Captain Pontifex produced a paper which must have been long prepared, for it was typed, and handed it to Dennis. The latter glanced it over. The writing was no more than an agreement to the terms as Pontifex had outlined them: Dennis passed the paper to Florence.
"Pontifex," he said slowly, "you're white in this thing! I tell you we appreciate it. Yes, I can understand a good many things now that weren't clear to me before. Your offer is generous. It's eminently square. We're not rich, and if this thing goes through it'll mean a great deal to us—and to the future comfort of Captain Hathaway."
Florence hastily signing the paper with the fountain pen which the skipper had handed her, shoved pen and paper at Dennis, then leaped to her feet. An excited smile upon her lips, her great brown eyes glowing with life and eagerness, she insisted on shaking hands with everyone at the table. Her slender frame seemed filled with a sudden flame of vitality.
"You've made me so happy!" she cried, speaking then to Pontifex. "Not the money, not alone what it will mean to us all—but your goodness! All of you! Oh, if father could only tell you how he must feel about it——"
She flung her arms around Mrs. Pontifex and kissed that lady heartily.
Up the craggy countenance of the Missus welled a slow tide of crimson, which swiftly waned again. Corny looked at Boatswain Joe and grinned. The deep-set, cavernous eyes of Captain Pontifex sought the impassively watching face of Miles Hathaway—sought it with a satiric gleam in their dark depths. Then they returned to the girl.
"Duty is duty," he said unctuously. "We've tried to do what's right, madam. The consciousness of having done right is a great stay in time of trouble. We——"
The words were cut short by an appalling scream which seemed to wail out of the air overhead, At that scream a silence like death fell upon the cabin.
Corny furtively crossed himself. Mr. Leman's flat ugly face turned quite white. Ericksen flung back his chair and was gone with a rush. Captain Pontifex leaped to his feet and followed Boatswain Joe to the companion. As he set foot on the ladder, the others crowding at his heels, the brig heeled over amid a confused trampling and shouting from above. Florence cried out in fear.
Manuel Mendez was helping a Kanaka at the wheel, jamming it hard down, bringing the brig slowly about; he was bawling orders, while all hands were trimming sail.