Very readily he told them the tale of his marriage, and, further, pointed out that the future might hold many occasions when his shipmates of the “Jane Gladys” might find it profitable to link their talents temporarily to the fortunes of the little second-hand shop.
But when Mr. Tridge remarked that the “Jane Gladys” was sailing early on the morrow, and that therefore a little loan would be both acceptable and timely to her crew, Mr. Horace Dobb did not reply in words.
Instead, he stood erect and pointed over his shoulder, with a jerk of his thumb, at a notice which he had been at some pains to illuminate on a panel of wood, and which now hung conspicuously on the wall of the little shop.
Simultaneously, Messrs. Lock, Tridge, and Clark turned to regard the board. It bore the simple legend, “Strictly Business.”
EPISODE II
A WATCHING BRIEF
Mr. Peter Lock, in the bowels of the “Jane Gladys,” had attired himself for outdoor promenade with a meticulous attention to detail which had spurred Mr. Joseph Tridge to scornful mention of beauty-doctors and mashers and tailors’ dummies. Mr. Lock, in no wise offended by these oblique compliments to his appearance, had finally lingered for a full half-minute before the cracked little mirror in fastidious self-examination, and then had gone ashore for the express purpose of keeping an appointment with a friend. Five minutes later he reappeared. He explained that a complication had arisen, for his friend had brought a friend with her to the trysting-place, so that another gentleman was now indispensable to secure balance to the party. As the result of eloquent appeals and lavish promises, Mr. Tridge was reluctantly impressed into the role of temporary friend to the friend’s friend.
Matters thus adjusted, Messrs. Tridge and Lock departed, leaving the fo’c’sle of the “Jane Gladys” empty but for the brooding figure of the stout and aged Mr. Samuel Clark.
For a long while Mr. Clark sat on the edge of his bunk, wrapped in doleful reverie, and motionless save when, from time to time, a deep sigh agitated his vast shoulders. At last, however, a well-remembered whistle sounded from the quay, and instantly roused Mr. Clark from his gloomy meditations.
“’Orace!” he exclaimed, sitting erect, and his eyes began to gleam with a dawning hopefulness.
A few minutes later Mr. Horace Dobb descended into that fo’c’sle wherein aforetime he had been so prominent a dweller, though now it needed strong imagination to believe that, less than three weeks ago, he had served the “Jane Gladys” in such a menial capacity as cook. For Mr. Dobb was wearing a horseshoe pin and a massive watch-chain, and a soft hat of adventurous aspect. He carried a bloated umbrella which had somehow acquired a quality of being a mace-like symbol of authority. And, also, Mr. Dobb was smoking a cigar.