"Didn't like it, eh?"
"She vowed she'd git rid of them shares and give Crosby a piece of her mind to boot. But I told her to hang on to 'em, that it's an ill wind that blows nobody good, and she sorter calmed down. But I left her nigh cryin'."
A stalwart fellow jumped aboard from the wharf.
"Well, nigh supper time. Guess I'll be goin'," said Captain Ed, stepping on the rail and hoisting himself on to Robbins Wharf. "Looks like you're competin' against an awful stack of capital, Bert. But keep up your courage if you do fight it out. What you told the widder 'bout that ill wind might apply to you, too."
Whistling, Captain Ed walked down the wharf.
"The Mary Chilton's all ready, Cap'n," spoke the big newcomer in a deep voice. He pointed over his shoulder at the old schooner, unused and falling to pieces on the other side of Robbins Wharf. "Everything's ready, sir," he repeated while Captain Bert hesitated before answering.
"All right, Bill."
Bill Hyde's speech and appearance—bulldog jaw, swarthy face and curly black hair sticking out from a shabby blue yachting cap—branded him a Yankee, but foreign to the Cape. Captain Bert had hired him two weeks ago at a Boston agency, after a long list of drunkards, thieves, and even one murderer who had sailed with him as his sole companion, first on the old Mary Chilton, and subsequently on the Bessie Barker. The captain liked Bill. He was frank, decisive, still exuberant with youth, and an all-round good shipmate. And the customer Bill had found him in Gloucester for the decrepit Mary Chilton——
"We'll clear for Gloucester in the Mary Chilton right away," said the captain, "and come back on the mornin' train so's we can take the Bessie to Boston tomorrow afternoon. You're sure, Bill, this customer you've got me ain't goin' to be disappointed in his bargain?"