"I am busy now, Captain Seagrave; but I'll see about sending down to the
ship."
"And when must we sail?"
"I'll have the papers ready for you to-morrow."
"Very well, I may not see you again. I always feel like that when I
leave London in the 'Golden Land,'" said Job, with which parting shot he
stalked out of the office.
He sent a telegram to Jack Redland to Brighton, and received a reply to
the effect that he would be on board the next day.
"That's business," said Job as he read it.
He did not leave the ship again, and the following morning the chief
officer put his head in at the door of his cabin and said--
"It's come, sir."
"What's come?" asked Job.
"The consignment from the office."
"Good lord, you don't say so. What is it?"
"Cases. Tinned stuff and bottled stuff."
Captain Seagrave went out to inspect.
Piled up on the deck were over a dozen cases, and his practised eye saw
at a glance they were of the right sort.
"Any message with them?"
"None, except that they were sent with Mr. Sharp's compliments to
Captain Seagrave. How did you work it?" asked Slack.
"I gave him a pretty lively half hour. I reckon he'll not be sorry when
we are at sea. I told him I had made my will, and left a written
statement behind as to the state of the 'Golden Land.'"
Sam Slack laughed heartily.
"How did he take it?" he asked.
"Solemnly, he didn't care for the medicine."
"And I got a fiver out of him. Skipper, something's going to happen.
Sharp's been converted."
"Perhaps he has; but he'll be no credit to the sect he patronises.
They'll have to lock up the collection boxes pretty quick."
The chief engineer walked solemnly round the cases as he saw them on
deck.
"Where are these from?"
"The office."
"Is it rat poison?"
"No, it's a present from Sharp to the skipper."
Mac sat down; the blow was too much for him.
"A present from the office?" he said slowly. "You're certain it's not
explosives?"
"She'll go down soon enough without any assistance of that kind," said
the chief officer.
"Does he know about it?" and he pointed towards the captain's cabin.
"Oh, yes; he worked the oracle yesterday."
"He actually pumped some of the milk of human kindness into Sharp's
wretched body?"
"That is so."
"Then I'll go and shake hands with him," said Mac, and went to the
cabin. He stood looking at the skipper solemnly, and Job said--
"What is it, Mac?"
"I want to shake hands with you, captain. I'll consider it an honour."
The skipper held out his hand, wondering what it was all about.
"I congratulate you," said Mac. "I did not think any man breathing could
have done it."
"Done what?" asked Job.
"Tapped Sharp," said Mac, as he walked quietly away, and Job Seagrave
roared with laughter.