"I think that is rather a difficult question—one, in fact, that we should gain nothing by going into. How long are you going to command the Shasta?"
"Until——" and Jimmy, who had not quite recovered from his exertions during the voyage, stopped abruptly. He could not tell his companion that he expected to sail the dilapidated steamer until she had wrested away a sufficient share of the trade her father was laying hands upon to enable Jordan to buy a larger one.
"I don't quite know," he added. "Anyway, I was very glad to get her. It is pleasanter to take command than to carry planks about the Hastings wharf ashore."
"You were doing that?" and for no very ostensible reason a faint tinge of color crept into his companion's face. Labor is held more or less honorable in that country, but, after all, Anthea Merril was a young woman of station.
"It must have been a change," she said a moment later.
"From the lumber schooner, or Valentine's Sorata?"
Anthea looked at him with a sparkle in her eyes. "Pshaw!" she said. "Are you going to masquerade always, or do you think I am quite without intelligence?"
Then she turned, and pointed to the beautiful white Empress boat. "When are you going back again?"
Jimmy understood her, and made no further disclaimer. Still, his face grew somewhat hard, and he moved abruptly.
"I don't quite know," he said. "Very likely I shall never go back at all. Circumstances are rather against me."