Mr. Moodey, after a period of silence, cleared his throat. “You’re a swimmah, McKenzie?” he enquired.
Donald nodded. “I can swim a little.”
“Jolly useful thing to know,” continued the other, “specially if one’s a fisherman. They’re always getting spilled out of their boats. I do some swimming myself. It is one of the sports I pride myself on. Just won this trinket the otha day for swimming out at the Nor’west Arm.” He took a watch-fob out of his pocket and handed it to Donald. It was a gold medallion—a first prize for a half-mile contest—and Donald knew enough about swimming to give Moodey credit for being an athlete of distinction. “That’s very nice,” he remarked, handing the fob back. “I’ve done a little racing when I was at school. Y’know, in Glasgow schools swimming is compulsory, and I rather liked it.” Modestly, he made no mention of having won the Glasgow Amateur Swimming Shield for schoolboys under 14 years of age.
After Helena’s revelation, Moodey became quite cordial. He realized that McKenzie was a superior sort of a fellow in spite of his vocation and his frightful taste in clothes, and he dropped his patronizing and sarcastic attitude towards him. Besides, he found in McKenzie a foe-man worthy of his steel and he was quick to assume that any baiting of the Scotch lad would lose him Ruth’s friendship. It was evident that this McKenzie chap had a strong stand-in with the Nickersons and Helena Stuart, and an exhibition of antipathy would probably end in Mr. Moodey being the loser. With the change in both Ruth’s and Moodey’s attitude towards him, Donald found himself spending the most enjoyable period of the evening.
After having some cake and coffee, the men rose to depart. Moodey took his leave first—saying that he was in training and would have to get to bed early for the game on the morrow—and he shook hands quite cordially with Donald. “Try and get around to the game to-morrow afternoon, old chap,” he said, “and if you’re going to be in Halifax for a few days, why we might go over to the Arm and have a swim togethaw.” And after saying to the girls that he would look for them in the grand stand—front row—next afternoon, he said “Good-night!” and departed.
When McKenzie was leaving, Ruth took him to one side. “It was lovely of you to come,” she said sweetly, giving him a squeeze of the hand and a glance from her blue eyes which set his heart in a whirl. “And you’ve been so nice and obliging in playing and singing for us. And, moreover, we Nickersons are very much in your debt for what you did ... out on the Banks.” Donald made a deprecatory gesture. “It was nothing. I am a good swimmer,” he murmured happily.
“If you are going to be in town to-morrow, Donald,” said Helena, “you must come up and have tea with us. Judson is coming, too.” And when Ruth echoed the invitation, Donald accepted with delight.
At their hotel that night, Judson seemed in great spirits. He and Helena had had a wonderful evening together, and he was feeling very happy. He whistled and hummed a song to himself as he undressed for bed, and Donald knew things were going well with him. McKenzie was in a similarly joyous mood. He felt that he had left Ruth on an extremely good footing and Moodey ceased to worry him, and when Judson remarked from the depths of his blankets, “I’d like to have that Moodey pup in my watch aboard a wind-jammer for a spell, I’d give that haw-hawing specimen of the cod-fish aristocracy a hot time, by Jupiter! I’d harden his muscles up, by Jingo! Hear him talk as though he didn’t know what a codfish was ... and his old gran’pop made a fortune out of the codfish he jewed aout of the poor devils of fishermen up the shore and on the Gaspe coast. Huh! Him and his ‘kippahs’ and his ‘pulling nets all day long’—”
McKenzie laughed. “Oh, he’s all right. He’s a decent sort of a chap. It’s just his manner and the way he has been brought up.”
Next morning he went down to the Shipping Master’s office to see about getting signed on in a steamer for Glasgow. The captain of a ship was in the place at the time, and when McKenzie asked the official if he was looking for any men to a British port, the ship-master turned and spoke. “You looking for a ship?” Donald nodded. “Yes, sir! I’d like to ship for the run to Glasgow, or, failing that, to any British port.”