that he was the object of such intent regard. Several times she opened
her mouth and seemed about to address him eagerly, for her eyes were
brilliant and her cheeks were flushed.
“I wish I had the money to lend you,” she ventured, at last.
“Oh, I wouldn't take it--not from a girl, Polly. No, indeed! This is
a gamble for men--not an investment for the widow and orphan,” he
declared, smiling at her. “I believe in it; that's because I'm desperate
and need to win. It's for a big reason, Polly!”
She turned her face away and grew pale. She flushed at his next words:
“The biggest thing in the world to me is getting that steamer off Razee
and showing that infernal Marston and all his 'longcoast gang that I'm
no four-flusher. I've got it in for 'em!”
He patted the hands she clasped on her knees, and he did not notice that
she was locking her fingers so tightly that they were almost bloodless.
He rose and started for the door.
“I'll go and pacify Rowley to-night, and be ready for an early start.”
“Boyd,” she pleaded, “will you do me a little favor?”
“Most certainly, Polly.”
“Wait till to-morrow morning for your business with Mr. Rowley.”
“Why?” He looked at her with considerable surprise.
“Because--well, because you are a bit unstrung, and are tired, and you
and he might have words, and you might not use your cool judgment if he
should be short with you. You know you are a little at odds with all the
world just now!” She spoke nervously and smiled wistfully. “I would be
sorry to have you quarrel with Mr. Rowley because--well, father is a
partner, and has already had words with him. Please wait till morning.
You must not lose the schooner!”
“I'm too far down and out to dare to quarrel with Rowley, but I'll do as
you say, Polly. Good night.”
“You're a good boy to obey a girl's whim. Good night.”
The moment his foot was off the last step of the porch she hurried to
her room in the cottage and secured a little packet from her portfolio.
She heard the thud of his dory oars as she walked down the street. She
was glad to know that he was safely out of the way.
Rowley's dingy windows shed a dim blur upon the frosty night. It was
near time for him to close his store, and when she entered he was
turning out the loafers who had been cuddling close to his barrel stove.
After a few moments of waiting the girl was alone with him.
“No, I don't want to buy anything, Mr. Rowley. I need your help. I ask
you to help me to do a good deed.”
He pulled his spectacles to the end of his nose and stared at her
doubtfully and with curiosity.
“If it's about the schooner, I'd rather do business with men-folks,” he
said.
“This is business that only you and I can do, and it must be a secret
between us. Will you please glance at this bank-book?”
He licked a thin finger and turned the leaves.
“Deposit of five thousand dollars and accrued interest,” he observed,
resuming his inquisitive inspection of her animated countenance.
“My mother's sister left me that legacy. It's all my little fortune,
sir. I want to loan that money to my father and Captain Mayo.”
“Well, go ahead, if you're fool enough to. I ain't your guardeen,”
assented Deacon Rowley, holding the book out to her. “But I advise you
to keep your money. I know all about their foolishness.”
“My father wouldn't take it from me--and Captain Mayo wouldn't, either.”
“That shows they ain't rogues on top of being fools.”
“But I have faith that they can succeed and make a lot of money if they
get a start,” she insisted. “I see you do not understand, sir, what I
need of you. I want you to lend them that money, just as if it came from
you. I'll give you the book and a writing, and you can draw it.”
“No, ma'am.”
“Won't you help a girl who needs help so much? You're a Christian man,
you say.”
“That's just why I can't lie about this money. I'll have to tell 'em I'm
lending it.”
“You will be lending it.”
“How's that, miss?”
“For your trouble in the matter I'll let you collect the interest for
yourself at six per cent. Oh, Deacon Rowley, all you need to do is hand
over the money, and say you prefer not to talk about it. You're a smart
business man; you'll know what to say without speaking a falsehood.
You'll break my heart if you refuse. Think! You're only helping me
to help my own father. He has foolish notions about this. You can say
you'll let them have it for a year, and you'll get three hundred dollars
interest for your trouble.”
“I don't believe they'll ever make enough to pay the interest--much less
the principal.”
“Give them five thousand dollars and draw a year's interest for yourself
out of my interest that has accrued.”
“Say, how old be you?”
“I'll be twenty-two in June.”
Deacon Rowley looked at her calculatingly, fingering his nose.
“Being of age, you ought to know better, but being of age, you can
do what you want to with your own. Do you promise never to let on to
anybody about this?”
“I do promise, solemnly.”
“Then you sign some papers when I get 'em drawn up, and I'll hand 'em
the money; but look-a-here, if I go chasing 'em with five thousand
dollars, I'll have 'em suspecting that I'm crazy, or something worse. It
ain't like Rufus Rowley to do a thing of this sort with his money.”
“I know it,” she confessed, softening her frank agreement with an
ingenuous smile. “But Captain Mayo is coming to you to-morrow morning on
business about the schooner, and you can put the matter to him in some
way. Oh, I know you're so keen and smart you can do it without his
suspecting a thing.”
“I don't know whether you're complimenting me or sassing me, miss. But
I'll see it through, somehow.”
She signed the papers giving him power of attorney, left her bank-book
with him, and went away into the night, her face radiant.
She threw a happy kiss at the dim anchor light which marked the location
of the _Ethel and May_ in the harbor.
“I am helping you get the girl you love,” she said, aloud.
She went on toward the widow's cottage. Her head was erect, but there
were tears on her cheeks.
XXIX ~ THE TOILERS OF OLD RAZEE
Hurrah! Hurrah! for Yankee wit.
Hurrah! Hurrah! for Cape Ann grit.
It's pluck and dash that's sure to win--“The _Horton's_ in!
The _Horton's_ in!”
--Old Locality.
Polly Candage, covering her emotions with that mask of demureness
which nature lends to the weaker sex for their protection, received a
tumultuous Mayo next morning in the parlor of the cottage.
“I don't know how it has happened. I don't understand it,” he exploded.
“I didn't suppose anybody could blast money out of his pocket with
dynamite--your father said it couldn't be done. But Deacon Rowley has
loaned us five thousand dollars. Here's his check on the Limeport First
National. Only charges six per cent. I'm so weak it was all I could do
to walk up here.”
“What did he say to explain it?” inquired Polly, with maiden's curiosity
in learning to what extent of prevarication a deacon would go in order
to make three hundred dollars.
“Wouldn't say much of anything. Handed out this check, said my
indorsement on it would be enough for a receipt, and said your father
and I could sign a joint note later--sometime--when he got around to
it. Have you heard any rumor that the old fellow is losing his mind? But
this check looks good!”
“Well, I think he's been pondering on the matter since father was here.
In fact, Deacon Rowley has said a few things to me,” said the girl,
meeting Mayo's gaze frankly. “Not much, of course, but something that
hinted he had a lot of confidence in both of you, seeing that you have
used him nicely in the other business he has done with you. Sometimes,
you know, these hard old Yankees take a liking to somebody and do things
all of a sudden.”
“This is sudden, all right enough,” stated Mayo, scratching the serrated
edge of the check across his palm as if to make sure it was real and not
a shadow. “Yes, he told me not to mention the note to him till he said
something to us about it himself, and to keep quiet about the loan.
Didn't want others running to him with their schemes.”
“And if I were in your place,” advised the girl, “I wouldn't tell father
where you got the money--not for a time. You know, he doesn't get along
so very well with Deacon Rowley--old folks sometimes do quarrel so--and
he might be worried, thinking the deacon had some scheme behind this.
But you don't think that way, do you?”
“I have the money, and he hasn't asked me to sign any papers. There's no
come-back there, far as I can see,” declared the young man.
“Now what will you do?”
“Rush for Limeport, hire equipment--for I've cash to pay in advance for
any leases--and get to that wreck and on to my job.”
“Simply tell father you raised the money--from a friend! If he is
worrying about anything, he doesn't work half as well. I'll ask God to
help and bless you every hour in the day.”
“Polly Candage,” cried Mayo, taking her warm, plump hands, “there's
something about you that has put courage and grit and determination in
me ever since you patted my shoulder there in the old Polly. I have been
thinking it over a lot--I had time to think when I was out aboard that
steamer, waiting.”
“There's only one girl for you to think about,” she chided.
His face clouded. “And it's the kind of thinking that isn't healthy for
a man with a normal mind. Thank the Lord, I've got some real work to
think about now--and the cash to do that work with.” He fondled his
pocket.
She went with him to the wharf, and when the schooner slid to sea behind
Hue and Cry her white handkerchief gave him final salute and silent
God-speed.
Captain Boyd Mayo, back in Limeport once more, was not the cowed,
apologetic, pleading suppliant who had solicited the water-front
machinists and ship-yard owners a few days before. He proffered
no checks for them to look askance at. He pulled a wallet that was
plethoric with new yellowbacks. He showed his money often, and with a
purpose. He drove sharp bargains while he held it in view. He received
offers of credit in places where before he had been denied. Such magic
does visible wealth exert in the dealings between men!
He did not come across Fletcher Fogg in Limeport, and he was glad of
that. Somebody informed him that the magnate had gone back to New York.
It was manifest to Mayo that in his contempt Fogg had decided that the
salvaging of the _Conomo_ intact had been relegated to the storehouse of
dreams. His purpose would be suited if she were junked, so the young
man realized. Only the _Conomo_ afloat, a successful pioneer in new
transportation experiments alongcoast, would threaten his vested
interests.
There had been wintry winds and intervening calms in the days since
Mayo had been prosecuting his projects ashore. But by word of mouth from
straying fishermen and captains of packets he had been assured that the
steamer still stuck on Razee.
And when at last he was equipped he went forth from Limeport; he went
blithely, although he knew that a Titan's job faced him. He kept his own
counsel as to what he proposed to do with the steamer. He even allowed
the water-front gossips to guess, unchallenged, that he was going to
junk the wreck. He was not inviting more of that brazen hostility that
characterized the operations of Fogg and his hirelings.
He was at the wheel of a husky lighter which he had chartered; the rest
of the crew he supplied from his own men. The lighter was driven by its
own power, and carried a good pump and a sturdy crane; its decks were
loaded high with coal. The schooner was now merely convoy. It was an
all-day trip to Razee, for the lighter was a slow and clumsy craft, but
when Mayo at last made fast to the side of the _Conomo_ and squealed a
shrill salute with the whistle, the joy he found in Captain Candage's
rubicund countenance made amends for anxiety and delay.
“I knew you'd make a go of it, somehow,” vouchsafed the old skipper.
“But who did you have to knock down in a dark place so as to steal his
money off'n him?”
“That's private business till we get ready to pay it back, with six per
cent, interest,” stated the young man, bluntly.
“Oh, very well. So long as we've got it I don't care where you stole
it,” returned Candage, with great serenity. “I simply know that you
didn't get it from skinflint Rowley, and that's comfort enough for me.
Let me tell you that we haven't been loafing on board here. We rigged
that taakul you see aloft, and jettisoned all the cargo we could get
at. It was all spoiled by the water. There's pretty free space for
operations 'midships. I've got out all her spare cable, and it's ready.”
“And you've done a good job there, sir. We've got to make this lighter
fast alongside in such a way that a blow won't wreck her against us.
Spring cables--plenty of them--and we are sailors enough to know how to
moor. But when I think of what amateurs we are in the rest of this job,
cold shivers run over me.”
“That Limeport water-front crowd got at you, too, hey?”
“Captain Candage, I have watched men more or less in this life. It's
sometimes a mighty big handicap for a man to be too wise. While the
awfully wise man sits back and shakes his head and figures prospects and
says it can't be done, the fool rushes in, because he doesn't know any
better, and blunders the job through and wins out. Let's keep on being
fools, good and plenty, but keep busy just the same.”
And on that basis the rank amateurs of Razee proceeded with all the grit
that was in them.
The men of Hue and Cry had plenty of muscle and little wit. They asked
no questions, they did not look forward gioomily to doubtful prospects.
The same philosophy, or lack of it, that had always made life full of
merry hope when their stomachs were filled, taking no thought of the
morrow, animated them now. Fate had given Mayo and his associate an
ideal crew for that parlous job. It was not a question of union hours
and stated wages; they worked all night just as cheerily as they worked
all day.
An epic of the sea was lived there on Razee Reef during the weeks that
followed.
The task which was wrought out would make a story in itself, far beyond
the confines of such a narrative as this must be.
Bitter toil of many days often proved to be a sad mistake, for the men
who wrought there had more courage in endeavor than good understanding
of methods.
Then, after disappointment, hope revived, for further effort avoided the
mistakes that had been so costly.
The brunt of the toil, the duty of being pioneer, fell on Mayo.
He donned a diving-suit and descended into the riven bowels of the wreck
and cleared the way for the others.
On deck they built sections of bulkhead, and he went down and groped in
the murky water, and spiked the braces and set those sections and calked
the spaces between bulkhead and hull.
There were storms that menaced their lighter and drove the little
schooner to sea in a welter of tempest.
There were calms that cheered them with promise of spring.
The schooner was the errand-boy that brought supplies and coal from the
main. But the men who went ashore refused to gossip on the water-front,
and the occasional craft that hove to in the vicinity of Razee were not
allowed to land inquisitive persons on the wreck.
After many weeks the bulkheads were set and the pumps were started.
There were three crews for these pumps, and their clanking never ceased,
day or night. There was less water in the fore part; her bow was propped
high on the ledges. The progress here was encouraging.
Aft, there were disasters. Three times the bulkhead crumpled under the
tremendous pressure of the sea, as soon as the pumps had relieved the
opposing pressure within the hull. Mayo, haggard, unkempt, unshorn, thin
with his vigils, stayed underwater in his diving-dress until he became
the wreck of a man. But at last they built a transverse section that
promised to hold. The pumps began to make gains on the water. As
the flood within was lowered and they could get at the bulkhead more
effectively from the inside, they kept adding to it and strengthening
it.
And then came the need of more material and more equipment, for the
gigantic job of floating the steamer was still ahead of them.
Mayo felt that he had proved his theory and was now in a position to
enlist the capital that would see them through. He could show a hull
that was sound except for the rent amidships--a hull from both ends of
which the trespassing sea was being evicted. With the money that would
furnish buoying lighters and tugs and the massive equipment for floating
her, he felt that he would be able to convert that helpless mass of junk
into a steamer once more--change scrap-iron into an active value of at
least one hundred and fifty thousand dollars.
And when he and Captain Candage had arrived at that hopeful and earnest
belief, following days of tremulous watching of the work the pumps were
doing, the young man went again to the main on his momentous errand.
As they sailed into Limeport, Mayo was a bit astonished to see green on
the sloping hills. He had been living in a waking dream of mighty toil
on Razee; he had almost forgotten that so many weeks had gone past.
When he went ashore in his dory from the schooner, the balmy breath
of spring breathed out to him from budding gardens and the warm breeze
fanned his roughened cheeks.
As he had forgotten that spring had come, so had he forgotten about his
personal appearance. He had rushed ashore from a man's job that was now
waiting for him to rush back to it. He did not realize that he looked
like a cave-man--resembled some shaggy, prehistoric human; his mind was
too full of his affairs on Razee.
When Captain Mayo strode down the main street of Limeport, it troubled
him not a whit because folks gaped at him and turned to stare after him.
He had torn himself from his gigantic task for only one purpose, and
that idea filled his mind.
He was ragged, his hands were swollen, purple, cut, and raw from his
diver's labors, his hair hung upon his collar, and a beard masked his
face. They who thronged the streets were taking advantage of the first
warm days to show their spring finery. The contrast of this rude figure
from the open sea was made all the more striking as he brushed through
the crowds.
Here and there he bolted into offices where there were men he knew and
whom he hoped to interest. He had no fat wallet to exhibit to them this
time. He had only his empty, swollen hands and a wild, eager, stammering
story of what he expected to do. They stared at him, many of them
stupidly, some of them frankly incredulous, most of them without
particular interest. He looked like a man who had failed miserably;
there was nothing about him to suggest success.
One man put the matter succinctly: “Look here, Mayo, if you came in
here, looking the way you do, and asked me for a quarter to buy a
meal with, I'd think it was perfectly natural, and would slip you the
quarter. But not ten thousand--you don't look the part.”
“What have my clothes got to do with it? I haven't time to think about
clothes. I can't wear a plug hat in a diving-suit. I've been working.
And I'm still on the job. The way I look ought to show you that I mean
business.”
But they turned him down. In half a dozen offices they listened and
shook their heads or curtly refused to look into the thing. He had not
come ashore to beg for assistance as if it were a favor. He had come
feeling certain that this time he had a valuable thing to offer. His
labors had racked his body, his nerves were on edge, his temper was
short. When they refused to help he cursed them and tore out. That they
allowed his personal appearance to influence their judgment stirred his
fury--it was so unjust to his self-sacrificing devotion to his task.
He soon exhausted his circle of acquaintances, but the rebuffs made him
angry instead of despondent. Thrusting rudely past pedestrians who were
polite and sleek, he marched along the street, scowling.
And then his eyes fell on a face that gave a fresh stir to all the
bitterness that was in him.
He saw Fletcher Fogg standing outside the Nicholas Hotel. The day was
bland, the spring sun was warming, but it was evident that Mr. Fogg was
not basking contentedly; his countenance was fully as gloomy as that of
Captain Mayo, and he chewed on an unlighted cigar and spat snippets of
tobacco over the curb while he pondered.
Mayo was not in a mood to reason with his passion. He had just been
battering his pride and persistence up against men whose manner
of refusal showed that they remembered what Fletcher Fogg had said
regarding the prospects of successful floating of the _Conomo_. There
stood the ponderous pirate, blocking Mayo's way on the sidewalk, just
as he had blocked the young man's prospects in life in the _Montana_
affair--just as he had closed avenues of credit. Mayo bumped against him
and crowded him back across the sidewalk to the hotel's granite wall. He
put his two raw, swollen hands on Fogg's immaculate waistcoat and shoved
salt-stained, work-worn, and bearded face close.
Even then the promoter did not seem to recognize Mayo. He blinked
apprehensively. He looked about as if he intended to summon help.
“You don't seem to have your iron wishbone in your pocket this time,”
growled the assailant. He jabbed his thumbs cruelly into Fogg's ribs.
“Gad! You're--you're Captain Mayo! I'll be cursed if I knew you till you
spoke!”
“I managed to hold myself in the last time you saw me, Fogg. I was
waiting. Now, damn you, I've got you!”
He was making reference merely to the physical grip in which he held the
man. But Fogg seemed to find deeper significance in the words.
“I know it, Mayo,” he whined. “That's why I'm down here. I have been
wondering about the best way to get to you--to meet you right!”
“You got to me all right, you infernal renegade!”
“But, see here, Mayo, we can't talk this matter here on the street.”
“There isn't going to be any talking!” The meeting-up had been so
unexpected and Mayo's ire was so hasty that the young man had not taken
thought of what he intended to do. His impulse was to beat that fat face
into pulp. He had long before given up all hope that any appeal to Fogg
as a man would help. He expected no consideration, no restitution.
“But there must be some talk. I'm here to make it. You have me foul! I
admit it. But listen to reason,” he pleaded. “It isn't going to do you
any good to rave.”
“I'm going to mash your face for you! I'll take the consequences.”
“But after you do that, you still have got to talk turkey with me about
those papers.”
In spite of his fury, Mayo realized from Fogg's demeanor and his words
that mere fear of a whipping was not producing this humility; there was
a policeman on the corner.
“Don't talk so loud,” urged Fogg. “Come up to my room where we can be
private.”
Mayo hesitated, puzzled by his enemy's attitude.
“It's a word from the Old Man himself. He ordered me down here. It's
from Marston!” whispered the promoter. “I'm in a devil of a hole all
around, Mayo.”
“Very well! I'll come. I can beat you up in your room more comfortably!”
“I'm not afraid of the beating! I wish that was all there was to it,”
muttered Fogg. He led the way into the hotel and Mayo followed, getting
a new grip on himself, conscious that there was some new crisis in his
affairs, scenting surrender of some sort in Fogg's astonishing humility.
“Will you smoke?” asked Fogg, obsequiously, when they were in the hotel
room.
“No!” He refused with venom. He saw himself in one of the long mirrors
and had not realized until then how unkempt and uncouth he was. He was
ill at ease when he sat down in a cushioned chair. For weeks he had been
accustomed to the rude makeshifts of shipboard. In temper and looks he
felt like a cave-man.
“I'm in hopes that we can get together on some kind of a friendly
basis,” entreated Fogg, humbly. “Simply fighting the thing over again
won't get us anywhere. I had to do certain things and I did them. You
spoke of my iron wishbone! Now about that _Montana_ matter--”
“I don't want any rehearsal, Mr. Fogg. What's your business with me?”
“It's hard to start unless I can feel that you'd listen to some
explanations and make some allowances. When a man works for Julius
Marston he has to forget himself and do--”
“I have worked for Julius Marston!”
“But not in the finance game, Mayo!” There was a tremble in the
promoter's voice. “Men are only shadows to him when it's a matter of big
finance. He gives his orders to have results produced. He doesn't stop
to think about the men concerned. It's the figures on his books he looks
at! He uses a man like he'd use a napkin at table!”