“After dark, you say—that’s middling tidy to begin with, eh, mate—eh?”
Lovibond laughed: Capt’n Davy laughed. They laughed together.
Willie Quarrie, standing by the boat at the bottom of the steps, with the luggage piled up at the bow, shouted that there was not a minute to spare. The throbbing of the steam in the funnel had ceased, one of the two gangways had been run ashore, and the captain was on the bridge.
“Now, then, Capt’n,” cried Willie.
But Davy did not hear. He was watching Lovibond’s face with eyes of suspicion. Was the man fooling him? Did he know the secret?
“Good-by Capt’n,” said Lovibond, taking Davy by the hand.
“Good-by, mate,” said Davy, absently.
“Good luck to you and a second fortune,” said Lovibond.
“Damn the fortune,” said Davy, under his breath.
Then there was another whistle from the “Snaefell.”