I SHIP A QUEER PASSENGER
The ship-yards were on this side of the harbor, and presented a busy
scene; for besides our own beautiful _Seagull_, whose hull was now
nearly complete and so graceful in its lines that it attracted the
wondering admiration of every beholder, several other ships were then in
the yards in course of construction.
It was in one of the builders’ offices that I met my father and Mr.
Harlan, and while we were talking a man came in and touched his cap to
us, saying:
“May I speak to Captain Steele?”
He was about thirty years of age, somewhat thin and lank in appearance,
and would have been considered tall had he stood erect instead of
stooping at the shoulders. His face was fine and sensitive in expression
and his eyes were large and gray but dreamy rather than alert. Gray eyes
are usually shrewd; I do not remember ever before seeing so abstracted
and visionary a look except in brown or black ones. The man’s hair was
thick and long and of a light brown—nearly “sandy”—color. He dressed
well but carelessly, and was evidently nervous and in a state of
suppressed excitement when he accosted us. I noticed that his hands were
large and toil-worn, and he clasped and unclasped them constantly as he
looked from one to another of our group.
“I am Captain Steele,” said my father.
“Then, sir, I desire to ask a favor,” was the reply.
“State it, my man.”
“I want you to take me and my automobile with you on your voyage to Los
Angeles.”
Mr. Harlan laughed, and I could not repress a smile myself.
“Then I’m not the Captain Steele you want,” said my father. “This is the
one you must deal with,” pointing his finger in my direction.
The stranger turned, but to my satisfaction seemed in no way surprised
or embarrassed by being confronted with a boy.
“It will be a great favor, sir,” he continued, earnestly. “I beg you
will grant my request.”
“An automobile!” I exclaimed.
“Yes, sir.”
“Your request is unusual,” I said, in order to decline gracefully, for
something about the fellow was strangely appealing. “We are not a
passenger ship, but a slow freighter, and we are bound for a long voyage
around the Horn.”
“Time does not greatly matter,” he murmured. “Only one thing really
matters at all.”
“And that?”
“The expense.”
We stared at him, somewhat perplexed.
“Permit me to explain,” he went on, still gazing at me alone with his
beseeching eyes. “I have invented an automobile—not strictly an
automobile, it is true; but for want of a better name I will call it
that. I have been years experimenting and building it, for it is all the
work of my own hands and the child of my exclusive brain. It is now just
finished—complete in every part—but I find that I have exhausted nearly
every available dollar of my money. In other words, sir, my machine has
bankrupted me.”
He paused, and catching a wink from Mr. Harlan I said in an amused tone:
“That is an old story, sir.”
“You doubt it?”
“No; I mean that it is quite natural.”
“Perhaps,” he replied. “You see I had not thought of money; merely of
success. But now that at last I have succeeded, I find that I have need
of money. My only relative is a rich uncle living at Pasadena,
California, who is so eccentric in his disposition that were I to appeal
to him for money he would promptly refuse.”
“Most rich men have that same eccentricity,” I observed.
“But he is quite a genius commercially, and if he saw my machine I am
confident he would freely furnish the money I require to erect a
manufactory and promote its sale. I assure you, gentlemen,” looking
vaguely around, “that my machine is remarkable, and an original
invention.”
We nodded. There was no object in disputing such a modest statement.
“So I wish to get myself and my automobile to Los Angeles, and at the
least possible expense. The railroads demand a large sum for freight and
fare, and I have not so much money to pay. By accident I learned that
your ship is going to the very port I long to reach, and so I hastened
to appeal to you to take me. I have only two hundred dollars in my
possession—the last, I grieve to say, of my ample inheritance. If you
will carry us for that sum to your destination, I shall indeed be
grateful for the kindness.”
Really, I began to feel sorry for the poor fellow.
“But,” said I, “I cannot possibly take you. We sail this afternoon and
the hatches are all closed and battened down for the voyage.”
“I do not wish the machine put in the hold,” he answered, with strange
eagerness. “All I ask is a spot in which to place it on the
deck—anywhere that will be out of your way. I will make it secure,
myself, and take every care of it, so that it will cause you no trouble
at all.”
“I’m afraid you could not get it to the ship in time.”
“It is already loaded upon a flat-boat, which will take it to the
_Gladys H._ in an hour, once I have your permission.”
I looked at him in astonishment.
“You seem to have considered your request granted in advance,” I
remarked, with some asperity.
“Not that, sir; I am not impertinent, believe me. But I enquired about
Captain Steele and was told that he is a good man and kind. So, that I
might lose no time if I obtained your consent, I had the machine loaded
on the flat-boat.”
Mr. Harlan laughed outright. Acting upon a sudden impulse I turned to
him and said:
“May I decide as I please in this matter?”
“Of course, Sam,” he replied. “It is your affair, not mine.”
I looked at the stranger again. He was actually trembling with anxious
uncertainty.
“Very well,” I announced, “I will take you.”
“For the two hundred dollars?”
“No; I’ll carry you for nothing. You may need that extra money at your
journey’s end.”
He took out his handkerchief and wiped his brow, upon which beads of
perspiration were standing.
“Thank you, sir,” he said, simply.
“But I must warn you of one thing. The bark is not in what we call A-1
condition. If she happens to go to the bottom instead of San Pedro I
won’t be responsible for your precious machine.”
“Very well, sir. I will take as many chances as you do.”
“May I ask your name?”
“Moit, sir; Duncan Moit.”
“Scotch?”
“By ancestry, Captain. American by birth.”
“All right; make haste and get your traps aboard as soon as possible.”
“I will. Thank you, Captain Steele.”
He put on his cap and walked hurriedly away, and when he had gone both
Mr. Harlan and my father rallied me on account of my queer “passenger.”
“He looks to me like a crank, Sam,” said the agent. “But it’s your
fireworks, not mine.”
“Whatever induced you to take him?” Captain Steele enquired,
wonderingly.
“The bare fact that he was so anxious to go,” I replied. “He may be a
crank on the automobile question, and certainly it is laughable to think
of shipping a machine to Los Angeles on a freighter, around the Horn;
but the poor fellow seemed to be a gentleman, and he’s hard up. It
appeared to me no more than a Christian act to help him out of his
trouble.”
“You may be helping him into trouble, if that confounded cargo of yours
takes a notion to shift,” observed my father, with a shake of his
grizzled head.
“But it’s not going to shift, sir,” I declared, firmly. “I’m looking for
good luck on this voyage, and the chances are I’ll find it.”
The agent slapped me on the shoulder approvingly.
“That’s the way to talk!” he cried. “I’m morally certain, Sam, that
you’ll land that cargo at San Pedro in safety. I’m banking on you,
anyhow, young man.”
I thanked him for his confidence, and having bade a last good-bye to my
father and my employer I walked away with good courage and made toward
my boat, which was waiting for me.
Uncle Naboth was waiting, too, for I found his chubby form squatting on
the gunwale.
Uncle Naboth’s other name was Mr. Perkins, and he was an important
member of the firm of “Steele, Perkins & Steele,” being my dead mother’s
only brother and my own staunch friend. I had thought my uncle in New
York until now, and had written him a letter of farewell to his address
in that city that very morning.
But here he was, smiling serenely at me as I approached.
“What’s this foolishness I hear, Sam?” he demanded, when I had shaken
his hand warmly.
“I’m off on a trip around the Horn,” said I, “to carry a cargo of
building steel to the Pacific coast in that crippled old bark, yonder.”
His sharp eye followed mine and rested on the ship.
“Anything in it, my lad?”
“Not much except adventure, Uncle. But it will keep me from growing
musty until Spring comes and the _Seagull_ is ready for launching. I’m
dead tired of loafing around.”
He began to chuckle and cough and choke, but finally controlled himself
sufficiently to gasp:
“So’m I, Sam!”
“You?”
“Tired as blazes. New York’s a frost, Sam. Nothin’ doin’ there that’s
worth mentionin’. All smug-faced men an’ painted-faced women. No
sassiety, more policemen than there is sailors, hair-cuts thirty-five
cents an’ two five-cent drinks fer a quarter. I feel like Alladin an’
the Forty Thieves—me bein’ Alladin.”
“But, Uncle, it wasn’t Aladdin that the Forty——”
“Never mind that. Got a spare bunk aboard, Sam?”
I laughed; but there was no use in being surprised at anything Uncle
Naboth did.
“I’ve got a whole empty cabin—second mate’s.”
“All right. When do we sail?”
“Three o’clock, Uncle Naboth—sharp.”
“Very good.”
He turned and ambled away toward the town, and, rather thoughtfully, I
entered my boat and was rowed out to the _Gladys H._