Barbara had not seen Lister and wondered where he was, until a man plunged out from the neighboring door of the engine-room. The abruptness of his exit indicated that he had been rudely propelled by somebody behind, and as he lurched across the deck, Lister appeared at the door. His cap was dark with grease, his overalls were stained, and a black smear ran from his eye to chin.
"Hustle and get that oil drum on the wharf, you drunken hog!" he shouted. "If I hadn't watched out you'd have left half the truck."
He stopped when he saw Barbara. "This is very kind," he said to her. "I knew Cartwright was on board, but hadn't hoped you would come to give us a good send-off."
Barbara noted his satisfaction and was moved by something in his voice. He looked thin and fine-drawn in his stained engineer's clothes, and his hands were greasy. The surroundings were not romantic, but somehow they got brighter and her gloom vanished. Lister's eyes sparkled; he wore the stamp of strength and confidence.
"I doubted if my step-father would bring me, but I really meant to come," she said. "For one thing, I wanted to ask you—"
She hesitated, for it was hard to strike the right note. She had begun to see there was something exciting and perhaps heroic about the adventure. The handful of men had undertaken a big thing; there was much against them, and daunting risks must be run. Moreover, she had studied Cartwright and remarked the anxiety he thought he had hid. Cartwright was rather inscrutable, but sympathy had given her power to understand. She thought he was engaged in a reckless gamble and could not afford to lose.
"Whatever you want—" Lister declared, but she stopped him.
"I want you to do your best."
"You can reckon on that, anyhow! Cartwright has hired me; I'm his man."
Barbara smiled. "Yes; I know! You're honest and will do all you engaged; but in a sense, this is not enough. I want you to make an extra effort, because—"