"We're all apt to be mistaken. I fancied perhaps you might know I own a line of tea-clippers—San Francisco to Yokohama—six of 'em—iron-built, about seventeen hundred and eighty tons apiece.
"Blame that boy! He never told. I'd ha' listened to that, instid o' his truck abaout railroads an' pony-carriages."
"He didn't know."
"'Little thing like that slipped his mind, I guess."
"No, I only capt—took hold of the 'Blue M.' freighters—Morgan and McQuade's old line—this summer." Disko collapsed where he sat, beside the stove.
"Great Caesar Almighty! I mistrust I've been fooled from one end to the other. Why, Phil Airheart he went from this very town six year back—no, seven—an' he's mate on the San Jose—now—twenty-six days was her time out. His sister she's livin' here yet, an' she reads his letters to my woman. An' you own the 'Blue M.' freighters?"
Cheyne nodded.
"If I'd known that I'd ha' jerked the We're Here back to port all standin', on the word."
"Perhaps that wouldn't have been so good for Harvey."
"If I'd only known! If he'd only said about the cussed Line, I'd ha' understood! I'll never stand on my own jedgments again—never. They're well-found packets. Phil Airheart he says so."