“I can lend you some on the property, at a high rate of interest,” said the agent.
“Then do so, my dear sir,” said Will earnestly, “at any rate of interest you choose, and I will sign any papers you may require. My friend here, Captain Dall, will see that you are regularly paid. I assure you that I shall never forget the obligation.”
“Follow me,” said Mr Zulino, rising and putting on his hat.
He led them to the office of a man who appeared to be connected with the law, and who drew up a paper which, being duly signed and witnessed, Mr Zulino put in his pocket, at the same time handing Will Osten a cheque for four hundred pounds.
“Now, captain,” said Will, with a deep sigh of relief, as they, once more issued into the street, “we’ll go and enjoy our supper.”
Next morning Will Osten, with a small portmanteau containing his little all in his hand, and accompanied by Captain Dall and Mr Cupples, pushed his way through the crowded streets to the quay, where a boat awaited him.
“Once more, Captain Dall,” he said, turning round and grasping his friend’s hand, “farewell! I am sorry—more so than I can tell—to leave you. May God prosper you wherever you go. Remember my messages to our friends at the gulch. Tell Larry and Bunco, and the trapper especially, that I feel almost like a criminal for giving them the slip thus. But how can I help it?”
“Of course, of course,” said Captain Dall, returning the hearty squeeze of Will’s hand, “how could you? Love, like necessity, has no law—or, rather, itself is a law which all must obey. Good-bye, lad, and good luck attend ee.”
Silently shaking hands with Mr Cupples, whose lugubrious expression seemed appropriate to the occasion, Will leaped into the boat and was soon rowing over the bay to the spot where the Roving Bess lay with her anchor tripped and her sails loose. On approaching, he saw that Mr Westwood and his wife were pacing the quarterdeck, but Flora was not visible, the reason being that that busy little woman was down in her father’s berth putting it to rights—arranging and re-arranging everything, and puzzling her brains with numerous little contrivances which were all meant to add to the comfort and snugness of the place—wonderfully ingenious contrivances, which could not have emanated from the brain of any woman but one who possessed a warm heart, an earnest soul, a sweet face, and a turned-up nose! She was a good deal dishevelled about the head, in consequence of her exertions, and rather flushed, and her eyes were a little moist. Perhaps she was sad at the thought of leaving San Francisco—but no—she was leaving no friends behind her there. That could not have been the cause!
The little round port-hole of the berth was open, and she stopped ever and anon in the midst of her operations to look out and listen to the variety of shouts and songs that came from the boats, vessels, and barges in the bay. Suddenly she stopped, turned her head the least bit to one side, and listened intently.