A SATISFACTORY OUTLOOK
Drew was transported with delight, but he threw a certain carelessness
into his tone as he observed:
"I remember. Does she know what we're going for?"
"Oh yes," replied her father. "She and I are great chums, and I don't
keep anything from her. She wanted to go with me anyway when I was
thinking of taking on a cargo for Galveston, and now that she knows
treasure is in the wind, she's more eager than ever. You know how
romantic girls are, and she's looking forward with immense pleasure to
this unusual venture of ours."
Drew would have liked to ask whether the captain's wife were going too,
but he felt that he might be treading on delicate ground, so he used a
round-about method.
"I don't suppose there'll be any other women in the company?" he said
lightly.
"No," replied the captain, a little soberly. "When my wife was alive
she used to go with me occasionally on my voyages. The schooner's
named for her. But she's been dead for three years now, and as Ruth is
the only child I have, she and I will be thrown together more closely
than ever. She's finished school.
"But I'm keeping you," he added, rising from the table at which they
had been sitting; "and I suppose you've got more work on your hands
than you know how to attend to."
Drew rose with alacrity.
"I am pretty busy, for a fact," he assented. "That accident to Mr.
Grimshaw has just about doubled my work. But it isn't getting the
upper hand of me, and by the time we are ready to sail I'll have tied
all the lose ends."
"That's good. By the way, speaking of Tyke, how did you find him this
morning? I suppose you stopped in at the hospital on your way downtown
as usual?"
"Yes. He's getting along in prime shape, but he's as sore as the
mischief because he can't go along."
"It's too bad," remarked the captain sympathetically. "I'd have liked
to have him along, not only for his company, but for his shrewdness as
well. He's got a level head on those shoulders of his, and his advice
at times might come in mighty handy.
"I won't go on deck with you, if you'll excuse me," continued the
captain, reaching out his hand for a farewell shake, "because I've some
work to do in connection with my clearance papers. Good-bye."
The young man was perfectly willing to be deprived of the captain's
further company, much as he liked him. The captain's daughter would
make a very good substitute. He hoped ardently that she, unlike her
father, would have no business to keep her below.
His hopes were realized, for he caught sight of her leaning on the rail
and gazing out upon the river with as much absorption as though she had
never seen it before.
Possibly it did interest her. Possibly, too, she had forgotten all
about the handsome young man who was in conference with her father in
the cabin. Possibly she had not been stirred by the adoration in his
eyes or the agitation in his voice. So many things are possible!
Anyway, despite a heightened color in her cheeks and a starry
brightness in her eyes, her start of surprise, as she looked up and saw
Drew standing beside her, was done very well indeed.
"So you conspirators have got through plotting already," she said
lightly.
"Yes," Drew laughed; "we've been going over every link of the chain and
have decided that it is good and strong. Not that my judgment was
worth very much, I fear, this morning."
"Why not?" she asked demurely.
"Because I couldn't put my mind on it," he answered. "My wits were
wool gathering. I scarcely heard what your father said. I'm glad he
isn't a mind reader."
"So few people are."
"I wish you were," he said earnestly.
She stiffened a little, and from that he took warning. He must check
the impetuous words that strove for utterance. He had but barely met
her. How was she to know the feelings that had possessed him since
their casual encounter on the pier? He must not frighten her by trying
to sweep her off her feet. This citadel was to be captured, if at all,
by siege rather than by storm. He would risk disaster by being
premature.
"Do you know," he said in a lighter tone, "that it was the surprise of
my life when I found that your name was Hamilton?"
"Why should it have been a surprise?" she asked.
"Because I had been thinking all along that your name was Adams."
"What made you think that?" she inquired in genuine surprise.
"W--why," he stammered, "I saw that name on one of the letters when I
picked up the packet from the grating of the boat."
She flushed.
"You mustn't think," he said earnestly, "that I tried to pry. If I'd
done that, I'd have found out the address at the same time. The name
just looked up at me, and I couldn't help seeing it."
His tone carried conviction, and she unbent.
"I can see how you made the mistake," she smiled. "The letter on top
of the packet was addressed to a very dear friend whose first name
happens to be the same as mine. She and I were great chums in boarding
school. The letter had been sent to her by a girl we both knew and who
had been traveling abroad, and as Ruth knew I would be interested in
it, she sent it on for me to read."
"That explains the foreign stamp," he commented.
"You noticed that too, did you?" she asked, flashing a mischievous
glance at him. "Really, you took in a lot at a single look. You ought
to be a detective."
"I wish I were," said Drew, as he thought ruefully of the unavailing
plans he had made to find her. "I'm afraid I'm a pretty bungling
amateur."
"Well, you were only half wrong, anyway," she answered. "The first
part of the name was right."
"Yes," he admitted. "But that didn't help me much. The last one
didn't either for that matter. There are so many Adamses in the city."
"How do you know?" she challenged.
He grew red. "I--I looked in the directory," he confessed.
She thought it high time to change the subject.
"I suppose it will be quite a wrench to say good-bye to your people
here," she remarked.
"I haven't any," replied Drew. "My father and my mother died when I
was small. The only brother I have is out West, and I haven't seen him
for years. I've been boarding since I came to the city, five years
ago."
"Oh, I'm sorry," she said with ready sympathy. "I know something of
how you feel, because I lost my own mother three years ago. I've been
in boarding school most of the time since then. So I know what it is
to be without a real home. Sometimes our only home was on shipboard."
"But it's always possible to make a real home," said Drew daringly.
Then he checked himself and bit his lip. That troublesome tongue of
his! When would he learn to control it?
She pretended not to have heard him.
"I have my father left," she went on; "and he's the best father in the
world."
"And the luckiest," put in Drew.
"He didn't want to take me on this trip at first," she continued, "but
the most of my relatives and friends are in California, and I knew I'd
be horribly lonely in New York. So I begged and teased him to let me
go along, and at last he gave in."
"Of course he would," Drew said with conviction. "How could he help
it?"
He knew that if she should ask him, Allen Drew, for the moon he would
promise it to her without the slightest hesitation. He wished he dared
tell her so.
"Have you ever been to sea?" she asked.
"No," replied Allen. "But I've always wanted to go."
And he told her of the longing that had sprung up in him when Captain
Peters had spoken so indifferently about the wonder-lands of mystery
and romance to which his bark was sailing.
While he talked, she was studying him closely, as is the way of girls,
without appearing to do so. She noted the stalwart well-knit figure,
the handsome features--the strong straight nose, the broad forehead,
the brown eyes that sparkled with animation.
Drew was at his best when he talked, especially when his audience was
attentive, and there was no doubt that his audience of one was that.
She listened almost in silence only putting in a word now and then.
The thought came to him that he might be boring her, and he stopped
abruptly.
"If I keep on, you'll be talked to death," he said apologetically.
"Not at all," she protested. "I've been intensely interested. I'm
glad you feel so strongly about far-off places, because you're sure to
find plenty of romance where we are going."
"And treasure, the doubloons, too--don't forget the doubloons," he
laughed, lowering his voice and looking around to see that no one was
listening.
"And that too," she agreed. "I suppose you've spent your share
already?" she bantered.
"Well, I'm not quite so optimistic as all that," he laughed. "But I
really think we have a chance. Don't you?"
"Indeed I do!" she exclaimed. "I don't think it's a wild goose chase
at all!"
"I'm glad you feel that way about it."
"Even if things go wrong, we can't be altogether cheated," she went on.
"We'll have had lots of fun looking for our treasure. Then, too, we'll
have had the voyage, and the schooner is a splendid sailing craft."
"She's a beauty," assented Drew. "I don't wonder you're proud of her."
"It was really quite flattering that you men should tell me what you
were going for," she said mockingly. "You're always saying that a
woman can't keep a secret."
"I don't feel that way," protested Drew. "And to prove it, I'll----"
"Listen!" said Ruth hurriedly. "Wasn't that my father calling me?"
"I didn't hear him," he replied, looking at her suspiciously.
"I think I'd better go and make sure," decided Ruth, moved by a sudden
impulse of filial duty.
"Let him call again," suggested Drew.
But Ruth was sure that this audacious young man had said quite enough
for one morning, and she held out her hand.
"Good-bye," she smiled. "I know from what my father has told me that
you have an awful lot to do to get ready for the trip."
"Have I?" rejoined Drew. "I'd forgotten all about them."
They laughed.
He held the soft hand and fluttering fingers a trifle longer than was
absolutely necessary, and after he released them he stood watching her
lithe figure until she disappeared.
When Drew left the _Bertha Hamilton_ he was treading on air and his
head was in the clouds.
His dream had come true--part of it at least. He had found her, had
talked with her. He was going to sail in the same ship with her. They
would be thrown together constantly in the enforced intimacy of an
ocean voyage. He would see her in the morning, in the afternoon, in
the evening. And at last he would win her. The last part of his dream
would be realized as surely as the first had been.
But when he got back to the shop he found that he was in a practical
world whose claims refused to be ignored. Winters still needed a lot
of coaching, and the time was short. The business must not suffer
while Drew was gone.
One thing lifted from his shoulders some of the weight of
responsibility. Tyke would be at hand to superintend things and to
keep a check on Winter's inexperience. To be sure, he would be in the
hospital for some time to come, but Winters could go to see him every
evening, and get help in his problems.
The _Bertha Hamilton_ was to sail at high tide on Thursday morning, and
by Wednesday night Drew had sent his baggage on board and had settled
the last item that belonged to Tyke's part of the contract. Everything
from now on was in the hands of Captain Hamilton.
He went up to the hospital to report to his employer and to say
farewell. They talked long and late, and both were strongly moved when
they shook hands in parting. Who knew what might happen before they
met again? Who knew that they ever would meet again?
"Good-bye, Mr. Grimshaw," said Drew. "I hope you'll be as well and as
strong as ever when I get back."
"Good-bye, Allen," responded Tyke, with a suspicious moisture in his
eyes. "I'll be rooting for you an' thinking of you all the time.
Good-bye an' good luck."
At daybreak the next morning Drew stepped on board the _Bertha
Hamilton_ and the most thrilling experience of his life had begun.