“The lines of starvation, you mean,” cried the other. “Since I left your hard-feeding Scotch ships an’ got home into Bluenosers again, I’ve gained weight, and so have you, let me tell you. Where do we celebrate?”
“Right here, old timer,” answered Donald. “I’ve got a meal ordered that will make your mouth water, and with everything to drink from pina frias to planter’s punch.” And they entered the cool, high-ceilinged dining room and sat down at a table by the patio.
“I suppose you’ll try to go afishin’ in that ol’ hooker of yours this spring,” queried Judson. “You should do all right. You know the ropes naow an’ ye’ve done two seasons in the dory with me. Will Heneker give you the Alameda for a fishin’ trip this spring, d’ye think?”
McKenzie pursed his lips. “I’m not sure, Jud. You see I offered to take her down here with a load of salt fish when Tom Himmelman took sick, as you know, and I didn’t get a chance to broach the subject. I was glad of the opportunity to skipper a vessel, and I didn’t ask for too much. But when I get home I’ll ask Heneker to give me a chance as skipper afishing, and if I take good care of the old Alameda he might give me charge of her or another of his hookers. Fishing is the only game to make money in. There isn’t much in this freighting work, but it’s a good way to pass the winter and earn a dollar or two. Do you know, you old fox, I think you had a hand in getting me this command?”
Captain Nickerson gave an enigmatical smile. “Skipper of a double-trawl dory is better than being mate of the finest wind-jammer afloat. You’re boss anyway—no matter the size. You ’member the old yarn ’bout the big P. and O. liner going out of London River? Her mate, brass-bound to the eyes, was standing in the bows when an old barge sculled across the river in front of the liner an’ th’ mate had to signal to the bridge to slow the engines to prevent a collision. Then he opens up on the bargee. ‘You blankety-blank scowbanker!’ he bawls. ‘What in Tophet d’ye mean by scullin’ yer old punt ’crost th’ bows of a liner carryin’ Her Majesty’s mails an’ a thousan’ passengers?’ The bargee shoots a squirt of tobacco juice over th’ liner’s stem as he sculls past, and he looks up at th’ brass-bound mate with all of a London bargee’s contempt for a deep waterman. ‘Oo th’ ’ell are you aboard that ’ooker?’ he shouts. ‘I’m the chief officer of this packet!’ answers the mate. Mister Bargee spits again and retorts, ‘Well, Mister Chief H’officer,’ he says, ‘I’m capting of this ’ere barge, so you’d better go’n talk to yer equals, you brass-bound bridge monkey!’”
The guffaws of the two sailors at this hoary old joke caused the tourists at adjacent tables to look questioningly in their direction.
Working through the dinner from soup to fruit, the two skippers passed a jovial couple of hours, and when the punch came along, Judson filled his glass. “Here’s to you, old son,” he said. “Twenty-one years of age an’ master of a vessel. Not too bad, boy! Not too bad! Here’s hoping that the next time I drink your health it will be at your wedding. Salut!” McKenzie acknowledged the toast with a smile. “And you, Jud? Here’s hoping I’ll have a similar pleasure, and I hope it will be soon. Bye-the-way, have you heard from Helena this time?”
The other reddened a little under his tan. “Yes, I got a note from her at Matanzas,” he said slowly, and then he added, “You know, we seafarin’ men are at a disadvantage. These pretty and popular girls have a swarm of shore-hawks dancin’ araound them all th’ time, while we poor devils only get an evening with them two or three times a year. Helena has a bunch of admirers in Halifax—there was two fellers visitin’ her the last time I went to call on her—an’ darned if I could get a word in edgewise. They gushed about hockey matches, dances, teas and theayters, an’ I had to sit an’ listen to their bunk an’ amuse myself tryin’ to figure aout th’ price of fish, until I sat the blighters aout an’ got a few minutes alone with her ’bout midnight. Durned if I know whether she likes me or not.”
Donald sighed sympathetically. His experiences were of a similar nature. He, too, had dallied precious hours waiting rare minutes of tête-à-tête with Ruth, but four years of persistent wooing seemed to have been rather futile, and he was in a state of maddening uncertainty as to his standing with the girl of his desire. He never talked to Judson about his fondness for Ruth, and the latter never mentioned the subject to him. Oftentimes he wished he could make a confidant of the brother, but as the other had never broached the subject, Donald hesitated to open it with him. From Jud, however, he got scraps of news, but they were not calculated to make him happy. “Th’ nut was daown home, I h’ard,” or “Ruth spent th’ holiday with th’ Moodeys,” was the general drift of his informative remarks and they made McKenzie writhe inwardly.
Ruth wrote him often, but they were merely friendly letters, commencing “Dear Donald,” and ending with “yours sincerely.” Donald took his cue from these, and no matter how much he hungered to subscribe himself as “yours affectionately,” or “yours lovingly,” he had to wait for time and opportunity to earn the right, and time and opportunity in a sailor’s wooing, is long acoming. Evidently Judson was in the same box, but Judson was in a better situation than McKenzie. Nickerson had money saved and could afford to keep a wife and a comfortable home; Donald had his mother to support and had nothing but a couple of hundred dollars to windward of him. Give him two years as skipper of a fishing vessel and he might, with luck, scratch up enough to keep a home with a wife and his mother, but when he thought of Ruth as the wife, the prospects looked black. Moodey paid her a great deal of attention; Moodey’s people had money, and he, himself, had secured his LL.B., and was now a junior member of his father’s law firm. Walter was away with a flying start on the road to success; McKenzie was but a common vessel fisherman, and skipper for a West Indian voyage, of a small schooner carrying dried fish.