"Good for the Boatswain!" Pontifex laughed again. "I warned him to keep a close tongue. Well, suppose we pass up business for to-night, and in the morning we'll get together, eh? The directors of the company will be all aboard then; you'll be our guests for a time."
"What company?" interjected Florence.
"Ah, that's the secret!" Pontifex bowed her into the cab, his white teeth showing in a smile. "A surprise for you, madam! It was odd, the way I happened to pick up your father—poor man, stuck away in a sailor's home, unable to tell so much as his name! You know, we were always pretty good friends, Miles and I."
Tom Dennis found his suspicions fading, and his first dislike of Pontifex was lulled to rest by the man's vivid personality. Pontifex had character, plenty of it, and like all strong men could make himself greatly liked or greatly hated almost at will. He appeared to be a good-humoured, masterly sort of man, heartily loving a joke, and radiating an air of alert and genial manliness. Dennis adjudged him a good friend but a bad enemy.
"We hope that the shock of seeing you, Mrs. Dennis, will restore your father's power of speech," went on Pontifex. "For that reason we've not told him——"
"But how can he be so paralysed?" demanded Florence quickly. "Can he hear, and not speak? Why——"
"My dear young lady, the best doctors in Vancouver can't account for it!" Pontifex shook his head with an air of paternal solicitude. "It's one of the freak cases of paralysis; but it's not at all an unusual case. He can move his eyelids slightly, his eyes perfectly; he can eat and drink fairly well; yet his vocal cords are entirely paralysed."
Without opportunity for further converse they reached the water-front, and Captain Pontifex led the way toward the landing-stage. Tom Dennis had his own grip, a huge affair as large as a small trunk, and two bags belonging to Florence; of these latter the skipper had assumed charge.
Upon reaching the boat with its six merry Kanaka rowers, Manuel Mendez was introduced by Pontifex. Mendez made up for his broken English by a wide grin, and assisted Florence down into the stern-sheets of the boat, beside the Skipper, who took charge of the long steering-oar. Dennis climbed into the bow with Mendez.
After a short wait Ericksen appeared, a truckman helping him bear the one trunk which Florence had brought; this was stowed in the boat. Ericksen shook hands with Mendez, flinging a laughing greeting to the men; the Skipper, standing, flung an impatient word at Ericksen, and the latter turned to Dennis.