"Well," said Nickers phlegmatically, sipping his hot coffee, "all I got to say, looks like old Pontifex got what he was fixing to give other folks. Hey?"
Dennis nodded and left the spot. Getting coffee and biscuits from the steward, he went to the after companion way; but at the top of the ladder he encountered Florence coming up alone.
"I'll take this to Mrs. Pontifex——"
"No use, Tom," Florence stopped him, her face very pale. "Poor thing, she can't eat yet; Tom, she broke down in my arms—oh, I can't talk of it! The poor woman——"
Dennis forced a draught of coffee upon her, and Florence swallowed the hot liquid. It sent a glow of colour into her pale cheeks.
"So she's broken, eh?" mused Dennis. "Poor thing—one can't help but feel sorry for her, Florence, and yet in a way she deserved all that has happened. Look here, what are we going to do? About ourselves, I mean, and this ship, and the salvage."
He briefly explained what must have happened to Pontifex and Mr. Leman, glossing over the event as much as possible. But Florence seemed not to hear. She stood at the rail, gazing out at the purple peaks to the north for a long while. Suddenly she turned back to him, a faint smile upon her lips.
"Tom, the first thing will be to straighten everything out at Unalaska! Before I left, I told the authorities everything. They're trying to get the revenue cutter, but we shan't need her now, of course.
"We can charter this ship from Mrs. Pontifex—it'll give the poor woman some money to go on—for a share in the proceeds of the salvage. Then we can come back and clear up everything in father's old ship——"
"Agreed." Dennis turned. "Oh, Cap'n Nickers! Think we can take this craft into Unalaska with what hands we have?"