Kitabı oku: «The Pagan Madonna», sayfa 7
They did not see the arch rogue during the day, but he came in to dinner. He was gay – in a story-telling mood. There was little or no banter, for he spoke only to Jane, and gave her flashes of some of his amazing activities in search of art treasures. He had once been chased up and down Japan by the Mikado’s agents for having in his possession some royal-silk tapestry which it is forbidden to take out of the country. Another time he had gone into Tibet for a lama’s ghost mask studded with raw emeralds and turquoise, and had suffered untold miseries in getting down into India. Again he had entered a Rajput haremlik as a woman, and eventually escaped with the fabulous rug which hung in the salon. Adventure, adventure, and death always at his elbow! There was nothing of the braggart in the man; he recounted his tales after the manner of a boy relating some college escapades, deprecatingly.
Often Jane stole a glance at one or the other of the Cleighs. She was constantly swung between – but never touched – the desire to laugh and the desire to weep over this tragedy, which seemed so futile.
“Why don’t you write a book about these adventures?” she asked.
“A book? No time,” said Cunningham. “Besides, the moment one of these trips is over it ends; I can recount it only sketchily.”
“But even sketchily it would be tremendously interesting. It is as if you were playing a game with death for the mere sport of it.”
“Maybe that hits it, though I’ve never stopped to analyze. I never think of death; it is a waste of gray matter. I should be no nearer death in Tibet than I should be asleep in a cradle. Why bother about the absolute, the inevitable? Humanity wears itself out building bridges for imaginary torrents. I am an exception; that is why I shall be young and handsome up to the moment the grim stalker puts his claw on my shoulder.”
He smiled whimsically.
“But you, have you never caught some of the passion for possessing rare paintings, rugs, manuscripts?”
“You miss the point. What does the sense of possession amount to beside the sense of seeking and finding? Cleigh here thinks he is having a thrill when he signs a check. It is to laugh!”
“Have you ever killed a man?” It was one of those questions that leap forth irresistibly. Jane was a bit frightened at her temerity.
Cunningham drank his coffee deliberately.
“Yes.”
“Oh!”
Jane shrank back a little.
“But never willfully,” Cunningham added – “always in self-defence, and never a white man.”
There was a peculiar phase about the man’s singular beauty. Animated, it was youthful; in grim repose, it was sad and old.
“Death!” said Jane in a kind of awed whisper. “I have watched many die, and I cannot get over the terror of it. Here is a man with all the faculties, physical and mental; a human being, loving, hating, working, sleeping; and in an instant he is nothing!”
“A Chinaman once said that the thought of death is as futile as water in the hand. By the way, Cleigh – and you too, captain – give the wireless a wide berth. There’s death there.”
Jane saw the fire opals leap into the dark eyes.
CHAPTER XIII
The third day out they were well below Formosa, which had been turned on a wide arc. The sea was blue now, quiescent, waveless; there was only the eternal roll. Still Jane could not help comparing the sea with the situation – the devil was slumbering. What if he waked?
Time after time she tried to force her thoughts into the reality of this remarkable cruise, but it was impossible. Romance was always smothering her, edging her off, when she approached the sinister. Perhaps if she had heard ribald songs, seen evidence of drunkenness; if the crew had loitered about and been lacking in respect, she would have been able to grasp the actuality; but so far the idea persisted that this could not be anything more than a pleasure cruise. Piracy? Where was it?
So she measured her actions accordingly, read, played the phonograph, went here and there over the yacht, often taking her stand in the bow and peering down the cutwater to watch the antics of some humorous porpoise or to follow the smother of spray where the flying fish broke. In fact, she conducted herself exactly as she would have done on board a passenger ship. There were moments when she was honestly bored.
Piracy! This was an established fact. Cunningham and his men had stepped outside the pale of law in running off with the Wanderer. But piracy without drunken disorder, piracy that wiped its feet on the doormat and hung its hat on the rack! There was a touch of the true farce in it. Hadn’t Cunningham himself confessed that the whole affair was a joke?
Round two o’clock on the afternoon of the third day Jane, for the moment alone in her chair, heard the phonograph – the sextet from Lucia. She left her chair, looked down through the open transom and discovered Dennison cranking the machine. He must have seen her shadow, for he glanced up quickly.
He crooked a finger which said, “Come on down!” She made a negative sign and withdrew her head.
Here she was again on the verge of wild laughter. Donizetti! Pirates! Glass beads for which Cleigh had voyaged sixteen thousand miles! A father and son who ignored each other! She choked down this desire to laugh, because she was afraid it might end suddenly in hysteria and tears. She returned to her chair, and there was the father arranging himself comfortably. He had a book.
“Would you like me to read a while to you?” she offered.
“Will you? You see,” he confessed, “I’m troubled with insomnia. If I read by myself I only become interested in the book, but if someone reads aloud it makes me drowsy.”
“As a nurse I’ve done that hundreds of times. But frankly, I can’t read poetry; I begin to sing-song it at once; it becomes rime without reason. What is the book?”
Cleigh extended it to her. The moment her hands touched the volume she saw that she was holding something immeasurably precious. The form was unlike the familiar shapes of modern books. The covers consisted of exquisitely hand-tooled calf bound by thongs; there was a subtle perfume as she opened them. Illuminated vellum. She uttered a pleasurable little gasp.
“The Song of Songs, which is Solomon’s,” she read.
“Fifteenth century – the vellum. The Florentine covers were probably added in the seventeenth. I have four more downstairs. They are museum pieces, as we say.”
“That is to say, priceless?”
“After a fashion.”
“‘Many waters cannot quench love, neither can the floods drown it; if a man would give all the substance of his house for love, it would utterly be contemned!’”
“Why did you select that?”
“I didn’t select it; I remembered it – because it is true.”
“You have a very pleasant voice. Go on – read.”
Thus for an hour she read to him, and by the time she grew tired Cleigh was sound asleep. The look of granite was gone from his face, and she saw that he, too, had been handsome in his youth. Why had he struck Denny on the mouth? What had the son done so to enrage the father? Some woman! And where had she met the man? Oh, she was certain that she had encountered him before! But for the present the gate to recollection refused to swing outward. Gently she laid the beautiful book on his knees and stole over to the rail. For a while she watched the flying fish.
Then came one of those impulses which keep human beings from becoming half gods – a wrong impulse, surrendered to immediately, unweighed, unanalyzed, unchallenged. The father asleep, the son amusing himself with the phonograph, she was now unobserved by her guardians; and so she put into execution the thought that had been urging and intriguing her since the strange voyage began – a visit to the chart house. She wanted to ask Cunningham some questions. He would know something about the Cleighs.
The port door to the chart house was open, latched back against the side. She hesitated for a moment outside the high-beamed threshold – hesitated because Captain Newton was not visible. The wheelman was alone. Obliquely she saw Cunningham, Cleve, and a third man seated round a table which was littered. This third man sat facing the port door, and sensing her presence he looked up. Rather attractive until one noted the thin, hard lips, the brilliant blue eyes. At the sight of Jane something flitted over his face, and Jane knew that he was bad.
“What’s the matter, Flint?” asked Cunningham, observing the other’s abstraction.
“We have a visitor,” answered Flint.
Cunningham spun his chair round and jumped to his feet.
“Miss Norman? Come in, come in! Anything you need?” he asked with lively interest.
“I should like to ask you some questions, Mr. Cunningham.”
“Oh! Well, if I can answer them, I will.”
He looked significantly at his companions, who rose and left the house by the starboard door.
“They can’t keep away from him, can they?” said Flint, cynically. “Slue-Foot has the come-hither, sure enough. I had an idea she’d be hiking this way the first chance she got.”
“You haven’t the right dope this trip,” replied Cleve. “The contract reads: Hands off women and booze.”
“Psalm-singing pirates! We’ll be having prayers Sunday. But that woman is my style.”
“Better begin digging up a prayer if you’ve got that bug in your head. If you make any fool play in that direction Cunningham will break you. I saw you last night staring through the transom. Watch your step, Flint. I’m telling you.”
“But if she should happen to take a fancy to me, who shall say no?”
“Hate yourself, eh? There was liquor on your breath last night. Did you bring some aboard?”
“What’s that to you?”
“It’s a whole lot to me, my bucko – to me and to the rest of the boys. Cleigh will not prosecute us for piracy if we play a decent game until we raise the Catwick. On old Van Dorn’s tub we can drink and sing if we want to. If Cunningham gets a whiff of your breath, when you’ve had it, you’ll get yours. Most of the boys have never done anything worse than apple stealing. It was the adventure. All keyed up for war and no place to go, and this was a kind of safety valve. Already half of them are beginning to knock in the knees. Game, understand, but now worried about the future.”
“A peg or two before turning in won’t hurt anybody. I’m not touching it in the daytime.”
“Keep away from him when you do – that’s all. We’re depending on you and Cunningham to pull through. If you two get to scrapping the whole business will go blooey. If we play the game according to contract there’s a big chance of getting back to the States without having the sheriff on the dock to meet us. But if you mess it up because an unexpected stroke put a woman on board, you’ll end up as shark bait.”
“Maybe I will and maybe I won’t,” was the truculent rejoinder.
“Lord!” said Cleve, a vast discouragement in his tone. “You lay a course as true and fine as a hair, and run afoul a rotting derelict in the night!”
Flint laughed.
“Oh, I shan’t make any trouble. I’ll say my prayers regular until we make shore finally. The agreement was to lay off the Cleigh booze. I brought on board only a couple of quarts, and they’ll be gone before we raise the Catwick. But if I feel like talking to the woman I’ll do it.”
“It’s your funeral, not mine,” was the ominous comment. “You’ve been on the beach once too often, Flint, to play a game like this straight. But Cunningham had to have you, because you know the Malay lingo. Remember, he isn’t afraid of anything that walks on two feet or four.”
“Neither am I – when I want anything. But glass beads!”
“That was only a lure for Cleigh, who’d go round the world for any curio he was interested in.”
“That’s what I mean. If it were diamonds or pearls or rubies, all well and good. But a string of glass beads! The old duffer is a nut!”
“Maybe he is. But if you had ten or twelve millions, what would you do?”
“Jump for Prome and foot it to the silk bazaar, where there are three or four of the prettiest Burmese girls you ever laid your eyes on. Then I’d buy the Galle Face Hotel in Colombo and close it to the public.”
“And in five years – the old beach again!”
Flint scowled at the oily, heaving rolls, brassy and dazzling. He was bored. For twelve weeks he had circled the dull round of ship routine, with never shore leave that was long enough for an ordinary drinking bout. He was bored stiff. Suddenly his thin lips broke into a smile. Cleve, noting the smile, divined something of the impellent thought behind that smile, and he grew uneasy. He recalled his own expression of a few moments gone – the unreckoned derelict.
“Thank you for coming up,” said Cunningham. “It makes me feel that you trust me.”
“I want to,” admitted Jane.
A disturbing phenomenon. Always there was a quickening of her heart-beats at the beginning of each encounter with this unusual gentleman rover. It was no longer fear. What was it? Was it the face of him, too strong and vital for a woman’s, too handsome for a man’s? Was it his dark, fiery eye which was always reversing what his glib tongue said? Some hidden magnetism? Alone, the thought of him was recurrent, no matter how resolutely she cast it forth. Even now she could not honestly say whether she was here to ask questions of Cunningham or of herself. Perhaps it was because he was the unknown, whereas Denny was for the most part as readable as an open book. The one like the forest stream, sometimes turbulent but always clear; the other like the sea through which they plowed, smooth, secret, ominous.
“Do your guardians know where you are?” – raillery in his voice.
“No. I came to ask some questions.”
“Curiosity. Sit down. What is it you wish to know?”
“All this – and what will be the end?”
“Well, doubtless there will be an end, but I’m not seer enough to foretell it.”
“Then you have some doubts?”
“Only those that beset all of us.”
“But somehow – well, you don’t seem to belong to this sort of game.”
“Why not?”
Unexpectedly he had set a wall between. She had no answer, and her embarrassment was visible on her cheeks.
“Here and there across the world rough men call me Slue-Foot. Perhaps my deformity has reacted upon my soul and twisted that. Perhaps if my countenance had been homely and rugged I would have walked the beaten paths of respectability. But the two together!”
“I’m sorry!”
“A woman such as you are would be. You are a true daughter of the great mother – Pity. But I have never asked pity of any. I have asked only that a man shall keep his word to me as I will keep mine to him.”
“But you are risking your liberty, perhaps your life!”
“I’ve been risking that for more than twenty years. The habit has become normal. All my life I’ve wanted a real adventure.”
She gazed at him in utter astonishment.
“An adventure? Why, you yourself told me that you had risked your life a hundred times!”
“That?” – with a smile and a shrug. “That was business, the day’s work. I mean an adventure in which I am accountable to no man.”
“Only to God?”
“Well, of course, if you want it that way. For myself, I’m something of a pagan. I have dreamed of this day. When you were a little girl didn’t you dream of a wonderful doll that could walk and make almost human noises? Well, I’m realizing my doll. I am going pearl hunting in the South Seas – the thing I dreamed of when I was a boy.”
“But why commit piracy? Why didn’t you hire a steamer?”
“Oh, I must have my joke, too. But I hadn’t counted on you. In every campaign there is the hollow road of Ohain. Napoleon lost Waterloo because of it. Your presence here has forced me to use a hand without velvet. These men expected a little fun – cards and drink; and some of them are grumbling with discontent. But don’t worry. In five days we’ll be off on our own.”
“What is the joke?”
“That will have to wait. For a few minutes I heard you reading to-day. Your voice is like a bell at sea in the evening. ‘Many waters cannot quench love,’” he quoted, the flash of opals in his eyes, though his lips were smiling gently. “The Bible is a wonderful book. Its authors were poets who were not spoiled by the curse of rime. Does it amuse you to hear me talk of the Bible? – an unregenerate scalawag? Well, it is like this: I am something of an authority on illuminated manuscripts. I’ve had to wade through hundreds of them. That is the method by which I became acquainted with the Scriptures. The Song of Songs! Lord love you, if that isn’t pure pagan, what is? I prefer the Proverbs. Ask Cleigh if he has that manuscript with him. It’s in a remarkable state of preservation. Remember? ‘There be three things which are too wonderful for me, yea, four which I know not: The way of an eagle in the air; the way of a serpent upon a rock; the way of a ship in the midst of the sea; and the way of a man with a maid.’ Ask Cleigh to show you that.”
Cleigh! The name swung her back to the original purpose of this visit.
“Do you know the Cleighs well?”
“I know the father. He has the gift of strong men – unforgetting and unforgiving. I know little or nothing about the son, except that he is a chip of the old block. Queer twist in events, eh?”
“Have you any idea what estranged them?”
“Didn’t know they were at outs until the night before we sailed. They don’t speak?”
“No. And it seems so utterly foolish!”
“Cherchez la femme!”
“You believe that was it?”
“It is always so, always and eternally the woman. I don’t mean that she is always to blame; I mean that she is always there – in the background. But you! I say, now, here’s the job for you! Bring them together. That’s your style. For weeks now you three will be together. Within that time you’ll be able to twist both of them round your finger. I wonder if you realize it? You’re not beautiful, but you are something better – splendid. Strong men will always be gravitating toward you, wanting comfort, peace. You’re not the kind that sets men’s hearts on fire, that makes absconders, fills the divorce courts, and all that. You’re like a cool hand on a hot forehead. And you have a voice as sweet as a bell.”
Instinct – the female fear of the trap – warned Jane to be off, but curiosity held her to the chair. She was human; and this flattery, free of any suggestion of love-making, gave her a warming, pleasurable thrill. Still there was a fly in the amber. Every woman wishes to be credited with hidden fires, to possess equally the power to damn men as well as to save them.
“Has there never been – ”
“A woman? Have I not just said there is always a woman?” He was sardonic now. “Mine, seeing me walk, laughed.”
“She wasn’t worth it!”
“No, she wasn’t. But when we are twenty the heart is blind. So Cleigh and the boy don’t speak?”
“Cleigh hasn’t injured you in any way, has he?”
“Injured me? Of course not! I am only forced by circumstance – and an oblique sense of the comic – to make a convenience of him. And by the Lord Harry, it’s up to you to help me out!”
“I?” – bewildered.
CHAPTER XIV
Jane gazed through the doorway at the sea. There was apparently no horizon, no telling where the sea ended and the faded blue of the sky began. There was something about this sea she did not like. She was North-born. It seemed to her that there was really less to fear from the Atlantic fury than from these oily, ingratiating, rolling mounds. They were the Uriah Heep of waters. She knew how terrible they could be, far more terrible than the fiercest nor’easter down the Atlantic. Typhoon! How could a yacht live through a hurricane? She turned again toward Cunningham.
“You are like that,” she said, irrelevantly.
“Like what?”
“Like the sea.”
Cunningham rose and peered under the half-drawn blind.
“That may be complimentary, but hanged if I know! Smooth? – is that what you mean?”
“Kind of terrible.”
He sat down again.
“That rather cuts. I might be terrible. I don’t know – never met the occasion; but I do know that I’m not treacherous. You certainly are not afraid of me.”
“I don’t exactly know. It’s – it’s too peaceful.”
“To last? I see. But it isn’t as though I were forcing you to go through with the real voyage. Only a few days more, and you’ll have seen the last of me.”
“I hope so.”
He chuckled.
“What I meant was,” she corrected, “that nothing might happen, nobody get hurt. Human beings can plan only so far.”
“That’s true enough. Every programme is subject to immediate change. But, Lord, what a lot of programmes go through per schedule! Still, you are right. It all depends upon chance. We say a thing is cut and dried, but we can’t prove it. But so far as I can see into the future, nothing is going to happen, nobody is going to walk the plank. Piracy on a basis of 2.75 per cent. – the kick gone out of it! But if you can bring about the reconciliation of the Cleighs the old boy will not be so keen for chasing me all over the map when this job is done.”
“Will you tell me what those beads are?”
“To be sure I will – all in due time. What does Cleigh call them?”
“Love beads!” scornfully.
“On my solemn word, that’s exactly what they are.”
“Very well. But remember, you promise to tell me when the time comes.”
“That and other surprising things.”
“I’ll be going.”
“Come up as often as you like.”
Cunningham accompanied her to the bridge ladder and remained until she was speeding along the deck; then he returned to his chart. But the chart was no longer able to hold his attention. So he levelled his gaze upon the swinging horizon and kept it there for a time. Odd fancy, picturing the girl on the bridge in a hurricane, her hair streaming out behind her, her fine body leaning on the wind. A shadow in the doorway broke in upon this musing. Cleigh.
“Come in and sit down,” invited Cunningham.
But Cleigh ignored the invitation and stepped over to the steersman.
“Has Miss Norman been in here?”
“Yes, sir.”
“How long was she here?”
“I don’t know, sir; perhaps half an hour.”
Cleigh stalked to the door, but there he turned, and for the first time since Cunningham had taken the yacht Cleigh looked directly, with grim intentness, into his enemy’s eyes.
“Battle, murder, and sudden death!” Cunningham laughed. “You don’t have to tell me, Cleigh! I can see it in your eyes. If Miss Norman wants to come here and ask questions, I’m the last man to prevent her.”
Cleigh thumped down the ladder. Cunningham was right – there was murder in his heart. He hurried into the main salon, and there he found Jane and Dennison conversing.
“Miss Norman, despite my warning you went up to the chart house.”
“I had some questions to ask.”
“I forbid you emphatically. I am responsible for you.”
“I am no longer your prisoner, Mr. Cleigh; I am Mr. Cunningham’s.”
“You went up there alone?” demanded Dennison.
“Why not? I’m not afraid. He will not break his word to me.”
“Damn him!” roared Dennison.
“Where are you going?” she cried, seizing him by the sleeve.
“To have it out with him! I can’t stand this any longer!”
“And what will become of me – if anything happens to you, or anything happens to him? What about the crew if he isn’t on hand to hold them?”
The muscular tenseness of the arm she held relaxed. But the look he gave his father was on a par with that which Cleigh had so recently spent upon Cunningham. Cleigh could not support it, and turned his head aside.
“All right. But mind you keep in sight! If you will insist upon talking with the scoundrel, at least permit me to be within call. What do you want to talk to him for, anyhow?”
“Neither of you will stoop to ask him questions, so I had to. And I have learned one thing. He is going pearl hunting.”
“What? Off the Catwick? There’s no pearl oyster in that region,” Dennison declared. “Either he is lying or the Catwick is a blind. The only chance he’d have would be somewhere in the Sulu Archipelago; and this time of year the pearl fleets will be as thick as flies in molasses. Of course if he is aware of some deserted atoll, why, there might be something in it.”
“Have you ever hunted pearls?”
“In a second-hand sort of way. But if pearls are his game, why commit piracy when he could have chartered a tramp to carry his crew? There’s more than one old bucket hereabouts ready to his hand for coal and stores. He’ll need a shoe spoon to get inside or by the Sulu fleets, since the oyster has been pretty well neglected these five years, and every official pearler will be hiking down there. But it requires a certain amount of capital and a stack of officially stamped paper, and I don’t fancy Cunningham has either.”
Cleigh smiled dryly, but offered no comment. He knew all about Cunningham’s capital.
“Did he say anything about being picked up by another boat?” asked Dennison.
“No,” answered Jane. “But I don’t believe it will be hard for me to make him tell me that. I believe that he will keep his word, too.”
“Jane, he has broken the law of the sea. I don’t know what the penalty is these days, but it used to be hanging to the yard-arm. He won’t be particular about his word if by breaking it he can save his skin. He’s been blarneying you. You’ve let his plausible tongue and handsome face befog you.”
“That is not true!” she flared. Afterward she wondered what caused the flash of perversity. “And I resent your inference!” she added with uplifted chin.
Dennison whirled her about savagely, stared into her eyes, then walked to the companion, up which he disappeared. This rudeness astonished her profoundly. She appealed silently to the father.
“We are riding a volcano,” said Cleigh. “I’m not sure but he’s setting some trap for you. He may need you as a witness for the defense. Of course I can’t control your actions, but it would relieve me immensely if you’d give him a wide berth.”
“He was not the one who brought me aboard.”
“No. And the more I look at it, the more I am convinced that you came on board of your own volition. You had two or three good opportunities to call for assistance.”
“You believe that?”
“I’ve as much right to believe that as you have that Cunningham will keep his word.”
“Oh!” she cried, but it was an outburst of anger. And it had a peculiar twist, too. She was furious because both father and son were partly correct; and yet there was no diminution of that trust she was putting in Cunningham. “Next you’ll be hinting that I’m in collusion with him!”
“No. Only he is an extraordinarily fascinating rogue, and you are wearing the tinted goggles of romance.”
Fearing that she might utter something regrettable, she flew down the port passage and entered her cabin, where she remained until dinner. She spent the intervening hours endeavouring to analyze the cause of her temper, but the cause was as elusive as quicksilver. Why should she trust Cunningham? What was the basis of this trust? He had, as Denny said, broken the law of the sea. Was there a bit of black sheep in her, and was the man calling to it? And this perversity of hers might create an estrangement between her and Denny; she must not let that happen. The singular beauty of the man’s face, his amazing career, and his pathetic deformity – was that it?
“Where’s the captain?” asked Cunningham, curiously, as he noted the vacant chair at the table that night.
“On deck, I suppose.”
“Isn’t he dining to-night?” – an accent of suspicion creeping into his voice. “He isn’t contemplating making a fool of himself, is he? He’ll get hurt if he approaches the wireless.”
“Togo,” broke in Cleigh, “bring the avocats and the pineapple.”
Cunningham turned upon him with a laugh.
“Cleigh, when I spin this yarn some day I’ll carry you through it as the man who never batted an eye. I can see now how you must have bluffed Wall Street out of its boots.”
When Cunningham saw that Jane was distrait he made no attempt to pull her out of it. He ate his dinner, commenting only occasionally. Still, he bade her a cheery good-night as he returned to the chart house, where he stayed continually, never quite certain what old Captain Newton might do to the wheel and the compass if left alone too long.
Dennison came in immediately after Cunningham’s departure and contritely apologized to Jane for his rudeness.
“I suppose I’m on the rack; nerves all raw; tearing me to pieces to sit down and twiddle my thumbs. Will you forgive me?”
“Of course I will! I understand. You are all anxious about me. Theoretically, this yacht is a volcano, and you’re trying to keep me from kicking off the lid. But I’ve an idea that the lid will stay on tightly if we make believe we are Mr. Cunningham’s guests. But it is almost impossible to suspect that anything is wrong. Whenever a member of the crew comes in sight he is properly polite, just as he would be on a liner. If I do go to the bridge again I’ll give you warning. Good-night, Mr. Cleigh, I’ll read to you in the morning. Good-night – Denny.”
Cleigh, sighing contentedly, dipped his fingers into the finger bowl and brushed his lips.
The son drank a cup of coffee hastily, lit his pipe, and went on deck. He proceeded directly to the chart house.
“Cunningham, I’ll swallow my pride and ask a favour of you.”
“Ah!” – in a neutral tone.
“The cook tells me that all the wine and liquor are in the dry-stores compartment. Will you open it and let me chuck the stuff overboard?”
“No,” said Cunningham, promptly. “When I turn this yacht back to your father not a single guy rope will be out of order. It would be a fine piece of work to throw all those rare vintages over the rail simply to appease an unsubstantial fear on your part! No!”
“But if the men should break in? And it would be easy, because it is nearer them than us.”
“Thank your father for building the deck like a city flat. But if the boys should break in, there’s the answer,” said Cunningham, laying his regulation revolver on the chart table. “And every mother’s son of them knows it.”
“You refuse?”
“Yes.”
“All right. But if anything happens I’ll be on top of you, and all the bullets in that clip won’t stop me.”
“Captain, you bore me. Your father and the girl are good sports. You ought to be one. I’ve given you the freedom of the yacht for the girl’s sake when caution bids me dump you into the brig. I begin to suspect that your misfortunes are due to a violent temper. Run along with your thunder; I don’t want you hurt.”
