When the boat touched the landing he was off before the hawser was thrown, skimming the narrow strip of water in a leap, even while the angry captain shouted a command to wait.
He ran up the patch to the agent’s house, but his anxious query brought no information; Max had not been seen there.
Baffled, Sydney turned, pointing to the old squaw of the street shop in the City of Green Hills. “She told him he came on the early boat,” he panted.
The agent questioned the squaw in her own language; but before he had spoken many words a little boy standing by broke in, jabbering fast, and pointing across a wooded peninsula where the Sound waters dip into the forested hills in a narrow inlet.
“This chap says your friend came here but hurried across the Point to the mill. A lumber ship is loading there,” the agent translated.
Sydney waited for no more but set out at a run. That was what Max intended—to ship to some distant port! That would certainly hide him well, and give him a living on his way. Sydney thought of sensitive, gifted Max handling “tackle,” and “bossed” around by some profane mate; treated like a machine rather than like a human being—no, worse; machines are property and get consideration. It is only human life that is wasted with unconcern, it is so plenty.
Running faster and faster, Sydney emerged from the woods to see the ship steaming slowly into the bay. For a minute his legs trembled under him and he almost fell. Too late! Max was surely there, lost to them forever! Suddenly Sydney knew how thoroughly he had uprooted his jealousy, how deeply Max had become fixed in his heart, a part of his life, his joy and inspiration.
Another quick thought buoyed Sydney—no one would be likely to find a berth on a ship so near to sailing as this had been.
He watched her a moment and turned back toward the mill, stumbling along out of breath, and arriving to learn that one resembling Max had tried and failed to ship, and had set off southward.