“My soul!” said Mr. Maclaughlin, giving her a lengthy handshake and a look of unqualified admiration, “but you could ha’ knocked us down with a feather the day the letter came saying that Martin would bring back a wife. Kingsnorth nigh took to his bed on it.”
Consternation was plainly written on Mrs. Collingwood’s face. Her sensitiveness was a-flutter, fearing a cold welcome from her husband’s friends.
“I’m sorry,” she began, and then came to an awkward stop.
“No offence, I hope,” said Maclaughlin, reading the signs, “He’s well over it by now. Kingsnorth is just one of those poor bodies we call a woman-hater; and you’ll notice, Mrs. Collingwood, that they always begin life just the opposite. He thought he’d found a bunkie for life in Martin, an’ the lad fooled him! I don’t say but we were all surprised, but you’ll find a hearty welcome at the island.”
“Can we get out to-night?” asked Collingwood.
“Get out in an hour if we can get our freight transhipped, unless Mrs. Collingwood is in a mind to stay and see the city by gaslight.” He jerked a derisive thumb in the direction of the iron and nipa roofs ashore.
“All the light stuff is on deck now,” said Martin whose instincts to accomplish whatever was to be done mastered any tendency toward conversation. He pointed, as he spoke, to a tarpaulin-covered heap forward. “The heavy cases are stored where they can be hauled up in a minute. I’ll see the captain at once. He won’t try to delay us, not he. Get alongside right away, with the launch, can’t you?”
“I doubt you’ve gone broke,” remarked Maclaughlin, contemplating the heap and smiling at Charlotte, who laughed.
“Not so had as that, I hope,” she responded, “but some of the credit is due me that he hasn’t.”
“That’s a fact,” her husband supplemented. “I wanted to buy out Manila and wire additional supplies from Hong Kong. However, we can talk about that later. Thank the Lord, there isn’t any sea on. We would have the devil’s own time transhipping, if there were.”