John sat late as he pondered over the situation. Suddenly one of the Articles of Association of the stores flamed within the chamber of his brain, and a twinkle shone in his eye, as he reflected that it should enable him to mate Bill’s cleverness at the very outset.
Bill had quoted from the prospectus, but he had evidently overlooked the Articles of Association, and John chuckled to himself delightedly as he recalled Article 5.
Shortly after seven next morning John might have been observed taking the air upon the quay, casting shrewd glances as he passed along. He had some suspicions concerning the amount of value of Bill’s consignment of pianos, family Bibles, etc., and he thought he might possibly discover something for himself if he saw what vessels were lying at the quay.
There was a green-hulled brigantine from Norway lying alongside, but she was full of battens and pit-props; a steam-collier lay next, but she must simply be waiting there for stores or sailing orders. A tramp came next, apparently from America, by the labels on some of her packages that the cranes were already swinging overhead.
This, then, must be Bill’s consignment, for there was nothing else in the river or at the quay that John could see that could possibly have anything on board for Bill or his stores.
As he stood there immersed in thought, a figure appeared on the deck above him, and, leaning his arms on the taffrail, regarded the scene below him with a gloomy air. ‘The skipper,’ thought John, as he noted his blue broadcloth and peaked cap, and on the spur of a sudden inspiration immediately accosted him.
‘Fine morning, captain. I happen to have heard a rumour to the effect that you were wanting an offer for your cargo. If so, I might possibly get you an offer from a friend of mine—at a reasonable figure, of course.’
‘Waal,’ replied the other slowly, ‘I guess I’m ready for a deal, as the consignees are bust up, and only 25 per cent. of the freight paid for; but it’s not a knock-out, I tell ye, for I’ve had a bid already for the lot.’
‘Was it from a man they call Bill Coody, by any chance?’ asked John, with a fine carelessness.
‘Waal,’ replied the skipper, as he turned his quid, ‘his name’s nothin’ to me, so long as he has the ready. Mr. Cash is the gent I do business with; but if my memory sarves me right, I think Bill Coody was the name on his pasteboard.’