Cherry nodded. "They wouldn't dare quit him now. He'd never let them return to this country if they did. Meanwhile, the rest of your force is on the banks, I presume."
"Yes."
"How many boats have you?"
"Ten."
"Heavens! And this is the first day of the run! It looks bad, doesn't it? Has the trap begun to fill?"
"No. George is down there now. I guess Marsh succeeded in corking it. Meanwhile all the other plants are working while my Chinks are playing fan-tan."
Cherry gazed curiously at her companion, to see how he accepted this latest shift of fortune. She knew that it spelled disaster; for a light catch, with the tremendous financial loss entailed, would not only mean difficulty with Hilliard's loan, but other complications impossible to forecast. Her mind sped onward to the effect of a failure upon Boyd's private affairs. He had told her in unmistakable terms that this was his last chance, the final hope upon which hung the realization of his dreams. In some way his power to hold Mildred Wayland was bound up with his financial success. If he should lose her, where would he turn? she asked herself, and something within her answered that he would look for consolation to the woman who had stood at his shoulder all these weary months. Sudden emotion swept over her at the thought. What cared she for his success or failure? He was the one man she had ever known, the mate for whom she had been moulded. If this were his last chance, it promised to be the opportunity she had so long awaited; for once that other was out of his mind, Cherry felt that he would turn to her. She knew it intuitively, knew it from the light she had seen in his eyes that night at her house, knew it by the promptings of her own heart at this moment. She began to tremble, and felt her breast swelling with a glad determination; but he interrupted her flight of fancy with a sigh of such hopeless weariness that her pity rose instinctively. He gave her a sad little smile as he said:
"I seem to bring misfortune upon every one connected with me, don't I?
I'm afraid I'm a poor sort."
How boyish he was, the girl thought tenderly, yet how splendidly brave he had been throughout the fight! There was a voiceless, maternal yearning in her heart as she asked him, gravely:
"If you fail now, it will mean—the end of everything, will it not?"