"Then why isn't he here?"
"I don't know, sir."
"Why don't you—no, of course you don't. Why should you."
"It's an accident he might have met with," Pat suggested.
"Accident your eye. If he isn't here in ten minutes I'll sail without him," the captain snorted.
Although a man with a soft heart, Captain Ole was a sticker for discipline on board ship, and well Pat knew it. The first mate was no great admirer of the lanky second officer, but he was a generous Irishman and he continued to glance up the street hoping to see his fellow officer each minute. But the minutes slipped past one by one until the ten had gone and still there was no sign of the man.
"Cast off," the captain shouted from the bridge.
"Aye, aye, sir," and a moment later the big hawsers were slipped from the snubbing posts and the Valkyrie, her propeller already turning, slowly slipped forward.
"There he is, sir," Pat shouted as he caught sight of the man running toward the wharf.
"Shall I wait?" the captain asked Mr. Lakewood who was standing by his side.