Part 2 (1/2)
”Well, there's whisky an' soda on tap if you prefer it. It _is_ rather 'ot for tea. Whew! you're boilin'? W'y don't you wear looser clo'es?
Look at me--cool as a cuc.u.mber. By the way, 'oo's the new man you've s.h.i.+pped as second? Watts is the chief, I know, but 'oo is Mr. Philip Hozier?”
”Youngster fillin' in sea-service to get a ticket an' qualify for the Cunard.”
”Thoroughly reliable sort of chap, eh?”
”The best.”
It was odd how these men left unsaid the really vital things. Again it was c.o.ke who tried to fill in some part of the blank s.p.a.ce.
”Just the right kind of second for the _Andromeda's_ last cruise,” he muttered. ”Smart as a new pin. You could trust 'im on the bridge of a battles.h.i.+p. Now, Watts is a good man, but a tot of rum makes 'im fair daft.”
”Ah!” purred Verity, ”you must keep a tight 'and on Watts. I like an appetizer meself w'en I'm off dooty, so to speak, but it's no joke to 'ave a boozer in charge of a fine s.h.i.+p an' vallyble freight. Of course, you're responsible as master, but you can't be on deck mornin', noon, an' night. Choke Watts off the drink, an' you'll 'ave no trouble. So that's settled. My, but you're fair meltin'--wot is it they say--losin' adipose tisher. Well, come along. Let's lubricate.”
The _Andromeda_ sailed on the Tuesday afternoon's tide. She would drop the pilot off Holyhead, and, with fair weather, such as cheered her departure from the Mersey, daybreak on Thursday would find her pounding through the cross seas where St. George's Channel merges into the wide Atlantic. If she followed the beaten track on her long run to the River Plate--as sailors will persist in miscalling that wondrous Rio de la Plata--she might be signaled from Madeira or the Cape Verde Islands.
But s.h.i.+pmasters often prefer to set a course clear of the land till they pick up the coast of South America. If she were not spoken by some pa.s.sing steamer, there was every possibility that the st.u.r.dy old vessel would not be heard of again before reaching her destination.
But David Verity heard of her much sooner, and no thunderbolt that ever rent the heavens could have startled him more than the manner of that hearing.
Resolving to clinch matters with regard to Iris and her elderly suitor, he invited ”Owd d.i.c.key” to supper on Sunday evening. The girl endured the man's presence with a placid dignity that amazed her uncle. On the plea of a headache, she retired at an early hour, leaving Bulmer to gloat over his prospective happiness, and primed to the point of dementia.
He was quite willing to accompany Verity to the bank next morning; a pleasant-spoken manager sighed his relief when the visitors were gone, and he was free to look at the item ”bills discounted” on Verity's page in the ledger. More than that, a lawyer was instructed to draw up a partners.h.i.+p deed, and the representatives of various s.h.i.+p-building firms were asked to supply estimates for two new vessels.
Altogether d.i.c.key was complaisant, and David enjoyed a busy and successful day. He dined in town, came home at a late hour, and merely grinned when a servant told him that Mr. Bulmer had called twice but Miss Iris happened to be out on both occasions.
Nevertheless, at breakfast on Tuesday, he warned his niece not to keep her admirer dangling at arm's length.
”E's a queer owd codger,” explained the philosopher. ”Play up to 'im a bit, an' you'll be able to twist 'im round your little finger. I b'lieve he's goin' dotty, an' you can trust me to see that the marriage settlement is O. K.”
”Will you be home to dinner?” was her response.
”No. Now that the firm is in smooth water again I must show myself a bit. It's all thanks to you, la.s.s, an' I'll not forget it. Good-by!”
Iris smiled, and Verity was vastly pleased.
”I am sure you will not forget,” she said. ”Good-by.”
”There's no understandin' wimmin,” mused David, as his victoria swept through the gates of Linden House. ”Sunday afternoon d.i.c.key might ha'
bin a dose of rat poison; now she's ready to swaller 'im as if 'e was a chocolate drop.”
Again he returned some few minutes after midnight; again the servant announced Mr. Bulmer's visits, three of them; and again Miss Iris had been absent--in fact, she had not yet come home.
”Not 'ome!” cried David furiously. ”W'y it's gone twelve. W'ere the--w'ere is she?”
No one knew. She had quitted the house soon after Verity himself, and had not been seen since. Storm and rage as he might, and did, David could not discover his niece's whereabouts. He spent a wearying and tortured night, a hara.s.sed and miserable day, devoted to frantic inquiries in every possible direction with interludes of specious lying to the infatuated Bulmer. But enlightment came on Thursday morning. A letter arrived by the first post. It was from Iris.