“How are you?” nodded Spencer, pocketing the letter. He caught the line and threw it over a snubbing post. “This Mr.
“Smiley?”
“That's who,” said Dick.
“How are you, Joe?” to McGlory.
“How are you, Mr. Spencer?”
In a moment they were fast, and Dick had leaped ashore. He caught Spencer's shrewd eyes taking him in, and laughed, “Well, I guess you 'll know me next time.”
“Guess I will.” There was a puzzled, even disturbed expression on the lumberman's face. “I was thinking you didn't look much like your cousin. The stuffs all ready for you there. You'd better put one of your men on to check it up. Will you walk up and take a look around the place?”
“Thanks—guess I 'll stay right here and hustle this stuff aboard. I'd like to put out again after dinner.”
Spencer drew a plug from a trousers pocket, offered it to Dick, who at the sight of it shook his head, and helped himself to a mouthful. Then his eyes took in the schooner, her crew, and the sky above them. “Wind's getting easterly,” he observed. “Looks like freshening up. Mean business getting out of here against the wind—no room for beating. You'd better leave your mate to load and have a look at the place.”
“Well, all right; McGlory, see to getting that stuff aboard right off, will you? We 'll try to get out after dinner sometime.”