It was bang, bang, bang all the way to Canso, with Clancy swearing at Withrow and the Flamingo and Dave Warner and the girl in the case––one after the other and sometimes all together. “Blast Withrow and that crazy fool Dave Warner, too. And why in the devil couldn’t her folks stayed in Gloucester––or in Halifax, at least. They ought’ve put a few sticks of dynamite in her and blown her to pieces ages ago. She’s forty years old if she’s a day––her old planks rotten. They won’t keep her afloat over-night if they’re out in this. Why d’y’s’pose people leave a good lively little city like Halifax to go to a place like Canso? Why?”
Andie Howe happened to be within hearing, and “Maybe the rent’s cheaper,” suggested Andie.
“Maybe it is––and maybe if you don’t talk sense I’ll heave you over the rail some fine day. Better give her a grain more fore-sheet. Man, but it’s a wicked night.”
We made Canso after the worst day and night we had had in the Johnnie Duncan since she was 291 launched. Outside Canso Harbor it looked bad. We didn’t think the skipper would try to enter the harbor that black night, but he did. “Got to go in and get news,” said Clancy, and in we went. It was as black as could be––squalls sweeping down––and Canso is not the easiest harbor in the world to make at night.
I went ashore with Clancy to hear what the young woman might have to say. We found her in a place run by her father, a sort of lodging house and “pub,” with herself serving behind the bar––a bold-looking young woman, not over-neat––and yet attractive in her way––good figure, regular features, and good color. “There, Joe, if you brought a girl like that home your mother would probably die of a broken heart, but there’s the kind that a foolish man like Dave Warner would sell his soul for.” Then Clancy explained while we were waiting for her to see us privately, “I don’t know if she’ll remember me, but I met her two or three times in Gloucester.”
When she came in she recognized Clancy right away. “How do you do, Captain Clancy?”
“How do you do, Miss Luce? My friend, Mr. Buckley. Now what we’ve come for––but first, suppose we have a little something by way of sociability. A little fizzy stuff, say, and some good cigars, Miss Luce.”
She brought the wine and the cigars. Clancy pulled the cork, filled both glasses, pushed one glass toward the young woman and drew one to himself.
“But, Captain, your friend hasn’t any.”