The West Wind’s crew arrived in Halifax on a Monday morning at the end of September to attend the inquiry, and the evidence was given by both sides. The Greeks had no case. It was proved that they were navigating at full speed in a dense fog; that a proper look-out was not kept; and that sound signals were not given at the intervals required by the International Rules of the Road for navigation “in fog, mist, snow or heavy rainstorms.” The Court severely condemned the absolute disregard for Articles 15 and 16 of the Rules, and the Commissioner was most scathing in his remarks regarding the conduct of the Greeks in running away from the vicinity after sinking the schooner. To the Greek master and watch-officers he said, “Your conduct on this occasion was such as to merit for you the scorn and contempt of all seafarers, and your action can only be characterized as one of the most despicable cowardice. If this Court had power to deal with your certificates, we would have no hesitation in cancelling for all time that of the master, and the second and fourth mates, in order that such callous brutes may never hold a position of responsibility at sea again; as it is, a copy of this judgment will be handed to the Grecian Consul!” The West Wind secured a judgment against the Livadia, and the Greeks left the Court Room amidst the hisses of the spectators. An Admiralty Court action for damages was immediately entered by the owners and crew of the fishing schooner, and the skipper remarked to Donald, “We’ll win our case. You can go over to Glasgow naow an’ bring your mother aout. I’ll have a berth in my West Indiaman for you when you get back.”
That evening after supper at their hotel, the skipper and Donald went to the Stuart home to call on Helena and Ruth. Judson had telephoned earlier in the day that they would be around, and McKenzie was wildly excited at the thought of seeing Ruth once more. With his new suit on, he felt more presentable, though he was not altogether pleased with the cut of the garment, nor the pattern. The collar did not “sit” nicely and the coat sleeves reached the knuckles of his hands. The pants seemed horribly wide, and they had a loose feeling around the waist. Mrs. Nickerson had spoken of their roominess as just the thing for a growing lad, but then the dear old lady did not know that the “growing lad” was in love, and therefore more than usually fastidious and critical of personal appearance. The pattern—a pepper and salt effect—gave Donald the creeps to look at it, but there was one thing in the outfit’s favor, and that was the strength and durability of the cloth. As Donald soliloquised, “This suit was built—not tailored. They sewed it with sail-twine and lined and stiffened it with double-ought storm canvas. It would make a grand sail when everything else blew away!” After numerous surveys in the mirror, straightenings of tie and collar, and buttonings and unbuttonings of the coat and vest, the skipper remarked with a grin, “Oh, you’ll do, Donny-boy! With that rig on, you look as handsome as a silver dollar on a Swede’s pants, or a monkey’s eye in a frying-pan. Anybody that walks aout with you naow sh’d be as proud as a dog with two tails. Knock off yer glass-goggling and we’ll git along!” And blushing self-consciously, Donald followed him—inwardly condemning the fit and texture of his gift suit.
The Stuarts lived in a fine house not far from the Public Gardens, and when the skipper rang the bell, Donald gave his drooping sleeves a hitch up and patted the recalcitrant collar into place. A maid answered the door and ushered them into a parlor. Judson was perfectly at ease. Donald, who ought to have felt at home in such surroundings, sat on a spider-legged gilt chair feeling awkward and out of place.
A rustle of skirts, a ripple of laughter, and Helena and Ruth entered the room. McKenzie’s heart leaped and he rose to his feet, and while Ruth was greeting her brother with hugs and kisses, Helena, looking particularly charming and attractive, walked over to him. “I’m so glad to see you again, Donald,” she said sweetly. “And you’re not looking any the worse for your shipwreck out on the Banks.” She shook hands and turned to the skipper, “And how is Captain Judson?” And the two of them drew away to a corner sofa, leaving Ruth standing before McKenzie.
She had her dark hair coiled up and wore a dress of some pink silky material, which showed her slim girlish figure to advantage. There was a soft rose blush in her cheeks and her blue eyes sparkled as she advanced to Donald, but he, with the critical discernment of the love-lorn, thought there was a hint of coldness in her gaze. It might have been reserve. “And how are you, Mister McKenzie?” she enquired calmly. Donald mentally winced at the Mister, and instinctively felt the reserve, the chill—just a suspicion of it—in her voice and manner. He clasped her hand warmly and inclined his head with a courteous gesture. “I’m very well—Ruth,” he answered quietly, “and you?” He raised his large dark eyes to her face and continued, “I needn’t ask for my sight tells me you’re the picture of health.” Mentally he added, “And lovelier than ever!”
She sat down in a chair near-by and Donald admired the ease and grace with which she walked. He was keen to notice all the little traits and points in her carriage and manner and in the sedate environment of the Stuart home, it was evident that Ruth had adopted her “city manners” in dress and actions. They murmured a few commonplaces about the weather, while McKenzie noticed that she had small neat feet and wore white silk stockings and fine kid dancing slippers. He liked to see a girl attired in nice frocks and “things” feminine, fluffy, soft, silky and lacey, but Scotch-like, he mentally figured the cost and wondered when he would earn enough to provide a wife with the articles he would like to see her clothed in.
“You had quite a mishap out on the Banks, I hear,” she observed, leaning back and gazing at him with steady eyes. McKenzie imagined she was looking critically at his suit and he hitched the sleeves up off his knuckles before he replied. “Yes! It was quite a smash-up. It might have been worse if we’d all been aboard the schooner. McGlashan regrets losing an alarm clock and a fine chowder which he was cooking at the time—” He smiled as Ruth laughed and revealed her white, even teeth. The ice seemed to be broken by his remark, and soon the pair were chatting away and rivalling the skipper and Helena, who were conversing most earnestly.
They talked about Eastville, and Donald told of his renting a house for his mother, and how he hoped to be leaving Halifax that week to bring her out to Canada. Ruth nodded interestedly and asked many questions, but not once during her conversation did she address him as “Donald,” and the youth puzzled his brains to account for this sudden formality. Was she trying to keep their intimacy upon the plane of “merely friends and nothing more”? Donald worried.
“Do you intend to remain at the fishing?” she asked. Something in the tone of her voice lent moment to the question.