Then they ate cheerfully, and Carroll, who watched his friend’s efforts with appreciation, told his story in broken sentences—sometimes with his mouth rather full, for he had not troubled about much cooking since he left the inlet. Afterwards, they lighted their pipes, but by and by Carroll’s fell from his relaxing grasp.
“I can’t get over this sleepiness,” he explained. “I believe I disgraced myself in Vancouver by going off in the most unsuitable places.”
“I dare say it was natural,” said Vane with some dryness. “Anyway, hadn’t you better hitch yourself a little farther from the fire?”
Carroll did so and lay still afterwards, but Vane kept watch during the rest of the night, until in the dawn the packers appeared.
[CHAPTER XXXI—VANE IS REINSTATED.]
Breakfast was over and the two men, wrapped in blankets, lay on opposite sides of the fire. Now that they had a supply of provisions, haste was not a matter of importance, and the rescue party needed a rest. Carroll was aching all over his body and somewhat disturbed in mind, because he had not said anything about their financial affairs to his comrade yet, and the subject must be mentioned.
“What about the Clermont?” Vane asked at length. “You needn’t trouble about breaking the news; come right to the point.”
“Then to all intents and purposes the company has gone under; it’s been taken over by Horsfield’s friends. Nairn has sold our stock—at considerably less than its face value”; and Carroll added a brief account of the absorption of the concern.
“Ah!” said Vane, whose face set hard. “I anticipated something of the kind last night; I saw how you kept clear of the matter.”
“But you said nothing.”