The wisdom of Dan’s course in announcing the insolvency of Casson and
Pritchard before the announcement should be forced from him by the
firm’s creditors was fully manifested at the meeting of the creditors.
Each creditor had received a copy of the firm’s trial balance and the
schedule of assets and liabilities; also a copy of Dan’s proposed plan
of settlement and reorganization. The settlement contemplated a payment
of twenty-five per cent on all liabilities at once, with a three-year
extension on the balance due, at five per cent, and a payment of the
interest and twenty-five per cent of the principal annually. All of the
creditors had had three days in which to read this plan, study it and
discuss it with their principals, and the result was that Dan’s plan was
enthusiastically and gratefully accepted, with the proviso that John
Casson retire from the partnership. The method of his retirement the
creditors left to Pritchard.
The task of severing Casson from the firm was not a difficult one. His
share of the debts practically equaled his equity in the assets and he
accepted eagerly Dan’s offer to take over his assets and liabilities in
return for a release from the creditors for Casson’s share of the firm’s
indebtedness to them. He had about a quarter of a million dollars in
cash and real estate in his private fortune and this Dan forced him to
turn over to his wife, as the only guarantee that he could think of
against a disastrous reëntry into business and, consequently, a
penniless and sorrowful old age for all concerned.
At the last moment a hitch occurred. Two banks, carrying nearly half a
million dollars’ worth of Casson and Pritchard paper, bearing Dan
Pritchard’s endorsement, suddenly decided, after the fashion of banks,
to play safe. “Every man for himself and the devil take the hindmost” is
ever the fashion of the banker who finds himself the possessor of a
slight advantage over other creditors. Overnight they entered suit
against Dan, as endorser and guarantor of Casson and Pritchard’s notes,
and levied attachments against every asset of his they could locate. In
the face of this unexpected treachery Dan had but one alternative, and
he chose it unhesitatingly. He filed a voluntary petition in bankruptcy,
for himself and for the firm, thus vitiating the banks’ attachments and
placing all of his and Casson and Pritchard’s creditors upon an equal
footing. Thereupon the bank withdrew its suit against Dan and petitioned
the court for a receiver for Casson and Pritchard—a petition in which
the other creditors were now forced to join. A receiver was immediately
appointed and took charge of the business of Casson and Pritchard.
It was then that Dan Pritchard’s spirit broke. The day the receiver took
charge he cleaned out his desk and departed from that office. The
following day he had leased his home furnished, dismissed Graves and
Julia, stored his cars and purchased a passage to Tahiti. With Tamea’s
money he promptly purchased Liberty Bonds, which in the panic had
dropped twenty points, and established a trust fund for her with a local
trust company. Then, accompanied by Sooey Wan, he went aboard the Union
Line steamer Aorangi and departed for Tahiti, hoping to find Tamea,
marry her there and then consider what he should do with his life
thereafter. He was crushed at the unexpected turn his business affairs
had taken. He had turned over to the receiver every dollar, every asset
he possessed, and he no longer had the slightest interest in the affairs
of Casson and Pritchard.
The creditors might do what they pleased with the business. They could
either operate it under a receivership until it paid out, or they could
liquidate it. It was their business now and Dan had done all that any
honorable man could do to meet his obligations. Old Casson had his
release from all of the creditors, including the banks, for these latter
had fairly accurate information as to the latter’s finances, and, with
Pritchard’s endorsement to protect them, they had concluded to dispense
with picking old Casson’s financial bones.
The knowledge that Maisie would not be thrown under the feet of the
world comforted Dan greatly. He was too depressed to call upon her and
say good-by before sailing, so he wrote her a brief note of farewell
instead; desirous of losing touch with his world, he did not tell her
where he was bound. To Mellenger only did he confide, and that silent
and thoughtful man had merely nodded and declined comment.
At last, Dan reflected as, stretched out in a steamer chair in the snug
lee of the Aorangi’s funnel, he watched the coast of California fade
into the haze, he was free. Business no longer claimed him. If the
receiver desired any information touching the firm’s affairs he had
complete and comprehensive records before him, and if he could not
understand those records, there was the efficient office force to aid
him. Yes, he was free. He would wander now, with Sooey Wan to take care
of him financially and physically.
And he felt no qualms in the realization that he was now dependent
entirely upon Sooey Wan. In a way he had always been dependent upon
Sooey Wan, but on the other hand, was not Sooey Wan dependent upon his
Missa Dan?
As the old Chinaman had often assured him, the only human being in the
world to whom he was bound by the tightest tethers of affection was Dan
Pritchard. Wherefore, why should he decline a loan from Sooey Wan? To
have done so would have been to inflict upon the loyal old heathen a
cruel hurt. And money meant little to Sooey Wan; it was good to gamble
with, that was all. In the end Sooey Wan, dying, would have willed his
entire estate to his beloved Missa Dan; why, therefore, be a sentimental
idiot and decline to accept it while Sooey Wan lived? Why deny the old
man this great happiness?
Sooey Wan, neatly and unostentatiously arrayed in Oriental costume and
occupying a first class cabin all to himself, lolled in a chair
alongside Dan and puffed contentedly at a long briarwood pipe. He was
having the first vacation he had ever known and he was enjoying it, for
presently he turned to Dan and said:
“Missa Dan, I think evlybody pretty damn happy. No ketchum work, ketchum
plenty money, ketchum nice lest, ketchum lady queen, velly nice. Eh,
Missa Dan?”
“Sooey Wan,” Dan replied, “so far as I am concerned, I never want to
operate another ship or buy another pound of copra or draw another
check. I’m going to marry the lady queen the very day we find her; after
that I’m going to paint pictures and dream and soak myself from soul to
liver with just plain, unruffled, untroubled, simple living. Sooey Wan,
I’m content just to sit here and look at the ocean. The other fellows
can have all the worry now. They wanted it and I gave it to them and I
hope they enjoy it. I’m content to know they will get their money out of
Casson and Pritchard, although it ruins me.”
“You allee time talkee like klazy man, boss. Wha’ for you luined? Plenty
money hab got. Shut up! You makee me sick.”
Fell a long, blissful silence, while Dan stared at the sea and permitted
his brain to sink into a state of absolute quiescence, and Sooey Wan
speculated on the expectancy of life in superannuated Chinamen in
general and of himself in particular. For the paternal instinct was
strong in Sooey Wan and the years had been long since Dan’s baby arms
had been around his neck and Dan’s soft cheek had been pressed in love
against Sooey Wan’s. Sweet memories of a sweet experience! Childless old
Sooey Wan yearned for it again, yearned to have his Missa Dan know the
thrill that had been denied to Sooey Wan—the thrill of fatherhood.
Arrived at Tahiti, Dan’s eager glance swept the little harbor as the
Aorangi crept in. The Pelorus lay at anchor. The skipper of the tug that
had towed her out of San Francisco bay was right. She was a witch in a
breeze! The French customs officials who boarded the steamer informed
Dan that she had arrived the day before. Zounds, what a smashing
passage! And Tamea was over yonder in the town—just exactly where, he
would ascertain from the master of the Pelorus.
Dan and Sooey Wan were into a short boat and pulling toward the Pelorus
five minutes after the Aorangi had been given pratique. The master of
the Pelorus met them at the rail as Dan came up over the Jacob’s ladder.
“You had a passenger, Captain,” said Dan. “A Mademoiselle Tamea
Larrieau.”
The master of the Pelorus eyed him gravely and nodded. “You are Mr.
Pritchard, I take it, sir,” he said.
“I am, Captain. Where is Tamea?”
“I wanted her to wait, Mr. Pritchard. I told her you’d be following on
the first steamer, but she wouldn’t listen to me. And I one of her
father’s oldest and closest friends, Mr. Pritchard. But she was what you
might call broken-hearted. Nothing would do but she must get back to
Riva and lose herself. The day we got in she booked a passage on the
auxiliary schooner Doris Crane that was just leaving. The Crane has a
passenger license and very excellent passenger accommodations, and Tamea
will get as far as Tamakuku on her. Riva lies about eighty miles due
west and the girl will charter a gasoline launch for the remainder of
the journey.”
“I doubt if she has sufficient money, Captain.”
“She has. I charged her nothing for her passage. By the way,” he
continued with a sly smile, “the Doris Crane can be reached by
wireless—maybe. Why not have the operator on the Aorangi try to get
your message to Tamea?”
“Tamea told you about me, Captain?” asked Dan.
The skipper nodded, smiling. “When you know her better, sir, you’ll make
allowances for her native blood and her primitive way of reasoning.”
“Thank you,” Dan replied, and departed overside, to be pulled back to
the Aorangi, where he filed a message to Tamea informing her that he
would meet her in Riva, asking her to await him there, telling her that
he loved her and begging her to wireless him in reply.
Just before the Aorangi pulled out that night the wireless operator
telephoned him at his hotel to report that he had been unable to get in
touch with the Doris Crane. Dan was cruelly disappointed and Sooey Wan,
observing this, trotted out to the hotel bar and returned with two
Gibson cocktails which he had prevailed upon the barkeeper to mix
according to a time-honored formula. One of these cocktails Sooey Wan
drank, in silent sympathy and understanding, while Dan partook of the
other.
When the old cook noted a lifting of the cloud on Dan’s face, he spoke,
for Sooey Wan was one of those rare men who never speak out of their
turn.
“Captain of schooner velly nice man. Wha’ for you no rentum schooner?
Plenty money hab got.”
Dan’s long arm rested affectionately across Sooey Wan’s shoulders. “You
dad-fetched old heathen, what would I do without you? You’re the shadow
of a rock in a weary land. Let’s go.”
Together they went—out to the Pelorus. Her master, seated on deck under
an awning with a glass of grog before him, smiled as they came over the
rail.
“I’ve been expecting you, Mr. Pritchard. I was ready to sail at four
this afternoon, but something told me I’d best wait. It’s about five
hundred miles out of my way, but if you will insist on going to Riva I
might as well have the job as anybody. Mighty few vessels cruise down
that way. You might be hung up here for six months. Passage for two will
cost you two thousand dollars.”
“Hab got,” said Sooey Wan promptly, and shed his duck coat. Up out of
his linen trousers came his shirt tail and around his middle showed a
wide money belt. This he unbuckled and gravely counted out two thousand
dollars into the master’s palm.
“Now I go ketchum baggage,” he announced and went ashore. Half an hour
later the Pelorus, in tow of a launch, was slipping out of the harbor.
Once in the open sea, she heeled gently to the trade wind and rolled
away into the southwest in the wake of the Doris Crane.