He bore the unmistakable hall-mark, and Kenneth liked the looks of him and the ring of his voice.
The two men eyed one another closely as they shook hands.
"Mr. Duncan told me you were wanting a captain for your schooner, Mr. Blair. I only heard it half an hour ago, and I've come straight."
Blair nodded. "What are your qualifications? It is not everybody's job, you know."
"I know all about it, sir. And I think I'm the man for it. My name is Cathie—John Cathie. I sailed my own ship as master for over fifteen years. Quitted the sea three years ago because I'd made enough to live on and the wife wanted me to stop ashore. She died six months ago. I've neither chick nor child, and I want back to the water. When you've spent thirty-five years with live water under your feet, the land comes strange to you!"
"Ever been in the South Seas?"
"Spent ten years in the Island trade, sir. Know 'em like a book, from the Carolines to the Paumotus; and if you can find a brown man in the whole stretch that has a word against John Cathie I'll—well, you can name your own forfeit."
"And the white men?"
"Ah—there! Most of 'em all right. Some I'd like to see strung higher than Haman. But that kind's mostly yellow, though some are dirty white."
"Know the Dark Islands?"