Part 6 (1/2)
Holm always refused to speak to people on the telephone, possibly because he knew that he often said a good deal without reflection and did not care to have witnesses to it, afterwards. Anyhow, he regarded the telephone as one of the plagues of modern times. ”If the devil had offered a prize,” he would say, ”for the best instrument of bother and annoyance to mankind, that fellow Edison should have got it.”
The telephone rang, and Betty went to answer it.
”It's Nilson, the broker, wants to speak to you.”
”Ask what it is.”
”He says the big Spanish s.h.i.+p that came in the other day with a cargo of salt for Hoeg's is to be sold by auction for bottoming, and he thinks it's to be had at a bargain.”
”Right! thanks very much. I'll think about it.”
Holm brightened up at the prospect of a deal, and forgot all about Betty, blue eyes, dark lashes, fair hair and all.
”Garner, get hold of Bramsen sharp as ever you can, and tell him to go on board that Spaniard at Hoeg's wharf, and have a thorough look round.”
A few minutes later Bramsen himself appeared, breathless with haste.
”I've been on board already, Mr. Holm, pretty near every evening.
They've a n.i.g.g.e.r cook that plays all sorts of dance tunes on a bit of a clay warbler he's got; it's really worth hearing....”
”Yes, yes, but the vessel herself. Is she any good, do you know?”
”Well, not much, I take it, though it doesn't show, perhaps. I talked to the carpenter, and he said her bottom was as full of holes as a rusty sieve; it's only the paint that keeps her afloat. He showed me a queer thing too, that carpenter; I've never seen anything like it.”
”What sort of a thing?”
”It was a magic cow, he said, got it in Pensacola. You just wind it up, and it walks along the deck, and lowers its head and says, 'Moo-oh!'”
”What about the upper works?”
”Well, I didn't see the works. But the upper part's just brown hide, stuffed, I suppose.”
”Nonsense, man; it's the s.h.i.+p I mean.”
”Oh yes--well, she's smart enough to look at, with las.h.i.+ngs of paint and gilding and bra.s.s fittings everywhere--the Spanish owner's no fool, I'll be bound. Bottoming, indeed; I don't believe a word of it.”
”What do you mean?”
”Mean! why,”--Bramsen lowered his voice--”it's just a fake, if you ask me, to make folk think they've got an easy bargain.”
”Anyone else been on board looking round?”
”Yes. Skipper Heil was there all day yesterday.”
”Heil? Wasn't he skipper of Hermansen's _Valkyrie_?”
”That's it! And I'm pretty sure 'twas Hermansen sent him down to look.”
”Bramsen, listen to me. Not a word to a soul of what you know about the s.h.i.+p; you've got to be dumb as a doorpost. If anyone asks, you can tell them in confidence that I sent you to look over her, and not a word more, you understand?”
”Right you are, Mr. Holm. But you're not thinking of going in for the business yourself?”