Mr. Fogg did not understand that sneer, and he paid no attention to the captain's manner. He started for the cabin indicated.
“Well, you can swell around in gold braid now and catch your heiress,” observed Captain Wass to his mate.
“I'm sorry, skipper,” said the young man, with real feeling. “You are the man to be promoted, not I. It isn't right—it doesn't seem real.”
“There isn't any real steamboating on this coast any longer. It is—I don't know what the devil it is,” snarled the veteran. “I have been sniffing and scouting. I'd like to be a mouse in the wall of them New York offices and hear what it is they're trying to do to us poor cusses. Ordered one day to keep the law; ordered the next day to break the law; hounded by owners and threatened by the government! I'm glad I'm out of it and glad you've got a good job. That last I'm specially glad about. But keep your eye peeled. There are queer doings round about you!”
Fogg entered the cabin and shut the door behind him. He found Boyne sitting on a stool and looking somewhat apprehensive. “Hiding?” inquired Fogg.
“I thought I wouldn't show myself till I was sure about who was on that tug,” said the young man.
“That's the boy, David,” complimented Fogg, with real heartiness. “You're no fool. Nothing like being careful. Pack your bag and go aboard the tug.” He marched out.
“Philadelphia charter has been canceled, eh?” asked Captain Wass. The tone of his voice did not invite amity.
“It has, sir.”
“Seems queer to turn down a cargo that's there waiting—and the old boat can carry it cheaper than anybody else, the way I've got expenses fined down.”