He sought out the shipper. "Captain Rumford," he said, "I wish you would lend me the Bertha B for a day."
The shipper looked at him in astonishment. "What do you want of the Bertha B?" he asked curiously.
"I've leased Hardy's oyster-beds," said Alec quietly. "I borrowed the worth of my shell pile and added all my savings to that and paid it down on a lease, and I still owe money on it. I want to see if there are any oysters in the bed."
Captain Rumford looked at his assistant as though the latter had suddenly gone crazy. "You're joking," he said.
"I'm telling the simple truth," replied Alec. "I very much want to know whether there are any oysters in that bed. Wouldn't you, if you had leased it?"
"Alec! Alec!" cried the shipper sternly. "Have you lost every bit of sense you ever had? You won't get a dollar's worth of oysters out of that bed. I've told you time and again those deep water beds are no place for oysters."
"You have, indeed, Captain Rumford," said Alec. "I know exactly what you think of them. What I want to know now is whether you'll lend me the Bertha B for a day."
"You might as well know the truth first as last," said the shipper. "There is nothing so terrible as suspense. Take the boat and welcome." And the shipper turned away with his face so haggard that it made Alec's heart ache.
Twenty-four hours later the Bertha B came plowing up to her pier. Alec leaped ashore and ran to the shipper's office. "Captain Rumford!" he called, his eyes shining, his voice vibrant with emotion, "Will you please come out on the pier?"
The captain came slowly down the stairs. In looks he had aged ten years. His face was drawn and haggard. His brow was deeply furrowed. Dark circles were about his eyes. His step was uncertain, almost shambling. His shoulders were stooped. Alec was shocked when he looked at him.