Bartlett—Then ye think I did no wrong?
Nat—No! Any man—I’d have done the same myself.
Bartlett—[Gripping his son’s hand tensely.] Ye be true son o’ mine, Nat. I ought to told ye before. [Exultantly.] Ye hear, Sarah? Nat says I done no wrong.
Nat—The map! Can I see it?
Bartlett—Aye. [He hands it to Nat who spreads it out on the table and pores over it.]
Nat—[Excitedly.] Why, with this I—we—can go back—even if the Sarah Allen is lost.
Bartlett—She ain’t lost, boy—not her. Don’t heed them lies ye been hearin’. She’s due now. I’ll go up and look. [He goes up the companionway stairs. Nat does not seem to notice his going, absorbed in the map. Then there is a loud muffled hail in Bartlett’s voice.] “Sarah Allen, ahoy!” [Nat starts, transfixed—then rushes to one of the portholes to look. He turns back, passing his hand over his eyes, frowning bewilderedly. The door above is flung open and slammed shut and Bartlett stamps down the stairs.]
Bartlett—[Fixing Nat hypnotically with his eyes—triumphantly.] What did I tell ye? D’ye believe now she’ll come back? D’ye credit your own eyes?
Nat—[Vaguely.] Eyes? I looked. I didn’t see——
Bartlett—Ye lie! The Sarah Allen, ye blind fool, come back from the Southern Seas as I swore she must! Loaded with gold as I swore she would be!—makin’ port!—droppin’ her anchor just when I hailed her.