“Since when has the Nathan Ross kept schedule and time table like a mail ship?”
Joel shook his head. “I cannot do it, Mark.”
“Why not?”
“A risk I have no right to take; and wasted weeks, out of our course. For which Asa Worthen pays.”
Mark smiled sardonically. “You’re vastly more virtuous than any sister could be, Joel, my dear.”
Joel said steadily: “There may be two minds about that. There may be two minds as to—the duty of a captain to his ship and his owner. But—I’ve shown you my mind in the matter.”
Mark leaned toward him, eyes half-friendly. “You’re wrong, Joel. I’ll convince you.”
“You’ll not.”
“A handful of them,” Mark whispered. “Worth anything up to a hundred thousand. Maybe more. I do not know the little things as well as some. All for a little jog out of your way....”
Joel shook his head. And Mark, in a sudden surge of anger, stormed to his feet with clenched hand upraised. “By the Lord, Joel, I’d not have believed it. You’re mad; plain mad—sister, dear! You....”