But it occurred to him that there must be some basis of fact in Cunningham’s pearl atoll, and yonder owner was game enough to take a sporting chance; that, or he had been handsomely paid for his charter.
An atoll in the Sulu Archipelago that had been 270 overlooked—that was really the incredible part of it. Dennison had first-hand knowledge that there wasn’t a rock in the whole archipelago that had not been looked over and under by the pearl hunters.
He saw the tramp’s longboat come staggering across the intervening water. Rag-tag and bob-tail of the Singapore docks, crimp fodder—that was what Dennison believed he had the right to expect. And behold! Except that they were older, the newcomers lined up about average with the departing—able seamen.
The transshipping of the crews occupied about an hour. As the longboat’s boat hook caught the Wanderer’s ladder for the third time the crates and casings were carried down and carefully deposited in the stern sheets.
About this time Cunningham appeared. He paused by the rail for a minute and looked up at the Cleighs, father and son. He was pale, and his attitude suggested pain and weakness, but he was not too weak to send up his bantering smile. Cleigh, senior, gazed stonily forward, but Dennison answered the smile by soberly shaking his head. Dennison could not hear Cunningham’s laugh, but he saw the expression of it.
Cunningham put his hand on the rail in preparation for the first step, when Jane appeared with 271 bandages, castile soap, the last of her stearate of zinc, absorbent cotton and a basin of water.
“What’s this—a clinic?” he asked.
“You can’t go aboard that awful-looking ship without letting me give you a fresh dressing,” she declared.
“Lord love you, angel of mercy, I’m all right!”
“It was for me. Even now you are in pain. Please!”