“Here,” came in the engineer’s voice from the first-comer. The captain approached and the two men fell to pacing up and down, talking in low tones. Hilliard could catch the words when the speakers were near the stern, but lost them when they went forward to the break of the poop.
“Confound that man Coburn,” he heard Captain Beamish mutter. “What on earth is keeping him all this time?”
“The young visitors, doubtless,” rumbled Bulla with a fat chuckle, “our friends of the evening.”
“Yes, confound them, too,” growled Beamish, who seemed to be in an unenviable frame of mind. “Damned nuisance their coming round. I should like to know what they are after.”
“Nothing particular, I should fancy. Probably out doing some kind of a holiday.”
They passed round the deckhouse and Hilliard could not hear the reply. When they returned Captain Beamish was speaking.
“—thinks it would about double our profits,” Hilliard heard him say. “He suggests a second depot on the other side, say at Swansea. That would look all right on account of the South Wales coalfields.”
“But we’re getting all we can out of the old hooker as it is,” Bulla objected. “I don’t see how she could do another trip.”
“Archer suggests a second boat.”
“Oh.” The engineer paused, then went on: “But that’s no new suggestion. That was proposed before ever the thing was started.”