“I’m sure you do, Mr. Vose.”
“So we’ll talk it all over this evening—and while we’re about it, if you don’t call me Captain Vose down this way they’ll think you don’t know me very well.”
I blushed, then I followed him out and away.
Before I tumbled into bed that night we had settled upon the future so far as our words to each other went; the bargain only needed the ratification of Anson C. Doughty—and that was secured next morning. I had expected that sleep would soothe my nerves and remove my ugly grouch in the case of that gentleman. However, there must have been something instinctive in my dislike for him; he looked me up and down and caught my scowl.
“You seem to have picked out a pretty surly up-country steer, Vose! However, put him to work if you like that kind!”
So to work I went.
I cleaned diving-suits and thus became familiar with the parts and the mechanism. I soaked out mud-caked ropes, I tended lines and learned signals, and was always busy with a hundred other odd jobs as a satellite of Diver Vose. He used me well enough, though he was never as warm toward me as he was at our first meeting.
After some weeks I lost my fear that I would be followed and taken back to Levant. I was not sure whether I felt more relief than rancor. To be considered as not worth chasing, to know they were saying “Good riddance!” behind my back, gave me thoughts which hurt a certain kind of pride.
I was afraid of the city and I went nowhere except to my work and to my boarding-place. So there was an epoch in my life which was bare of adventure until Diver Vose sent me down for the first time.
He had given me a fine course of sprouts previously, of course.