Published, 1922
CONTENTS
| CHAPTER | |
|---|---|
| [I] | THE FLYING DUTCHMAN |
| [II] | THE PROPOSITION |
| [III] | THE PLAN |
| [IV] | TYREBUCK |
| [V] | JAKE |
| [VI] | JOE BARRETT |
| [VII] | THE FIRING OF JAKE |
| [VIII] | PUBLICITY |
| [IX] | CANDON |
| [X] | THE RED BEARDED ONE |
| [XI] | NIGHT |
| [XII] | OUT |
| [XIII] | THE BAY OF WHALES |
| [XIV] | ST. NICOLAS |
| [XV] | WHAT THE CHINKS WERE DOING |
| [XVI] | EVIDENCE OF CONTRABAND |
| [XVII] | THE SURPRISE |
| [XVIII] | THE ATTACK |
| [XIX] | A SEA FIGHT |
| [XX] | DOWN BELOW |
| [XXI] | TOMMIE |
| [XXII] | A PROBLEM IN PSYCHOLOGY |
| [XXIII] | THE NEW CHUM |
| [XXIV] | THE FREIGHTER |
| [XXV] | THEY TURN THE CORNER |
| [XXVI] | THE BAY OF WHALES |
| [XXVII] | THE CONFESSION |
| [XXVIII] | HANK |
| [XXIX] | THE SAND |
| [XXX] | STRANGERS ON THE BEACH |
| [XXXI] | “TOMMIE’S GONE!” |
| [XXXII] | THE RETURN OF CANDON |
| [XXXIII] | GONE! |
| [XXXIV] | JAKE |
| [XXXV] | SANTANDER ROCK |
| [XXXVI] | “CANDON” |
| [XXXVII] | JAKE IS FIRED AGAIN |
| [XXXVIII] | THE ANCHOR TAKES THE MUD |
| [XXXIX] | VANDERDECKEN |
VANDERDECKEN
CHAPTER I
THE FLYING DUTCHMAN
GEORGE DU CANE was writing a letter in the smoking room of the Bohemian Club, San Francisco.
George was an orphan with guardians. Twenty-four years and five months of age, his property would not be decontrolled for another seven months when, on his twenty-fifth birthday, he would find himself the actual possessor of something over two million, five hundred thousand dollars. Old Harley du Cane, George’s father, had made his money speculating. He had no healthy business to leave to his son and no very healthy reputation. He had ruined thousands of men whom he had never seen and never heard of, he had escaped ruin countless times by the skin of his teeth, he had wrecked railways; his life was, if logic counts, a long disgrace, and in a perfect civilization he would have been hanged. All the same he was a most lovable old man, generous, warm-hearted, hot-tempered, high-coloured, beautifully dressed; always with a cigar in his mouth and a flower in his buttonhole, his hat tilted on one side and his hand in his pocket for any unfortunate.
Only for his great battle with Jay Gould, he might have died worth ten million. He reckoned that he died poor, and, dying, he tied up his property in the hands of two trustees, as I have hinted. “To keep you from the sharks, George.”