CHAPTER VIII YANKEE TOPSAILS
A weary week passed, without tidings of the castaways of the Restless. Arthur Cochran's mother lost heart, and refused to be comforted. She seemed to be letting go her hold on life, and her husband, as if seeking to atone for the years in which he had allowed his worldly interests to absorb his time and thought, was seldom away from her. His devotion was tender and whole-hearted. The visit of the Bracewell household had been postponed. Mrs. Cochran was too ill to leave her room, and even David had to be denied the pleasure of seeing her again, much as she longed to talk to him about her beloved son.
The week of shore leave ended and David said good-by to his "dearest folks" in the tiny flat and posted off to Philadelphia to report on board the Roanoke. He was glad, too, beyond measure, to learn that Captain Thrasher had been cleared of all blame for the collision, and would stay in his command.
"It was vat you call a tight squeak," explained David's faithful shipmate, the bos'n. "They tells me the Board asks the old man why don't he get out and push the iceberg to one side, or some such foolishness. But he proves he was usin' all proper care, and they can't give him the sack, eh? Mr. Cochran, the moneybags vat we picked up, he vas very mad mit our old man at first, but he cool down by and by and see vat a idiot he vas. And he gets some gratitude under his belt, and puts in a word for the old man, I t'ink. Stanley P. Cochran is very strong mit the company. He owns much stock."
So Mr. Cochran had gone out of his way to befriend the captain of the Roanoke, reflected David. It showed that the great man had a sense of fair play and square dealing if his eyes were once opened. If there was only some way to enlist this powerful interest in Captain John's behalf, without making it seem like asking charity. If Arthur should be saved from the sea, the way might be found. The master of the Pilgrim was growing old before his time, while he ate out his heart in vain hopes. He was proud and independent to a fault, and David knew he would starve sooner than crowd another man out of his berth. While in New York David had taken pains to learn that none of the sailing ships in Mr. Cochran's sugar-carrying trade were without masters, and for the present he could see no help in that quarter.
One week followed another, and David found no chance to go to New York again. One of his letters from Margaret told him:
"Mrs. Cochran sent for me to go and see her yesterday. Grandfather took me up and was going to sit on the front steps and wait, but the servants took him in tow and he was invited up-stairs with me. Mr. Cochran must have said some nice things about poor little me. She was very sweet and lovely, but so sad looking. And she wanted to know if I would show her how to make an apple pie. There are at least twenty servants in their crew, Davy, and imagine me making apple pies in that house. What makes such very rich people seem so dreadfully lonesome? She explained that Arthur's boy friends were all out of town, and that he didn't have many anyhow.
"They have sense enough to know that you are a wonderful Big Brother, which is why I like them. Grandfather told her all sorts of cheerful yarns about people who were not heard of at sea for weeks and weeks, and then came into port all safe and smiling. She seemed to have faith in that simple, quiet way of his, when he leans forward and looks you straight in the eyes as he talks. She asked him had he given up going to sea, and he told her yes. And I spoke right up as bold as anything:
"'It isn't because he wants to, but because sailing ships are so scarce. He never would have anything to do with steam.'