Jimmy once more remembered that he had on a pair of burst canvas shoes, as well as old duck trousers cobbled with sail twine, and a man-o'-war cap that had grown shapeless with the rain. He also realized that his companion was quite aware of it too.
"I'm afraid it wouldn't be a very appropriate thing if I did," he said.
Anthea looked at him steadily. "Pshaw!" she said. "Still, you really can't expect me to urge you."
Perhaps it was a slight relief to both of them that Valentine signed to Jimmy just then. "They want this box," he said. "The rest of the things are to wait for the express wagon."
Jimmy, who turned away, heaved the box into the vehicle, and did not see the curious little smile in Anthea Merril's eyes. In a few minutes she had driven away, and, he fancied, had passed out of his life altogether. He stood still on the wharf and sighed.
"Well," said Valentine, "where are you going now?"
"Straight back to the schooner," said Jimmy. "I see her lying outside the steamboat yonder. You might bring my things across when you have straightened up the boat."
Valentine promised to do so, and Jimmy, who strode away, met Jordan, whom he had not expected to see there, on the water-front.
"What are you doing in Vancouver?" he asked.
"Looking after my patent rights—among other things," said Jordan. "The mill's shut down for two or three weeks anyway. Between the stone in the water and the new detergent the directors insisted on my using, the boiler has 'most turned herself inside out. Our people have their office here, as you know, and my agreement with them only stands for another month, while it seems that Merril has been buying up their stock. I'm not sure his notions are going to suit me. You heard we had to break off your father's contract?"