“Well, I don’t know where he’d be then.”
“Nor I, except––did you notice the wind has hauled to the northwest?”
“I did.”
“Well. Do you know that old vessel that Mr. 285 Withrow’s been trying to get a crew for––the Flamingo?”
“M-h-h.”
“Well, this morning early she went out––on a hand-lining trip to the east’ard, it is said. And Will says that he thinks––he doesn’t know, mind you, because they won’t tell him anything down to Withrow’s––but he thinks that Maurice Blake’s shipped in her.”
“Wow! She won’t last out one good breeze on the Banks.”
“That is just what Will said. And it’s too bad, for I had a message for him––a message that would make everything all right. I suppose you can guess?”
“Guess? H-m-m––I don’t know as I want to.”
“Well, don’t get mad about it, anyway. How would you feel if you saw that horrid Minnie Arkell rush up and––Oh, you know what I mean. However, I’ve been pleading with Alice since yesterday afternoon. For two hours I was up in her room last evening, and poor Will walking the veranda down below. I put Captain Blake’s case as I thought a friend of his would put it––as you would put it, say––perhaps better in some ways––for I could not forget that he sailed the Johnnie Duncan yesterday, and her winning meant so much 286 to Will. Yes, and I’m not forgetting Clancy and the rest of her crew––indeed, I’m not––I felt as though I could kiss every one of them.”