“Who is he?” asked the policeman, as I made my way toward them.
“Windjammer from the shade o’ night, that’s what I am,” panted the old mate, thickly.
“I mean his business?” snapped the officer.
“Tending to other people’s, you brassbound soger,” and with that Garnett made a rush that came near landing both overboard. But O’Toole and I seized him and hustled him aboard ship, while Brown explained matters and pacified the officer. He soon accomplished this, and then he came on board and shook hands with the mates, my wife, and myself while the lines were being cast off. The tug blew her whistle and the ship began to drift away from the dock, holding only by the taut headline to spring her clear.
Brown wished us all manner of good luck and sprang ashore. He stood a moment on the edge of the wharf, waved a farewell salute, and then disappeared in the crowd looking on. Garnett stood staring after him as if he had seen a ghost. Then he turned suddenly and bawled out:
“All clear forward! Captain Anderson.” And then he took out his little nickel-plated vial and sniffed hard at it for several moments.
“’Tis th’ liquor in th’ baste yit,” grinned O’Toole, who stood close to me. “He knows old Ropesend’s son well enough, an’ a good bye he is. Shall we go ahead, sir?”
“Yes, let her go!” I bawled, and we were gone.
That is all. The voyage was the pleasantest that I can remember, and our run to ’Frisco was made in 120 days.
When we returned, homeward bound, both Mr. Ropesend and Brown were quietly at work in the office, and each of them gave me a hearty welcome. Brown’s wife invited mine to stay with her while the ship was discharging, and they became fast friends.