Part 13 (1/2)

She pa.s.sed on with Farquhar, and Jacinta glanced at Austin with a little enquiring smile.

”If I had a sister who persisted in talking in that aggravatingly edifying fas.h.i.+on, I should feel tempted to shake her,” he said. ”Still, one could forgive her a good deal if only for the way she looked at the West-coast boat. It suggested that she has as much humanity in her as there is in the rest of us, after all.”

”Still, don't you think there was a little reason in what she said?”

”Of course. That is, no doubt, why one objects to it. Well, since it's difficult to keep the personal equation out, I suppose dancing and sailing about these islands on board the _Estremedura_ is rather a wasteful life. Painting little pictures probably comes to much the same thing, too, though there are people who seem to take art seriously.”

Jacinta looked at him steadily. ”When one has really an artistic talent it is different,” she said.

Austin, who hoped she did not notice that he winced, sat silent a s.p.a.ce, gazing out across the glittering sea, and it was not altogether a coincidence that his eyes were turned eastwards towards Africa, where Jefferson was toiling in the fever swamps. He wondered if Jacinta knew his thoughts had also turned in that direction somewhat frequently of late.

”Well,” he said, ”I suppose it is. Some of those pictures must be pretty, or the tourists wouldn't buy them, but that doesn't go very far, after all.” He stopped a moment, and then went on with a little wry smile. ”No doubt some patients require drastic treatment, and there are cases where it is necessary to use the knife.”

Jacinta rose, and, dropping her fan to her side, gravely met his gaze.

”If it wasn't, it would probably not be tried,” she said. ”One could fancy that it was, now and then, a little painful to the surgeon.”

Austin walked with her to the ladder, and stopped a moment at the head of it. ”Well,” he said, ”one has to remember that all men are not built on the same model, and, what is more to the purpose, they haven't all the same opportunities. No doubt the latter fact is fortunate for some of them, since they would probably make a deplorable mess of things if they undertook a big enterprise.”

”Ah!” said Jacinta, who remembered it afterwards, ”one never knows when the opportunities may present themselves.”

She went down the ladder, and it was about an hour later when a boat slid alongside, and a man came up, asking for Austin. The latter, who sat on the bridge-deck amidst a group of Farquhar's guests, looked at him curiously when he handed him an envelope. His garments had evidently not been made for him, and there were stains of grease and soot on his coa.r.s.e serge jacket, while the coal dust had not been wholly washed from his face. It was not difficult to recognise him as a steamer's fireman.

”You're Mr. Austin?” he said.

Austin admitted that he was, and after a glance at the letter turned round and saw that Muriel Gascoyne, who sat close by, was watching him with a curious intentness. Then he once more fixed his attention on the paper in his hand.

”S.S. _c.u.mbria_” was written at the top of it, and there followed a description of the creek, and how the steamer lay, as well as the cargo in her holds. Then he read: ”I'm beginning to understand why those wrecker fellows let up on the contract, though they hadn't the stake I have in the game. There are times when I get wondering whether I can last it out, for it seems to me that white men who work in the sun all day are apt to drop out suddenly in this country. I make you and Mr.

Pancho Brown my executors in case of anything of that kind happening to me. If you come across anybody willing to take the _c.u.mbria_ over as a business proposition, do what you can, on the understanding that one-third of the profit goes to Miss Gascoyne, the rest as executors'

and wreckers' remuneration. I don't know how far this statement meets your law, but I feel I can trust you, any way. In case either party is not willing to take the thing up, the other may act alone.”

Austin turned to the fireman. ”You have another letter for Mr. Brown?”

”Yes, sir,” said the man. ”Mr. Jefferson----”

Austin, who heard a rustle of feminine draperies and what seemed to be a little gasp of surprise or alarm, made the man a sign.

”Come into the skipper's room. I've two or three things to ask you,” he said. ”Miss Brown, will you please hand that letter to your father?”

They disappeared into the room beneath the bridge, and it was some time before they came out again. Then Austin sent the man down the ladder with a steward to take him to Brown, and leaned against the rail.

Jacinta, Muriel, and Mrs. Hatherly were still sitting there, but the rest had gone. He told them briefly all he had heard about Jefferson, and then descended the ladder in search of Brown. The latter met him with the letter in his hand, and they found a seat in the shadow of the _Ca.r.s.egarry_'s rail. n.o.body seemed to notice them, though the fluttering dresses of the women brushed them as they swung in the waltz.

”You have read it,” said Austin. ”What do you think?”

Pancho Brown tapped the letter with the gold-rimmed gla.s.ses he held in his hand.

”As a business proposition I would not look at it. The risks are too great,” he said.

”It struck me like that, too. Still, that's not quite the question. You see, the man isn't dead.”