I laughed at his earnestness.
“Why, Uncle Naboth, it won’t hurt us to go home without freight,” said I. “In fact, we’ll make better time, and for my part I see no use in waiting ten days longer for such a ghostly chance.”
“Don’t be foolish, Sam,” returned my uncle, impatiently. “Boys never have any business instincts, anyhow. It’s our business to carry cargoes, so to make the long voyage back home light-waisted is a howlin’ shame—that’s what it is!”
“We were paid so much for the cargo we brought that we can well afford to run home in ballast,” I remarked.
“There you go—jest like a boy. You’ve got a fat bank account, Sam Steele; an’ so hev I; an’ so’s the Cap’n, your father. An’ we three own the Seagull an’ can do as we blame please with her. But business is business, as Shylock says to the lawyers. We’re runnin’ this schooner to make money—not one way, but both ways—an’ our business is to see that every league she travels counts in dollars an’ cents. Nice merchantmen we’d be to float off home in ballast, jest ’cause we got a big lump fer bringin’ a load of farm machinery here; wouldn’t we, now?”
“Oh, I don’t object to your trying for a cargo, Uncle Naboth. That’s your part of the business, and if any man could make a contract you can do so; but I see no use in getting annoyed or worried in case we find it impossible to secure a consignment of freight.”
Uncle Naboth smiled grimly.
“I ain’t worried, Sam,” he said more mildly. “I’m only tellin’ you an’ the Cap’n what my sentiments is.”
We were seated in our pleasant sitting-room at the Radley Arms, one of the cosiest inns I ever stopped at. It was a place much patronized by mariners of the better class and Mrs. Wimp, our landlady, was certainly a wonderful cook. Joe Herring, my chum and a lad who, although only about my own age, served as second mate of the Seagull, had aroused my uncle to speech by remarking that as far as he was concerned he wouldn’t mind boarding all winter at the Radley Arms. But Joe was a silent fellow, as was my father Captain Steele, and having evoked the above tirade he said nothing further. Uncle Naboth had a perfect right to issue his ultimatum concerning our freight, being supercargo and part owner, and as our recent voyages had been fairly prosperous and we were already amply paid for our present trip to Australia we were all in a mood to take things philosophically.
I think Ned Britton, the mate, was the most uneasy of our party, but that was because he disliked the land and was only comfortable when afloat. Ned even now lived on shipboard and kept everything taut and in running order, while my father, Uncle Naboth and I had rooms at Mrs. Wimp’s admirable inn. I am free to confess that I like a bit of land loafing now and then, while poor Ned is never happy unless he knows the water is sliding under the keel.