“Staunch and seaworthy?”
“Man, this big-spectacled outfit that had it built took it clear into the Arctic Sea—after walrus and polar bear and narwhal and musk ox; and she’s built right. I’d cross the Pacific in her any day. Her present owners bought her with the idea of putting her into coastal service, both passengers and freight, between various of the little far northern towns, but the general exodus out of portions of Alaska has left her temporarily without a job.”
“How about cargo space?”
“I don’t know exactly—but it was big enough for several tons of walrus and musk ox skeletons, so it ought to suit you.”
“What do you think I could get her for?”
“I don’t think—I know. I was talking to her owner yesterday noon. You can get her for ninety days for five thousand dollars—seventy-five per for a shorter time. That includes the services of four men, licensed pilot, first and second engineer, and a nigger cook; and gas and oil for the motor.”
Ned stood up, his black eyes sparkling with elation, and put on his hat. “Where do I find her?”
“Hunt up Ole Knutsen, at this address.” Nard wrote an instant on a strip of paper. “The name of the craft is the Charon.”
“The Charon! My heavens, wasn’t he the old boy who piloted the lost souls across the river Styx? If I were a bit superstitious——”
“You’d be afraid you were headed straight for the infernal regions, eh? It does seem to be tempting providence to ride in a boat with such a name. Fortunately the average man Knutsen hires for his crew doesn’t know Charon from Adam. Seamen, my boy, are the most superstitious crowd on earth. No one can follow the sea and not be superstitious—don’t ask me why. It gets to them, some way, inside.”