Dean stammered some words of thanks. This cordial greeting threw him into confusion—made it so much more difficult to say what he had come to say. For a moment's respite, he asked after Larssen's little boy.
"He'll pull round. The crisis is over. His constitution's weak, but he'll pull round. Money saved him. On the 'Aurelia' I got hold of all the facts of the case by wireless, and took a grip of the situation. I sized up the doctors here as a couple of well-meaning fools. I wired to Chicago for a man who's made a speciality of opsonic treatment for pneumonia. His own invention—something the other doctors sneer at. I had him packed from Chicago to Golden Beach by special train, with full authority to boss the case.... Yes, it's money that saved my boy. Money, Dean, holds the power of life and death. Money is the mightiest thing in this world. I expect you've come to realise that lately, now you've left off being a clerk."
Dean gulped and answered: "That's what I've come to speak to you about, sir."
The shipowner shot a swift glance at him. "Come to my office," he said, and led the way.
When he had the young fellow seated with the light full on him, Larssen asked coldly: "What's your song? Looking for a raise already?"
"No, it's not that. I don't feel I can carry out this work."
"Your work."
"Talk it longer."
"It's like this, sir. When I was in Winnipeg, I went one night to a music-hall, and on my way home I went by chance into a chapel meeting."