The _West Wind's_ crew arrived in Halifax on a Monday morning at the
end of September to attend the inquiry, and the evidence was given by
both sides. The Greeks had no case. It was proved that they were
navigating at full speed in a dense fog; that a proper look-out was
not kept; and that sound signals were not given at the intervals
required by the International Rules of the Road for navigation "in
fog, mist, snow or heavy rainstorms." The Court severely condemned the
absolute disregard for Articles 15 and 16 of the Rules, and the
Commissioner was most scathing in his remarks regarding the conduct of
the Greeks in running away from the vicinity after sinking the
schooner. To the Greek master and watch-officers he said, "Your conduct
on this occasion was such as to merit for you the scorn and contempt
of all seafarers, and your action can only be characterized as one of
the most despicable cowardice. If this Court had power to deal with
your certificates, we would have no hesitation in cancelling for all
time that of the master, and the second and fourth mates, in order
that such callous brutes may never hold a position of responsibility
at sea again; as it is, a copy of this judgment will be handed to the
Grecian Consul!" The _West Wind_ secured a judgment against the
_Livadia_, and the Greeks left the Court Room amidst the hisses of the
spectators. An Admiralty Court action for damages was immediately
entered by the owners and crew of the fishing schooner, and the
skipper remarked to Donald, "We'll win our case. You can go over to
Glasgow naow an' bring your mother aout. I'll have a berth in my West
Indiaman for you when you get back."
That evening after supper at their hotel, the skipper and Donald went
to the Stuart home to call on Helena and Ruth. Judson had telephoned
earlier in the day that they would be around, and McKenzie was wildly
excited at the thought of seeing Ruth once more. With his new suit on,
he felt more presentable, though he was not altogether pleased with
the cut of the garment, nor the pattern. The collar did not "sit"
nicely and the coat sleeves reached the knuckles of his hands. The
pants seemed horribly wide, and they had a loose feeling around the
waist. Mrs. Nickerson had spoken of their roominess as just the thing
for a growing lad, but then the dear old lady did not know that the
"growing lad" was in love, and therefore more than usually fastidious
and critical of personal appearance. The pattern--a pepper and salt
effect--gave Donald the creeps to look at it, but there was one thing
in the outfit's favor, and that was the strength and durability of the
cloth. As Donald soliloquised, "This suit was built--not tailored.
They sewed it with sail-twine and lined and stiffened it with
double-ought storm canvas. It would make a grand sail when everything
else blew away!" After numerous surveys in the mirror, straightenings
of tie and collar, and buttonings and unbuttonings of the coat and
vest, the skipper remarked with a grin, "Oh, you'll do, Donny-boy!
With that rig on, you look as handsome as a silver dollar on a Swede's
pants, or a monkey's eye in a frying-pan. Anybody that walks aout with
you naow sh'd be as proud as a dog with two tails. Knock off yer
glass-goggling and we'll git along!" And blushing self-consciously,
Donald followed him--inwardly condemning the fit and texture of his
gift suit.
The Stuarts lived in a fine house not far from the Public Gardens, and
when the skipper rang the bell, Donald gave his drooping sleeves a
hitch up and patted the recalcitrant collar into place. A maid
answered the door and ushered them into a parlor. Judson was
perfectly at ease. Donald, who ought to have felt at home in such
surroundings, sat on a spider-legged gilt chair feeling awkward and
out of place.
A rustle of skirts, a ripple of laughter, and Helena and Ruth entered
the room. McKenzie's heart leaped and he rose to his feet, and while
Ruth was greeting her brother with hugs and kisses, Helena, looking
particularly charming and attractive, walked over to him. "I'm so glad
to see you again, Donald," she said sweetly. "And you're not looking
any the worse for your shipwreck out on the Banks." She shook hands
and turned to the skipper, "And how is Captain Judson?" And the two of
them drew away to a corner sofa, leaving Ruth standing before
McKenzie.
She had her dark hair coiled up and wore a dress of some pink silky
material, which showed her slim girlish figure to advantage. There was
a soft rose blush in her cheeks and her blue eyes sparkled as she
advanced to Donald, but he, with the critical discernment of the
love-lorn, thought there was a hint of coldness in her gaze. It might
have been reserve. "And how are you, _Mister_ McKenzie?" she enquired
calmly. Donald mentally winced at the _Mister_, and instinctively felt
the reserve, the chill--just a suspicion of it--in her voice and
manner. He clasped her hand warmly and inclined his head with a
courteous gesture. "I'm very well--Ruth," he answered quietly, "and
you?" He raised his large dark eyes to her face and continued, "I
needn't ask for my sight tells me you're the picture of health."
Mentally he added, "And lovelier than ever!"
She sat down in a chair near-by and Donald admired the ease and grace
with which she walked. He was keen to notice all the little traits and
points in her carriage and manner and in the sedate environment of the
Stuart home, it was evident that Ruth had adopted her "city manners"
in dress and actions. They murmured a few commonplaces about the
weather, while McKenzie noticed that she had small neat feet and wore
white silk stockings and fine kid dancing slippers. He liked to see a
girl attired in nice frocks and "things" feminine, fluffy, soft,
silky and lacey, but Scotch-like, he mentally figured the cost and
wondered when he would earn enough to provide a wife with the articles
he would like to see her clothed in.
"You had quite a mishap out on the Banks, I hear," she observed,
leaning back and gazing at him with steady eyes. McKenzie imagined she
was looking critically at his suit and he hitched the sleeves up off
his knuckles before he replied. "Yes! It was quite a smash-up. It
might have been worse if we'd all been aboard the schooner. McGlashan
regrets losing an alarm clock and a fine chowder which he was cooking
at the time--" He smiled as Ruth laughed and revealed her white, even
teeth. The ice seemed to be broken by his remark, and soon the pair
were chatting away and rivalling the skipper and Helena, who were
conversing most earnestly.
They talked about Eastville, and Donald told of his renting a house
for his mother, and how he hoped to be leaving Halifax that week to
bring her out to Canada. Ruth nodded interestedly and asked many
questions, but not once during her conversation did she address him as
"Donald," and the youth puzzled his brains to account for this sudden
formality. Was she trying to keep their intimacy upon the plane of
"merely friends and nothing more"? Donald worried.
"Do you intend to remain at the fishing?" she asked. Something in the
tone of her voice lent moment to the question.
"Yes!" replied the other. "I'm in it now, and I intend to make it my
work. I like the life. It's full of interest and every day brings
something new. Your fishermen are splendid chaps and dandy shipmates,
and these fishing schooners are wonderful vessels--comfortable and
seaworthy. I hope I shall be skipper of one by the time I'm
twenty-one."
"It's a hard life and a dangerous life though," said the girl, with a
far-away look in her blue eyes. "It must be awful to be a fisherman's
wife. In those terrible winter gales ... a lot of fishermen are
drowned. Just think what might have happened on Juddy's boat if that
collision had occurred at night and you were all in bed. A good many
of you would have been drowned. We've had accidents of that sort
before in Eastville ships and I know--" She shuddered half-fearfully.
"You can get drowned on other craft besides fishermen," observed
Donald. "I'll bet there are as many people killed in Halifax in a year
as there are drownings from vessels on the Banks. There's a good many
fishermen out there at times--Lunenburg has twenty-five hundred men in
her fleet alone--and look at the crowds from Gloucester, Boston,
Newfoundland, France and other places." He regarded her intently and
gave his creeping cuffs another upward hitch.
"That may be so, Mr. McKenzie," said Ruth decidedly, "but if the
fishermen do not worry, their women do. I'd go crazy if I had a
husband out at sea in those fogs and cyclones. It's bad enough to have
Juddy in that risky, messy business, but a husband--?" She closed her
eyes for a moment, while Donald stared at her with a strange tremor in
his breast. It was as though he had received a blow and the
impressions left by her words were painful. If he were to be at all
favored by Ruth's heart and hand, it was evident that he would have to
change his profession, unless she changed her views.
They chatted on other subjects for a while and McKenzie noticed that
his companion was glancing every now and again at the ormolu clock on
the mantel, and when she answered his questions she seemed abstracted
and her remarks were terse and spoken in a manner which betokened that
she was forcing the conversation. A ring came at the door-bell, and as
the maid pattered down the hall to answer it, Ruth sat up in her chair
and straightened out her frock. "She's expecting someone," mentally
surmised McKenzie, and his spirits dropped a shade when he heard a
male voice speaking to the maid. Helena looked over at Ruth with a
knowing smile. "That's Walter, I guess!" she whispered, and Miss
Nickerson colored a trifle and looked expectantly at the door of the
room.
The male voice spoke in the hall. "Miss Nickahson's in the pawloh,
eh?" and they all rose as a young man about twenty entered the room.
He was an athletic-looking fellow, dressed in the height of fashion,
and he wore a striped tie and clothes of a cut much affected by
college students. His sandy hair was long and parted in the middle; he
had blue eyes, teeth with much gold filling in them, and a face which
was clear-skinned, regular and good-looking. Smiling, he advanced to
Miss Nickerson and extended a white, well-manicured hand. "Good
evening, Ruth," he said breezily, "and how do I find you to-night?"
The girl took his hand and murmured something while the color deepened
in her cheeks. The visitor then wheeled and greeted Helena, who
introduced Judson and Donald. "I'm happy to meet you, Captain! How do,
McKenzie!" he drawled in the stilted English of certain Haligonians
who endeavor to ape the style and accent of the Naval Dock-yard and
Garrison fops. The skipper gave him a sharp, keen, appraising glance
and Donald could note a hostile light in Judson's eyes.
Mr. Walter Moodey strode lightly across the room and, drawing a chair
with him, sat down alongside Miss Nickerson. After pulling up his
immaculately creased pants and revealing a fancy colored sock above
sharp-toed shoes, he leaned towards the girl in a cool, self-possessed
manner. "Have you rested up since the dawnce the otha' night?" And the
two were soon engaged in bubbling reminiscences, while Donald sat
quiet and with a complacent look on his face which did not accord with
the feeling in his breast. At last, Ruth, conscious of her neglect,
turned to him with an effort to include him in the conversation. "Mr.
McKenzie is going over to Scotland this week to bring his mother out
to Canada," she said. "Now, isn't he a good boy?"
Mr. Moodey endeavored to look interested. His keen eyes rambled over
Donald's clothes, and conscious of the scrutiny, McKenzie squirmed in
his chair and hitched his sleeves up. "Ah, really!" He pronounced it
"rully." "Going ovah in the _Sardonia_, Mistah? She sails for Glasgow
this week." Donald gave him a clear-eyed gaze. "I don't know what ship
I'm going on," he answered.
"You haven't booked your passage yet? Bettah hurry--all the ships are
full--"
"Are you going as a passenger?" queried Ruth absently.
McKenzie reddened slightly. "No! I'm shipping before the mast if I can
get a chance," he answered calmly.
Moodey's eyebrows went up. "Oh!" He pronounced it "Ow!" "I see! You're
a sailoh then I take it?"
"I'm a fisherman," said Donald bluntly. Judson on the sofa with Helena
was listening intently while carrying on a tête-à-tête with his fair
companion.
"Oh, really!" The eyebrows went up still further and McKenzie thought
Mr. Moodey was about to hold his nose. His manicured fingers did lift
towards his face, but he changed his mind and pulled a silk
handkerchief out of his sleeve and carefully smoothed his hair back
from his forehead. "You ketch cods and kippahs and all that sort of
thing, do you? Out on the Banks, eh? It must be an awfully jolly life
pulling nets all day long--makes one think of the Apostles, eh,
what?--but it's such a messy, smelly one, I should imagine, eh?"
"We don't pull nets," said Donald a mite aggressively. "We use hooks
and lines."
"Quite so! Quite so!" returned Moodey unabashed. "I forgot ... cods.
Good money in cods, McKenzie?" There was a tone in his voice that
Donald did not like, nor Judson either. The latter had been listening
to the conversation and he wheeled around from Helena and observed in
a steely significant voice, "You sh'd know that, Moodey. Your old
gran'pop made all his little whack on the fishflakes. Many a cod the
ol' man split, salted an' turned on the flakes himself, and a terror
to bargain was the same Salt Hake Moodey. Useter cut th' whiskers off
the hakes an' try an' pass 'em off as cod-fish--" Both Moodey and Ruth
were fidgetting, and Helena, sensing something, rose and beckoned to
Donald. "Come on, Don! Let's have some music."
They spent some time at the piano playing and singing together. Mr.
Moodey exhibited some surprise at McKenzie's talents at first, but
latterly slid back in his chair with an air of boredom. They were
singing old songs and Walter did not care much for them, though Ruth
was listening with appreciation, and several times when he started to
speak, she held up her hand for silence.
"I say, old chap," he said to Donald at the conclusion of a piece,
"cawn't you give us something with a little life to it? That old
fire-side and heart-throb stuff is awfully depressing, don't y' know?
Give us some musical comedy or light opera stuff--but, I don't suppose
you know anything in that line?" The slight, and possibly
unintentional, sarcastic note in his voice when he spoke the last
words annoyed Donald. He would show this Halifax fop that a fisherman
wasn't necessarily a creature without culture or education, and when
it came down to playing and singing snatches from musical comedies or
operas--Huh! he had possibly seen and heard more of them in Glasgow
than Moodey ever knew existed.
"What'll you have? What do you know?" queried Donald calmly, without
turning from the piano. "_Florodora?_ _San Toy?_ _The Geisha?_
_Mikado?_ _The Cingalee?_ _Pinafore?_"
Walter's expressive eyebrows went up. "Oh, you do know something in
that line? How odd. Let's see--! Give us that snappy thing from
_Pinafore_! It's called 'Tell me, pretty maiden, are there any more at
home like you?'" A snort of disgust was barely stifled by Judson, and
without a smile on his face, Donald remarked, "That's from
_Florodora_!" And he played the song from memory while Helena sang.
For a while he remained at the piano running off several well-known
pieces, and occasionally he carolled the words. He was playing and
singing for a purpose. He wanted to show Mr. Moodey--whom he looked
upon as a rival for the affections of Ruth Nickerson--that he was
quite at home in the culture that was supposed to be Mr. Moodey's, and
he also wanted to impress Ruth that Mr. Moodey had nothing on him when
it came to social accomplishments. Were it not for the wretched
clothes he was wearing and which had taken a lot of his self-assurance
away from him, he could have crossed swords with the other youth in
anything.
Ruth was warming up to him again, and several times she asked him to
sing and play pieces which she selected from Helena's music cabinet,
and Donald played them with a great deal of pleasure. Mr. Moodey's
star was going down a little and he knew it, and Donald knew it. Both
youths were carrying on a subtle duel of wits which the girls were not
aware of, though Judson, keen judge of human nature that he was,
reclined on the sofa lazily and mentally seconded and applauded his
young protégé.
When Donald had played a number of pieces--purposely working in
snatches from "Il Trovatore," the sextette from "Lucia" and other
well-known airs popular among people who appreciate real music--Ruth
called to him. "Come over and have a rest, Donald," she said sweetly.
"You've been doing the lion's share of the entertaining and we've
enjoyed it immensely. I cannot understand how you can play so well
from memory and with such little practice, and it is too bad that your
talents should be lost to your friends by your going off to sea for
the best part of your life." She gave him an admiring glance from her
blue eyes and McKenzie felt very happy. His little bit of "swank" was
evidently worth the effort, for she had called him by his first name
again, and his youthful heart fluttered. Moodey was quick to note the
familiar appellation too, and he felt that he must do something to
pull his stock up to par.
"Er--Ruth," he said. "You're coming down to the game to-morrow
afternoon, aren't you? We're playing Acadiaville for the championship
and it'll be a tough game to-morrow afternoon, aren't you? We're
playing ball, McKenzie?"
"I used to play a bit while at school in Scotland."
"Rugby?"
"No! Soccer--Association."
"Oh," Walter gave a half-sneer. "That's a kid's game. We play Rugby."
Miss Nickerson interposed. "You know, Donald, Mr. Moodey here is a
great athlete. He is captain of the college team and immensely popular
here in Halifax. He is what they call a 'grid-iron hero'."
"A grid-iron?" The term puzzled Donald. "That's what they use in
cooking. Nothing to do with eating, has it?"
Ruth laughed and Moodey looked dark. "A grid-iron," he explained,
frostily, "is a slang term for a football ground. It is marked out in
squares like a grid-iron." And as Ruth was still laughing, he gave
Donald a look which gave him a hint of the "hero's" feelings towards
him.
Mr. Moodey was now launched into a subject in which he could shine,
and he commanded Ruth's attention for several minutes telling her of
past games, the prospects for the morrow, and a good deal of his talk
centered around his own personal prowess. "I'm in great shape now," he
observed. "I've trained down until I'm as hard as nails." He raised
his right arm and flexed his biceps. "Feel that, Ruth! Hard, isn't
it?" Ruth felt. "Oh, it certainly is hard!" she exclaimed. "You must
be strong, Walter. Just feel his muscle, Donald!" There was a merry
twinkle in her eye when she made the request. Donald, feeling rather
nauseated at Moodey's brag, gave the muscle a squeeze with his fingers
which caused Walter to wince a trifle. A sailor's grip, with fingers
toughened by canvas clawing and rope hauling, is not to be despised,
and McKenzie purposely gave the "grid-iron hero" a hard nip and Moodey
felt that he would like to get McKenzie where he could hit him for it.
Totally unconscious of the veiled hostility between the two, Ruth
chattered away, addressing her talk to both. When Donald spoke to
Moodey he was icily polite; when Moodey passed remarks to Donald, they
were thinly sarcastic and he, on occasions, introduced a nasty trick
of imitating McKenzie's slightly Scotch accent. Had the circumstances
been otherwise, Donald would not have taken any notice, but when these
conversational shots occurred, the young sailor felt like giving the
college man something more painful than the retort courteous. With the
two youths playing a dual role, the evening passed until Helena, who
had been holding an earnest colloquy with the skipper, cried out, "Did
you know that, Ruthie? Judson tells me that Donald saved his life when
the steamer ran them down. They were in the water for an hour." Ruth's
fine eyes flashed to Donald's face and there was an expression of
surprise and fear in their blue depths. He flushed and squirmed on his
chair and shot the creeping sleeves up again as Moodey drawled, with
another eye-brow raising, "Oh, really!"
"He sure did," vouchsafed Judson. "If it wasn't for him I wouldn't be
here now. You can thank him, Ruth, that your dear brother is not
feeding the fish on Quero Bank this night, for I was nearly a goner."
The girl glanced from McKenzie to her brother with a strange look on
her face. "I--I didn't know there was anything like this in your
accident," she said quiveringly. "I--I thought you were all picked up
in your dories a few minutes after the collision. That's what you
said, Juddy. You said it was nothing--"
"Juddy evidently didn't tell you the whole story," interrupted Helena.
"He has just been telling me how Donald swam about in the sea and
found him just as he was going under, and held him up and eventually
got him over to a spar and upon it. They were both thrown into the sea
by the steamer's bow and had a dreadfully narrow escape."
Ruth remained speechless for a moment, as if trying to comprehend it
all, then she gave McKenzie a most expressive glance--a look of
unspoken thankfulness--and she leaned forward and murmured softly to
him, "I don't know what to say, Donald, but--we'll talk about it
again." And the youth blushed still redder, felt hot, and to cover his
confusion, patted the recalcitrant coat collar into place.
Mr. Moodey, after a period of silence, cleared his throat. "You're a
swimmah, McKenzie?" he enquired.