"Met in Las Palmas when they were kiddies. Pass me the compasses off the chart table. My pipe's jammed. Thank you, me lad. Owe-it-Slade got two years' tick at that convent school out on the Telde road for Laura, and Miss Kate was running about the islands a good deal then with old Godfrey. Godfrey had a tomato farm out past Santa Brigida, and they used to have Laura up there for all her holidays. By Crumbs, Purser, me lad, how that little girl's shot up. It's a dashed pity she's a nigger."
"D'you suppose Carter knows it?"
"If he doesn't I shan't tell him, and don't you; for two reasons. First, there's Miss Kate to be thought of. I watched the way that girl eyed him, and by Crumbs, I tell you, me lad, I was glad he was booked. She's going to stay out here on the Coast for a good spell, and he'll be close and handy, and somehow I've got the opinion that red-headed chap is just the sort of man she'll marry. He's not a beauty, but he's a good, tough, wholesome face on him; he's a lot struck on her; and he's a gentleman. I can do with her bossing; she's a nice way of wrapping up her pill and ramming it home with a smile. But I'd not like to see a red-haired youngster I brought out here as a clerk eighteen months ago, head of the O'Neill and Craven concern and expecting me to knuckle under. I'd do it, of course; I'd be civil to old Harry himself, me lad, if he could bring cargo to the M'poso; but I'll not deny to you it would stick if I had to start ladling out champagne in this chart house to Carter, and sit and listen whilst he strutted out his views on the decay of British influence in West Africa."
"It would be pretty tough," Mr. Balgarnie admitted. "But you said there was another reason you wanted him to marry Laura."
"Well, I do. I like that girl. I knew her when I first came down the Coast as mate. I remember the first time I saw her as if it was yesterday. I was standing up against the tally desk beside number three hatch, ticking off the cargo list as they hove stuff up and dropped it in the surf boats. It was on the old Fernando Po, that beat her bottom out afterwards when Williams tried to drive her over Monk bar at half ebb. There was a case marked with double-diamond that was O'Neill and Craven's consigning all right, but with no name of factory. I knew old Swizzle-Stick Smith and Malla-Nulla well enough already, and I didn't know Slade, and so naturally I thought Smith should have it, and ordered the case back again into the hold. But just then up came a little nipper of about eight or ten years old, as self-possessed as you like, and says, 'Are you Mr. Image?' 'That's me,' says I. 'What's the message?' 'Oh, no message,' says she, 'only Daddy says that if I can find you and stand by your heels and not bother I may stay aboard, but if not I'm to go ashore by the next boat and get on with my lessons.' Well, it didn't take much seeing through what was meant there."
"No, sir," said Mr. Balgarnie heartily. "By all accounts old Cappie Williams was the hardest case they ever knew even on the West Coast, and that's saying a lot. I only knew him for a year, and I wasn't particular in those days, but he was more than even I could stand."
"He was the limit. Well, me lad, that was the first time I saw Laura, and she stood beside me half the day at the tally desk there, and thanked me for the entertainment when Slade sent off a boy to take her ashore. She gave me a kiss when she turned to go down the side—well, you see, I've—I've never quite forgotten that kiss, Balgarnie, me lad."
"I know, skipper," said Mr. Balgarnie rather thickly. "A kid once kissed me, of her own blessed accord, too, like that. It sort of burnt in. I beg your pardon, sir, for interrupting."
"Not at all, me lad. Here you, steward. Hi, Brass-Pan."
A Krooboy ran up.