“Yes!” replied the other. “I’m in it now, and I intend to make it my work. I like the life. It’s full of interest and every day brings something new. Your fishermen are splendid chaps and dandy shipmates, and these fishing schooners are wonderful vessels—comfortable and seaworthy. I hope I shall be skipper of one by the time I’m twenty-one.”
“It’s a hard life and a dangerous life though,” said the girl, with a far-away look in her blue eyes. “It must be awful to be a fisherman’s wife. In those terrible winter gales ... a lot of fishermen are drowned. Just think what might have happened on Juddy’s boat if that collision had occurred at night and you were all in bed. A good many of you would have been drowned. We’ve had accidents of that sort before in Eastville ships and I know—” She shuddered half-fearfully.
“You can get drowned on other craft besides fishermen,” observed Donald. “I’ll bet there are as many people killed in Halifax in a year as there are drownings from vessels on the Banks. There’s a good many fishermen out there at times—Lunenburg has twenty-five hundred men in her fleet alone—and look at the crowds from Gloucester, Boston, Newfoundland, France and other places.” He regarded her intently and gave his creeping cuffs another upward hitch.
“That may be so, Mr. McKenzie,” said Ruth decidedly, “but if the fishermen do not worry, their women do. I’d go crazy if I had a husband out at sea in those fogs and cyclones. It’s bad enough to have Juddy in that risky, messy business, but a husband—?” She closed her eyes for a moment, while Donald stared at her with a strange tremor in his breast. It was as though he had received a blow and the impressions left by her words were painful. If he were to be at all favored by Ruth’s heart and hand, it was evident that he would have to change his profession, unless she changed her views.
They chatted on other subjects for a while and McKenzie noticed that his companion was glancing every now and again at the ormolu clock on the mantel, and when she answered his questions she seemed abstracted and her remarks were terse and spoken in a manner which betokened that she was forcing the conversation. A ring came at the door-bell, and as the maid pattered down the hall to answer it, Ruth sat up in her chair and straightened out her frock. “She’s expecting someone,” mentally surmised McKenzie, and his spirits dropped a shade when he heard a male voice speaking to the maid. Helena looked over at Ruth with a knowing smile. “That’s Walter, I guess!” she whispered, and Miss Nickerson colored a trifle and looked expectantly at the door of the room.
The male voice spoke in the hall. “Miss Nickahson’s in the pawloh, eh?” and they all rose as a young man about twenty entered the room. He was an athletic-looking fellow, dressed in the height of fashion, and he wore a striped tie and clothes of a cut much affected by college students. His sandy hair was long and parted in the middle; he had blue eyes, teeth with much gold filling in them, and a face which was clear-skinned, regular and good-looking. Smiling, he advanced to Miss Nickerson and extended a white, well-manicured hand. “Good evening, Ruth,” he said breezily, “and how do I find you to-night?” The girl took his hand and murmured something while the color deepened in her cheeks. The visitor then wheeled and greeted Helena, who introduced Judson and Donald. “I’m happy to meet you, Captain! How do, McKenzie!” he drawled in the stilted English of certain Haligonians who endeavor to ape the style and accent of the Naval Dock-yard and Garrison fops. The skipper gave him a sharp, keen, appraising glance and Donald could note a hostile light in Judson’s eyes.
Mr. Walter Moodey strode lightly across the room and, drawing a chair with him, sat down alongside Miss Nickerson. After pulling up his immaculately creased pants and revealing a fancy colored sock above sharp-toed shoes, he leaned towards the girl in a cool, self-possessed manner. “Have you rested up since the dawnce the otha’ night?” And the two were soon engaged in bubbling reminiscences, while Donald sat quiet and with a complacent look on his face which did not accord with the feeling in his breast. At last, Ruth, conscious of her neglect, turned to him with an effort to include him in the conversation. “Mr. McKenzie is going over to Scotland this week to bring his mother out to Canada,” she said. “Now, isn’t he a good boy?”
Mr. Moodey endeavored to look interested. His keen eyes rambled over Donald’s clothes, and conscious of the scrutiny, McKenzie squirmed in his chair and hitched his sleeves up. “Ah, really!” He pronounced it “rully.” “Going ovah in the Sardonia, Mistah? She sails for Glasgow this week.” Donald gave him a clear-eyed gaze. “I don’t know what ship I’m going on,” he answered.
“You haven’t booked your passage yet? Bettah hurry—all the ships are full—”