The captain's face was as stern as ever, but there was a twinkle in his eyes that belied the sternness. And the tone in which the skipper said, "Good night, Bagley," confirmed Alec's first impression that Captain Rumford had a soft heart under his somewhat rough exterior.
The three oystermen went down-stairs. Captain Rumford locked the door and went to his automobile, parked on the farther side of the railroad. Alec and Captain Bagley turned back toward the pier shed. To Alec, the interview just ended seemed momentous. He had a job. He had a start in life. But little did he dream what a part this half hour in the oyster shipper's office was destined to play in his life.
It was still daylight, though dusk was at hand. "If it's all right," said Alec, "I'd like to look around a bit."
"Look as much as you like," said Captain Bagley. "But you'd better turn in early. You know we have to be out to the oyster-beds by sunup. Hello! There's Hawley now."
Alec waited to see what would happen. The big oysterman came swinging along under the pier shed, just sufficiently unsteady on his feet to betray the fact that he had been drinking again.
"Go aboard and get your duds," called Captain Bagley sharply, as the man came up to him. "You can get what's due you on Friday when the rest are paid."
"What do you mean?"
"You know well enough what I mean. Take your clothes out of my boat and don't you set foot in her again."
The drunken oysterman leered at Captain Bagley. "You can't fire me. You've got only three men left and there ain't another hand to be had."
"There ain't, eh? Well, here's one. He did your work to-day, and he's going to do it every day. See? Now get your things out of the Bertha B and be quick about it."