expect you’d like a knife,” he said.

He found a knife, which he rubbed on the table-cloth. “I used the thing on the indicator, the contraption in the box, but I think it’s clean enough.”

Barbara ate her doughnut and drank the bitter tea. Miss Grant looked friendly and she liked the engineer. They were frank, human people, and she thought them kind. Robertson began to talk about carpets, gas-stoves and pans, and Miss Grant told Barbara what the articles cost. They had been buying furniture and Robertson stated they were to be married soon.

“I reckon you haven’t got so far yet,” he said to Lister, and when Barbara saw Miss Grant touch him she blushed. It was ridiculous, but the blood came to her skin, and then, noting Lister’s embarrassment, she began to laugh.

“Jim _will_ talk like that!” Miss Grant remarked.

“Oh, well,” said Robertson, “I expect it’s rather soon. Mr. Lister hasn’t joined us long, and you don’t begin at the top.” He turned to Barbara with an encouraging smile. “All the same, he knows his job and has got one move up. Perhaps if he sticks to it, for a year or two–“

Miss Grant stopped him and asked Barbara’s views about curtains. She had some patterns, and while they contrasted the material and the prices the door opened and a greasy, red-haired fellow gave the group a benevolent grin.

“Was thim doughnuts all right?” he inquired.

“I’ve had better, but you’ve made some worse, Mike,” Robertson replied.

“Yez said _tea for two_. If ye’d told me it was a party, I’d have been afther stealing the captain’s Cork butter. A cook cannot do his best whin the shore-steward sends him engine-grease. Annyhow, whin ye’re young an’ romantic, what’s it mather what ye ate?”

He went off and Robertson began to talk about _Ardrigh_. He was naively proud of the boat and his engines, and narrated hard runs in bad weather to land the livestock in time for important markets. Sometimes the hollow channel-seas that buried the plunging forecastle filled the decks and icy cataracts came down the stokehold gratings. Sometimes the cattle pens broke and mangled bullocks rolled about in the water and wreckage.

Robertson had a talent for narrative and Barbara felt something of the terror and lure of the sea. She liked the _Ardrigh’s_ rather grimy crew, their cheerfulness and rude good-humor. They did useful things, big things now and then; they were strong, warm-blooded fellows, not polished loafers like Mortimer’s friends. Then she approved Miss Grant’s frank pride in her lover. There was something primitive about these people. They were, so to speak, human, and not ashamed of their humanity. Lister was somehow like them; she wondered whether this had attracted her. Perhaps she was attracted, but the attraction must not be indulged.

By and by Miss Grant resumed her talk about curtains, and when they had agreed about the material that ought to wear best Barbara looked at her watch. Miss Grant gave her her hand and Robertson declared she must come back when the boat was in port again. Lister took her down the gangway and was quiet until they reached the station. Then he smiled apologetically.

“You played up well. I didn’t know Robertson was on board, but he’s a very good sort. So’s the girl, I think.”

Barbara laughed. “I didn’t play up; I liked the people. The excursion was delightful; I’ve enjoyed it all.”

Lister saw she was sincere and thrilled. He had begun to think he ought not to have suggested the adventure, but he was not sorry now; Barbara was not bothered by ridiculous conventions. She talked gayly while the cars rolled along beside the warehouse walls, but when they got down at the station she stopped in the middle of a sentence. Cartwright had alighted from the next car and was a yard or two in front. Lister knew his fur coat and rather dragging walk. If he and Barbara went on, they would confront Cartwright when he turned to go down the steps.

Barbara gave him a twinkling glance and remarked that he knitted his brows but did not hesitate. In the few moments since her step-father left the train she had seen three or four plans for avoiding him. Lister obviously had not, and on the whole she approved his honesty. He advanced and touched Cartwright.

“I didn’t know you were on board our train, sir.”

Cartwright looked at him rather hard and Barbara waited. Although she had been caught enjoying a stolen excursion, she was not afraid of her step-father, but she was curious.

“I was in front,” said Cartwright dryly. “Barbara has picked a rather dreary day for a run to the north docks. I understood she was going to the shops.”

“Miss Hyslop met me near the station and I persuaded her to come and see my ship.”

“Then you have got a ship?” said Cartwright. “If you are not on duty, come to the office in the morning and tell me about the boat. In the meantime, I’ll put Barbara on the tunnel train.”

He went off with the girl, but Barbara turned her head and Lister saw her smile.

CHAPTER IX

CARTWRIGHT SEES A PLAN

In the morning Lister went to Cartwright’s office. To some extent, he was embarrassed, because he had begun to see that Barbara’s relations might not approve her going on board his ship and he imagined Cartwright meant to talk about this. When he came in Cartwright gave him a nod and indicated a chair.

“I understand you did not arrange for Barbara to meet you and go to the dock?” he said.

“No, sir. I didn’t expect to meet Miss Hyslop. I was talking about the boat and thought Miss Hyslop might like to see her.”

Cartwright turned and the electric light touched his face. He looked thoughtful, but somehow Lister imagined he was not thinking about his step-daughter.

“Oh, well!” he said, as if the matter were not important, and went on: “I might have got you a post had you looked me up. What boat are you on board?”

“_Ardrigh_. Perhaps you know her?”

“Yes. Belfast model; long bow and fine lines aft. Don’t know if I approve the type. Give you speed, at the cost of carrying power, but makes a wet ship in a head sea.”

“She is wet,” Lister agreed with a smile. “Last run we couldn’t keep the water out of the stokehold. Had to cover and batten gratings, and then a boat fetched adrift and smashed the engine skylights.”

“What’s your rating?” Cartwright asked.

Lister told him and he remarked: “You have made some progress!”

“I was lucky. She burst some boiler tubes in my watch. We were steaming hard, head to an ugly sea, with a lot of cattle on board, and were forced to keep her going. Two firemen were scalded, but I was able to put the patent-stoppers in the tubes. I used a trick I’d learned on a Canadian lake boat; rather risky, but it worked. Afterwards the company moved me up.”

Cartwright was not surprised. He knew men and saw the young fellow was all he had thought. All the same, it might be worth while to get some particulars about the accident from the _Ardrigh’s_ owners.

“You won’t go far in the cross-channel trade. Why did you not try for a berth with an Atlantic line!”

“There was some trouble about your Board of Trade rules and I might have been required to prove my qualifications for an English certificate. While I was inquiring I heard an engineer was wanted on board _Ardrigh_. The regulations don’t apply to coasting voyages.”

“You might have got your certificate. Would it not have been worth while?”

Lister hesitated. His main object for joining the _Ardrigh_ was that she sailed from Liverpool and he wanted to see Barbara now and then. As a rule, he was frank, but he did not think it prudent to enlighten Cartwright.

“I don’t know,” he said. “You see, I may go back to the railroad soon.”

He wondered whether Cartwright did see and thought he had remarked his hesitation; the old fellow was very keen. Cartwright’s look, however, was inscrutable and for a few moments he said nothing. Then he picked up some papers on his desk.

“Look me up now and then when you’re in port. I might have a job for you, but I don’t know yet,” he said, and added in a meaning voice: “If you want to see my family, Mrs. Cartwright will receive you at her house.”

Lister colored and got up. “I’ll remember, sir! Perhaps I oughtn’t to have persuaded Miss Hyslop–I didn’t stop to think–“

When he went off Cartwright smiled, but soon afterwards he put his cigar-case in his pocket and told Gavin he was going out. He thought he knew where to find the cattle boat’s shore-engineer, and when he did so the waitress gave them a table at which they would not be disturbed. In half an hour Cartwright had found out all he wanted to know, and returning to his office, he smoked and mused.

Lister had not exaggerated; his pluck and coolness had kept _Ardrigh’s_ engines going when to stop might have meant the loss of the livestock on board. Well, Cartwright had known the fellow was good stuff and he might soon want a man like that. Somebody staunch and resolute who knew his job! He had beaten his antagonists at the shareholders’ meeting, but doubted if he could do so again. In fact, he had only put off the reckoning for six months, in which he must make good, and he knitted his brows while he studied _Titania’s_ picture. He thought about her sister ship, wrecked and abandoned on the African coast.

_Arcturus_ was a useful boat and cheap to run. Although times were bad, Cartwright could run her and earn some profit. He had known the company that bought her was getting near the rocks, but they had insured her heavily and there was something strange about the wreck. Cartwright understood the underwriters had hesitated before they paid. He, himself, would not have paid; he had a notion–.

An effort had been made to float _Arcturus_, but the salvors did not know all Cartwright thought he knew. If his supposition were correct, the wreck might be worth buying and one could, no doubt, buy her very cheap. The boat had for some time lain half-buried in shifting sands at the mouth of an African river.

The underwriters would be lucky if they sold her for old iron.

Cartwright weighed the cost of floating. If he employed a regular salvage company, this would be high, because they would bargain for a large part of the value recovered; his plan was to do the job himself, with cheaper appliances than theirs. The trouble was, he could not go out and superintend. He was too old, and one ought to be an engineer; Cartwright had grounds for imagining the job was rather an engineer’s than a sailor’s. Well, he knew a young fellow who would not be daunted and would work for him honestly, but to get the proper man was not all.

He pondered about the money. Somehow he might get the necessary sum, but if the venture failed, it would be the last. Nobody would trust him again; he would be forced into retirement and dependence on his wife. It was a risk he hesitated to run and he resolved to wait.

In the evening after dinner Barbara joined him in the drawing-room, and Cartwright waited with some amusement, for he thought he knew what she wanted.

“Did Mr. Lister come to the office?” she asked presently.

“He did come. Did you think he would not?”

“Oh, no!” said Barbara, smiling, “I knew he would come. Mr. Lister is like that!”

“I suppose you mean he’s honest?”

“I think I mean he’s scrupulous. When you crossed the station platform in front of us he got a jolt.”

“Then, you did not get a jolt?”

“Not at all,” said Barbara. “To keep behind and meet you after I’d sent Lister off would not have bothered me. However, I was curious, although I think I knew the line he’d take. You see, for an unsophisticated young man, the situation was awkward.”

“If he felt it awkward, it indicated he knew he ought not to have taken you on board his boat.”

“You’re horribly logical,” Barbara rejoined with a twinkle. “When we started he didn’t know I ought not to have gone. Mr. Lister is not like you; he’s very obvious. Of course, I did know, but I went!”

“I wonder why!” said Cartwright dryly.

“Sometimes you’re keen, but you didn’t remark, I meant to give you a lead. Well, I didn’t go altogether because I wanted to enjoy Mr. Lister’s society. To see a cattle boat was something fresh and I was dull.”

“Then, when did Lister see a light? Since he stopped me, it’s plain he’d got some illumination.”

“I think it was when the engineer and the girl Robertson is going to marry began to talk about house furnishings in the _Ardrigh’s_ mess-room. They took it for granted Lister was my lover and he was horribly embarrassed. The thing really was humorous.”

“Folks have hinted I’m getting a back-number,” Cartwright remarked. “To talk to a modern girl makes me feel I am out-of-date.”

“Grace is not modern and to talk to her makes you tired,” Barbara rejoined. “But I’ll tell you about the tea-party in the mess-room if you like.”

“Then you got tea in the cattle boat’s mess-room?”

“Of course,” said Barbara. “Black tea and condensed milk, and a ruffian with red hair whom they called Mike had made some doughnuts with lard like engine-grease. For all that, they were very nice people, and if you don’t interrupt, I’ll tell you–“

She told him about the party and Cartwright chuckled. He pictured her in the dirty mess-room, looking exotic in her fashionable clothes and expensive furs, but no doubt quite serene. She said the other girl was pretty, but Cartwright admitted that Barbara was beautiful. He rather sympathized with Lister’s embarrassment, and wondered whether Barbara meant to throw some light on the young man’s character.

When she stopped, he asked: “Did they talk about some burst boiler tubes?”

“No,” said Barbara. “We talked about gas-stoves and kitchen pans.” Then she gave Cartwright a keen glance. “But what are boiler tubes? Do they sometimes burst?”

“They carry the flame from the furnace through the water. If you’re much interested, Gavin will show you a plan of a ship’s boiler when you come to the office. In the meantime, have you found out all you want to know?”

“You really are keen!” Barbara rejoined.

“I was a little curious about what you said to Mr. Lister.”

“Ah,” said Cartwright, “I imagined something like this. I told him if he wanted to see my family, he must come to the house.”

Barbara looked thoughtful. “This was all? Was it worth while to tell him to come to the office? To order him, in fact?”

“It was all that’s important. I think it was important and expect you to agree.”

“Well, you have carried out your duty and ought to be satisfied,” said Barbara, who got up and gave Cartwright a smiling glance. “All the same, if you want a man for an awkward job, I think you can trust Mr. Lister!”

She went off and Cartwright laughed. Barbara was clever. The strange thing was, she had been cheated by a theatrical rogue, but clever girls were sometimes like that. He imagined she liked Lister, but this was perhaps all, since she had been frank. In one sense, Lister was the man for Barbara; he was honest, sober, and resolute, and she needed firm control. The girl was as wild as a hawk, and although she was marked by a fine fastidiousness, would revolt from a narrow-minded prig. Lister was not a prig; his blood was red.

In another sense, perhaps, the thing was ridiculous. Barbara was rich and ought to make a good marriage, but good marriages sometimes brought unhappiness.

Human nature was stubborn; one paid for forcing it to obey the rules of worldly prudence. Then Barbara had a romantic vein. She would risk all for her lover and not grumble if she were forced to pay for her staunchness. Besides, she and Lister had qualities he had not. They were marked by something ascetic, or perhaps he meant Spartan, and if it were worth while, could go without much that he required.

Cartwright admitted that indulgence had cost him dear. He had paid with grim philosophy, but he did not want Barbara to pay. Although she was not his daughter, he loved the girl, and her recent moodiness bothered him. If she did not love Lister, why was she disturbed? Sometimes Cartwright thought he saw a gleam of light. Suppose she did love the fellow and was trying to keep him off because of her Canadian adventure? Lister knew about that and Barbara was proud.

Cartwright’s eyes got bloodshot and he clenched his fist. He would very much like to meet Shillito. His muscles were getting slack, but he had not lost all his power; anyhow, he could talk. Well, the thing was humiliating, but he must not get savage. When he let himself go he suffered for it afterwards. Getting up, he threw away his cigar, and went off to talk to his wife.

CHAPTER X

A BOLD SPECULATION

After weighing for some weeks all he could learn about the wreck on the African coast, Cartwright went to London and was carried up one morning to the second floor of an imposing office block. Black marble columns supported the molded roof of the long passage, the wide stairs were guarded by polished mahogany and shining brass, and a screen of artistic iron work enclosed the elevator shaft. Cartwright’s fur coat and gloves and varnished boots harmonized with the surroundings; he looked rich and important, but as he went along the corridor his face was stern. He was going to make a plunge that would mend or break his fortune. Unless he got straight in the next six months, he must retire from the Board and make the best bargain possible with his creditors.

He opened a door, and giving a clerk his card, was shown into a handsome private office. Mr. Morse at a writing-table indicated a chair, and when Cartwright sat down, rested his chin in his hand.

“We have considered your letters, and my partner, Mr. Bull, agrees that, if we can come to terms, your suggestion has some advantages,” he said.

“The advantages for your clients are obvious,” Cartwright remarked.

The other smiled. “They paid out a good sum when _Arcturus_ was wrecked, and would frankly like to get something back. Well, we understand you are willing to buy her, _as she lies_.”

“At my price! I’ll give you a check when the agreement’s signed.”

“Then, I expect you have made some calculations and know all about the efforts to float the wreck. If we sell her to you, the job is yours, but I admit some curiosity. Why do you expect to float her when the salvage company failed?”

“For one thing, they started the job on extravagant lines,” Cartwright replied. “They sent out two first-class tugs and a number of highly-paid men; they ought to have hired negro laborers at the spot. The surf is often bad, they could only work when it was calm, and while they were doing nothing, wages mounted up. So did their bills for the coal they must bring from Sierra Leone, where coal is expensive. Then they were bothered by fever and were forced to send men home. They saw the contract would not pay and let it go. The job was not impossible; it was costing too much.”

Mr. Morse agreed that Cartwright’s statement was plausible and probably accurate, but thought he rather labored his argument.

“You mean to use another plan?” he said.

“My outfit will be small and cheap. This has the advantage that when my men can’t work, I won’t pay much for wasted time. All the same, my risk is obvious. The thing’s a rash speculation, on which I can’t embark unless you are satisfied to take a very small price.”

For a few moments the ship broker pondered. Cartwright’s line was the line a man who wanted to buy something cheap would take. All the same, Mr. Morse did not altogether see why he wanted to buy the wreck.

“What about the cargo?” he suggested. “Of course, you understand that I have no authority to sell this; you noticed the wording of our original advertisement? ‘And for the salving of the cargo,’ Precisely it is on that basis alone that the cargo underwriters will deal. Together with your offer for the steamer as she lies, you must accept a percentage of the value of the cargo you save.”

“What is the cargo?”

“She carried palm-kernels in the forehold; I expect they have fermented and rotted. Perhaps the palm oil aft isn’t spoiled.”

“The barrels will have gone to bits.”

“Oak barrel staves stand salt water long.”

“The iron hoops do not,” Cartwright rejoined. “Anyhow, I don’t reckon on the cargo; I expect to make my profit on buying the hull.”

“Yet the cargo is worth something. I imagine you know she carried some valuable gums, ivory and a quantity of gold?”

Cartwright smiled. “I do know the goods were on the ship’s manifest. How much gold did the salvage company get?”

“Six boxes; but this was not all that was shipped.”

“I imagine it’s all that will be recovered!” Cartwright remarked.

The other looked hard at him, but his face was inscrutable and he went on: “Well, I don’t want the cargo, and may be forced to heave much of it overboard in order to lighten the hull. However, if we find stuff worth saving, we’ll put it on the beach and I’ll take a third-part of the value, and you can send out an agent to tally the goods.”

“Very well,” said the other, who approved the latter plan, although he imagined Cartwright knew something he did not. “Let’s be frank,” he resumed. “Personally, I felt from the beginning there was a mystery about the wreck.”

“Oh, well,” said Cartwright, “the owners of the boat went broke, and the merchant who put the goods on board died. His son sold the business to a small company, in which he took shares. The new house is prosperous and respectable; it would be necessary to know your ground well before you bothered them. Then I have nothing to go upon but a vague supposition. In fact, the thing’s a risky plunge, and if you refuse my offer, I won’t grumble. All the same, I doubt if anybody else would give you, for example, five hundred pounds for _Arcturus_.”

“Five hundred pounds is, of course, ridiculous,” the other rejoined, and they began to bargain.

When Cartwright left the office he was, on the whole, satisfied. He could finance the undertaking, but this was all. There would be no margin to cover unforeseen difficulties. It was his last gamble, and, besides his money, he staked his post and reputation. If he lost, he was done for, and the house must fall. Soon after his return he sent for Lister and told him about the wreck and his salvage plans.

“I had some bother to get a captain,” he said. “The job has not much attraction for a sober man, but Brown is not sober; he’s frankly reckless and irresponsible. The strange thing is, I’ve known him make good where cautious men have failed. Then much depends on the engineer. I brought you across to ask if you would go.”

Lister’s eyes sparkled. “Yes, sir. I’ve been looking for a chance like this.”

Cartwright studied him quietly. Lister’s keenness was obvious; the young fellow liked adventure, but Cartwright imagined this did not account for all.

“From one point of view, I think the chance is pretty good,” he said. “If you can float the wreck and bring her home, I expect some of the big salvage companies will offer you a post. Anyhow, you’ll get your pay, and if we are lucky, a bonus that will depend on the cost of the undertaking and the value of all we salve.”

“I’m going,” Lister declared, and Cartwright noted that he did not inquire about the pay. Then he hesitated and resumed: “But I haven’t got an English chief-engineer’s certificate.”

“I don’t know if it’s important. I expect you’ll find the adventure is marked by a number of small irregularities. However, to satisfy the Board of Trade is my business.”

“Then you can reckon on me; but there’s another thing. Why do you hope to lift the wreck when the salvage men could not?”

Cartwright smiled. “I have been asked this before, but saw no grounds for satisfying the inquirer’s curiosity. All the same, I’ll enlighten you.”

He did so, and Lister looked up sharply. He had known Cartwright was clever, but the old fellow was cleverer than he thought. It was possible he had solved a puzzle that had baffled the salvage engineers. After all, perhaps, it was not strange they were baffled. They had reckoned on mechanical obstacles; Cartwright had reckoned on the intricacies of human nature.

“I expect you have got it, sir,” Lister agreed. “If her bilge was in the sand and the divers couldn’t break into the engine-room–” He paused and laughed. “A powerful centrifugal pump lifts some water, but you can’t pump out the Atlantic!”

“It looks as if the salvage company tried,” said Cartwright, dryly. “However–“

He talked about the undertaking, giving Lister particulars he thought he ought to know, and when the young man went off, all important plans had been agreed upon. Soon afterwards Cartwright went home and found Mrs. Cartwright had gone to bed. He was getting disturbed about her, but since the doctor had said she must rest, he talked to Barbara in the evening. He told her about the wreck, and smiled when he stated that Lister would have control.

“I think you declared he was the man for an awkward job,” he said.

Barbara looked at him rather hard. “Perhaps I did say so. You don’t imply you are sending Mr. Lister because you thought I’d like it?”

“Not at all,” said Cartwright. “The thing’s a business venture. Still your statement carried weight. I admit your judgment sometimes is sound.”

She turned her head and when she looked up and replied, her voice was rather hard.

“You must not trust my judgment. I have been cheated.”

“My dear!” said Cartwright. “Perhaps my remark was unlucky, but the cleverest of us is sometimes cheated, and you were not cheated long. We’ll let it go. I’m bothered about your mother. She feels the damp and cold and is not picking up. Perhaps we ought to send her South. I must talk to the doctor.”

In the morning he saw the doctor, who said they had better wait for a time, and Cartwright occupied himself by outfitting the salvage expedition. Finding it necessary to go to London, he called on the gentleman from whom he had bought the wreck a short time ago.

“When we made the agreement, you asked if I knew anybody who would give me five hundred pounds for the boat,” remarked Mr. Morse. “Just then I did not know, but not long since I was offered a better price than yours.”

“Ah,” said Cartwright, thoughtfully. “She lay in the sand for some time and nobody bothered about her. Who was willing to buy?”

The other smiled. “A shipbroker stated a sum at which he would take her off our hands. It was plain he was an agent, but he wouldn’t give his customer’s name. I don’t imagine you will find out from him. I tried!”

Cartwright said it was strange, and went off soon afterwards. When he went down in the lift he smiled, for he thought he saw a light; after all, his speculation was not as rash as it looked.

When he got home Mrs. Cartwright had come downstairs and she joined the others at dinner. The doctor said she was stronger and might soon undertake a journey South; he suggested the Canaries, and Cartwright approved.

“If you sail by a Cape liner, it’s a short run, and after you leave the Spanish coast the sea is generally smooth,” he said. “Since I must stay at the office, we must decide who is going with you.”

Hyslop said he would like to go, and would do so if it were necessary, but to get away just then was awkward. Grace declared somebody must stop to look after Cartwright and the house, and she imagined this was her post. For all that, since she was older than Barbara, it was hard to see her duty. Mrs. Cartwright did not indicate whom she wanted, although she glanced at Barbara. Since she was ill she had got very languid, and Cartwright did not meddle. He knew his stepchildren, and it was characteristic that Grace talked about her duty; taking care of an invalid at a foreign hotel had not much charm for Grace.

“Very well,” said Barbara, “I gave you and Mortimer first chance, because I’m not important, but since you have good grounds for staying, we won’t argue.” She turned to Mrs. Cartwright: “I’m going, because I want to go.”

Mrs. Cartwright gave her a gentle smile and it was plain that she was satisfied, but when she had gone to bed and Cartwright was alone, he pondered. Barbara loved her mother and would have gone had she not wanted to go, but he thought she did want and had an object. He had told her something about his plans, and had stated that he would use Grand Canary as a supply depot for the expedition; then he had found the girl studying an Atlantic chart in the library. Barbara had no doubt noted the island lay conveniently near the African coast, and knew it was an important coaling station, at which steamers bound South from Liverpool called. Cartwright wondered whether she had argued she might see Lister at Grand Canary.

CHAPTER XI

THE START

Rain was falling and the light had hardly reached the opening between the tall warehouses. In the dock the water was smooth and shone with dull reflections, but the gates were open and the muddy swell the flood tide brought up the river splashed about the entrance. Ponderous lorries rumbled across a bridge, indistinct figures moved and shouted on the pierhead, and men in wet oilskins splashed about _Terrier’s_ deck.

She was a battered propeller tug and lay against the wall, with large cases of machinery lashed to her bulwarks, and a stack of coal built up beside the engine-skylights. Her bunkers were full, but the fuel she carried would not last very long, and coal is dear at foreign ports. Coils of thick wire rope and diving gear occupied her shallow hold, and Cartwright was annoyed because she could not take the massive centrifugal pump which he had sent by an African liner. Some extra coal and supplies were loaded on a clumsy wooden hulk, but he durst not risk her carrying expensive machinery.

When he talked to the captain in the pilot-house, he was, on the whole, satisfied. Brown’s face was flushed and his voice was hoarse, but he would pull himself together after he got to sea. Cartwright knew Brown’s habits when he gave him the job, although, in an important sense, the job was Lister’s. To trust the young fellow was a bold experiment, but Cartwright did so. If Lister were not the man he thought, Cartwright imagined his control of the line would presently come to an inglorious end. To some extent this accounted for his bringing Barbara to see the salvage expedition start. He knew the power of love.

Barbara had not gone up the greasy ladder to the bridge and waited on deck. She had left home without much breakfast, in the dark, and was cold and rather depressed. All was gloomy and strangely flat. The tug looked small and was horribly dirty. Coal-dust covered rails and ropes; grimy drops from the rigging splashed on the trampled black mud on deck. The crew were not sober and their faces were black. Two or three draggled women called to them from the pierhead, their voices sounding melancholy and harsh.

Barbara had not seen Lister and wondered where he was, until a man plunged out from the neighboring door of the engine-room. The abruptness of his exit indicated that he had been rudely propelled by somebody behind, and as he lurched across the deck, Lister appeared at the door. His cap was dark with grease, his overalls were stained, and a black smear ran from his eye to chin.

“Hustle and get that oil drum on the wharf, you drunken hog!” he shouted. “If I hadn’t watched out you’d have left half the truck.”

He stopped when he saw Barbara. “This is very kind,” he said to her. “I knew Cartwright was on board, but hadn’t hoped you would come to give us a good send-off.”

Barbara noted his satisfaction and was moved by something in his voice. He looked thin and fine-drawn in his stained engineer’s clothes, and his hands were greasy. The surroundings were not romantic, but somehow they got brighter and her gloom vanished. Lister’s eyes sparkled; he wore the stamp of strength and confidence.

“I doubted if my step-father would bring me, but I really meant to come,” she said. “For one thing, I wanted to ask you–“

She hesitated, for it was hard to strike the right note. She had begun to see there was something exciting and perhaps heroic about the adventure. The handful of men had undertaken a big thing; there was much against them, and daunting risks must be run. Moreover, she had studied Cartwright and remarked the anxiety he thought he had hid. Cartwright was rather inscrutable, but sympathy had given her power to understand. She thought he was engaged in a reckless gamble and could not afford to lose.

“Whatever you want–” Lister declared, but she stopped him.

“I want you to do your best.”

“You can reckon on that, anyhow! Cartwright has hired me; I’m his man.”

Barbara smiled. “Yes; I know! You’re honest and will do all you engaged; but in a sense, this is not enough. I want you to make an extra effort, because–“

She paused and the blood came to her skin when she went on: “You see, it’s important you should float the wreck and bring her home. It means much to my step-father; very much, I think. He’s kind and I love him. I feel I ought to help.”

Lister saw her statement was significant, and her embarrassment indicated that she knew it was so. In fact, she had admitted that she knew he would, for her sake, use all his powers. He was moved, but he was not a fool. The girl, wearing her costly furs, looked rich and dignified; he was a working engineer and conscious of his greasy clothes. He loved her, but for a time he must be cautious. To begin with, he would not have her think he made a claim.

“You’re not very logical,” he replied carelessly. “When I took the job I undertook to earn my pay. Cartwright sends me off to float the wreck, and if it’s possible, I must make good.”

“I am logical,” Barbara declared, while her color came and went. “One thinks one does one’s best, but sometimes when the strain comes, one can do better. It really isn’t ridiculous! Emotion, sentiment, give one extra force–” She stopped and resumed in a strangely gentle voice: “You are young, and if you don’t make good it won’t hurt very much. Mr. Cartwright’s old; he can’t try again. Then he’s not my step-father only. He’s my friend, and I know he trusts you. For his sake, I must be frank–I trust you!”

Lister smiled, but his voice betrayed him, although he thought he used control.

“Very well! If it’s possible for flesh and blood, we’ll bring _Arcturus_ home. That’s all. The thing’s done with.”

She gave him her hand, and kept the glove with the dark grease stain. Then, seeing there was no more to be said, she looked about. Ragged clouds rolled up from the Southwest, and the disturbed swell that splashed about the dock gates indicated wind down channel. A shower beat upon the engine skylights and Barbara moved beneath the bridge. A great rope rose out of the water as the men at the winch hauled up the clumsy hulk. Two or three others, dragging a thin, stiff wire rope, floundered unsteadily across the deck.

“They look rough, and they’re not very sober,” Barbara remarked.

Lister laughed. “They’re frankly drunk! A pretty hard crowd, but Brown and I have handled a hard crowd before. In fact, I reckon Cartwright has got the proper men for the job.”

“Captain Brown is like them,” said Barbara, thoughtfully. “You are not.”

“You haven’t seen me hustling round when things go wrong.”

“I saw you throw a man out of the engine-room not long since!”

“With a gang like ours, one must prove one’s claim to be boss at the start. Anyhow, there are different kinds of wastrels, and the fellow who gets on a jag at intervals is often a pretty good sort. The wastrel one has no use for is the fellow who keeps it up. But I see Mr. Cartwright coming and mustn’t philosophize.”

A gateman on the pierhead began to shout to the captain, and Cartwright gave Lister his hand.

“They are waiting for you and we must get ashore,” he said. “Well, I’ve given you and Brown a big job, but I expect you’ll see me out.”

“We’ll put in all we’ve got, sir,” said Lister quietly.

Cartwright nodded, as if he were satisfied, and touched Barbara, who turned and gave Lister a smile.

“Good luck!” she said, and following Cartwright, went up the steps in the wall.

She thought it significant Cartwright had left her for some time and had given Lister a quick, searching glance. Lister had said nothing about their talk and his promise; she had known he would not do so. Yet this was not because he was clever. He had a sort of instinctive fastidiousness. She liked his reply to Cartwright; he _would_ put in all he had got, and a man like that had much. Fine courage, resolution and staunch loyalty.

When Barbara reached the pierhead, _Terrier’s_ engines began to throb. The propeller churned the green water, and the tug bumped against the wall. Gatemen shouted, the big tow-rope splashed and tightened with a jerk, and the hulk began to move. Then the tug’s bow crept round the corner and swung off from the gates. The engine throbbed faster, and a blast of the whistle echoed about the warehouses. Brown waved his cap and signed to a man in the pilot-house. The hulk swung round in a wide sweep, and the adventurous voyage had begun.

_Terrier_, steaming across the strong current, looked small and dingy; when she rolled as the helm went over, the swell washed her low bulwarks. She got smaller, until a rain squall blew across from the Cheshire side and she melted into the background of dark water and smoke. Barbara felt strangely forlorn, and it was some relief when Cartwright touched her arm and they set off along the wall.

After the rain the wind freshened, and when Brown steamed out from the river, a confused sea rolled across the shoals. The light was not good, but a double row of buoys led out to sea, the ebb-tide was running, and _Terrier_ made good progress. She shipped no water yet, and the hulk lurched along without much strain on the rope. The rope was fastened to a massive iron hook and ran across a curved wooden horse at the tug’s stern. Sometimes it slipped along the horse and tightened with a bang, for the clumsy hulk sheered about. When her stern went up one saw an indistinct figure holding the wheel.

When they passed the Bar Lightship, Lister climbed to the bridge and for a few minutes looked about. The plunging red hull to starboard was the last of the Mersey marks, for the North-West ship was hidden by low clouds. Ahead the angry gray water was broken by streaks of foam. _Terrier_ rolled and quivered when her bows smashed a sea, and showers of spray beat like hail against the screens on the bridge.

“She’s loggish,” Brown remarked. “If you don’t burn up that coal soon, she’ll wash it off. Looks like a dirty night, and I’m pushing across for Lynas Point. With the wind at south-west, I want to get under the Anglesey coast. There’ll be some sea in the channel when we open up Holyhead.”

“The boat’s good,” said Lister. “Engines a bit neglected, but they’re running smooth and cool, and she has power to shove her along. Cartwright has an eye for a useful craft.”

Brown nodded. “The old fellow has an eye for all that’s useful; I reckon he sees farther than any man I know. There’s something encouraging about this, because the job he’s given us looks tough–“

He stopped, for the tow-rope slipped noisily across the horse. There was a clang of iron as the hook took the strain, and the captain frowned. “That hulk is going to bother us before very long.”

Lister seized the slanted rails. The lightship had vanished, but a bright beam pierced the haze astern. Ahead the sea was empty; gray water rolled beneath low and ragged clouds. Spray flew about the plunging bows, and the tug rolled uneasily. Lister turned and left the bridge, but stopped for a few moments at the engine-room door. Barbara had stood just opposite, where the iron funnel-stay ran down. Her rich furs gave her girlish figure a touch of dignity, the color was in her face, and her eyes shone.

Lister knew the picture would haunt him, and he would come to the engine door to recapture it when he needed bracing. He would need bracing, for there were obstacles ahead, but he had promised Barbara to help Cartwright out. Stepping across the ledge to a slippery platform, he went below.

PART III–THE BREAKING STRAIN

CHAPTER I

THE FIRST STRUGGLE

The engine-room floor-plates slanted, and light and shadow played about the throbbing machinery. It looked as if the lamps swung in a semicircle, but they did not. All else slanted at an ever-changing angle; the swiveled lamps were still. Overhead the dark and bulky cylinders cut against the reflected glimmer on the skylights; below, valve-gear and connecting-rod flashed across the gloom, and the twinkling cranks spun in their shallow pit. One saw the big columns shake and strain as the crosshead shot up and down; the thrust-blocks groaned with the back push of the propeller.

A door in the bulkhead was open, and now and then a blaze from the stokehold lighted the engine-room. Shovels clanged and the thud of a hammer jarred upon the throb of machinery. Men moved about like ghosts.