Farwell read the words twice, then said:
"Well?"
"Shall I—stop him, Master Farwell?"
"Can you spare what he has taken?"
"'Tain't that, sir."
"Then let him go! Let him have his fling."
"They do say—Long Jean, she do say—it's Glenn's girl. My lad's been crazy for her. I'm afraid of Glenn."
"Let things alone, McAlpin. This is your time to lie low and hold your tongue."
Farwell tore the paper in shreds and cast them to the wind.
The steamer came in at eight. At nine-thirty it left the wharf, and, a mile down the Channel, stopped at the little safety station to take on oil and gasoline. Tom Bluff, a half-breed, had the place in charge, and later that evening he put the finishing touch to the day's gossip.