“The schooner may be frozen in the floe, Captain,� said Hawting-Holliday, lounging in the window-seat of the Captain’s big, bare room at Edengates, that was—only barring the skylight—exactly like the Captain’s other big bare room at 000, Chesterfield Crescent. “But the floe is traveling all the time. That’s a bit of scientific information that I got from you. And I rather pride myself on applying it neatly.�
The Captain looked hard at him, and Hawting-Holliday noticed for the first time that the curly fair hair that topped the deep-lined pale-bronze face was growing white. Then Magellison said, with a queer smile:
“You have found me out, I see! And yet I thought I had kept the secret—or rather, the arrangement, quite closely. But on the whole I’m rather glad you guessed. For I like you, young man�—Hawting-Holliday was at least thirty-five—“and I shall give you the parting hand-shake with sincere regret—with very sincere regret, when the ice breaks up and the little engine helps the hoisted sails, and the floe-bound vessel that never really stopped, although her journey was only of inches in the month—moves on not North but South, along the thawed and open sea-lanes——�
He stopped, for Hawting-Holliday dropped his pipe and got off the window-seat, and caught the maimed right hand and wrung it until its owner winced.
“You gave me credit for too much perspicuity, Captain. I hadn’t seen as much as the cat’s tail until you let her out of the bag. Where are you going, man, and when do you go?�
Briefly, Magellison told him.
“All right, Captain,� said Hawting-Holliday. “You’re going to take charge of the Steam and Sail Antarctic Geological Research Expedition, financed by the Swedish Government, sailing from Plymouth for King Edward Land in April, so as to get the summer months of December, January, and February for exploration, botanizing, deep-sea-dredging, and scientific observations. You calculate on being away not quite three years. Very well, but remember this! If you don’t turn up in three years’ time and no definite news has reached us as to your whereabouts, the most useless and idle dog of my acquaintance—and that’s myself—will take the liberty to come and look for you. I swear it—by the Great Barrier and the Blue Antarctic Ooze!�
They shook hands upon it, laughing at the humorous idea of the Captain’s not coming back, and a little later the news of her husband’s impending departure was imparted, per the medium of the Press, to the marmorean lady to whom the explorer had frozen himself some few years previously. She was radiant with smiles at the revival of newspaper interest in Magellison, and postponed her spring visit to the Riviera for the purpose of giving a series of Departure Dinners in honor of the Captain. All the leading scientific lights of the day twinkled in turn about the board. And Geraldine wore all her diamonds, and was exceedingly gracious to her Distinguished Man. She saw him off from Plymouth, one balmy April day, and shed a few discreet tears in a minute and filmy pocket handkerchief as the Swedish oak-built, schooner-rigged steamship-sailer Selma ran up the Swedish colors and curtsied adieu to English waters at the outset of the long South Atlantic voyage, and the petrol steam-launch containing the friends and relatives of the Expedition rocked in her wake, and the red-eyed people crowding on the oily-smelling little vessel’s decks raised a quavering farewell cheer. Two men stood together at the Selma’s after-rail: a short, square man of muscular build, with a slight stoop that told of scholarly habits, and thick, fair hair, streaked with white, and a deeply-lined, clean-shaven face, with pale, far-seeing eyes that were set in a network of fine wrinkles. The other man was Hawting-Holliday, who had announced his intention, at the last minute, of accompanying the Expedition as far as Madeira for the sake of the sea-blow.
“Tell Geraldine I shall mail home from the Cape and Melbourne,� the leader of the Expedition said, three days later, as the boat that was to convey Hawting-Holliday ashore bobbed under the Selma’s side-ladder in a clamoring rout of tradesmen’s luggers and Funchal market-flats. “Tell her I shall certainly communicate from Lyttelton, and after that she must trust to luck and homeward-bound whalers for news of me.� He wrung Hawting-Holliday’s hand, and added, “And in case—anything should happen to me—not that such a chance is worth speaking of!—I know that I can rely upon you to act towards my—my dear girl as a friend!� The Captain’s voice shook a little, and a mist was over those clear, wide-pupilled, far-away-gazing gray eyes.
“I promise you that, faithfully,� said Hawting-Holliday, and gripped the maimed right hand of the man he loved as a brother, and went down over the side of the Selma with a sore heart.