“I did! I did!” wailed the distracted old man, his wretched heart quaking as he looked for a moment into Bilbao’s keen blue eyes and dropped his own in shame.
Hillary, who had told Ulysses a good deal about Gabrielle’s home life while he was under the influence of about four whiskies that Ulysses pressed upon him, gave his comrade a hasty pinch in the leg as he wondered what Bilbao might say next.
Ulysses only replied by a ponderous wink, right in front of Everard’s eyes too! But the ex-sailor was too far gone to notice that. It took a good deal of persuasion to stop him from going on the voyage to New Guinea himself, if they were successful in hiring a schooner. “You’d better stay at home; the poor girl may return while we’re away at sea, and what would she say at missing her dear old father,” said Bilbao sympathetically.
The big man looked at the apprentice and gave another wink, and said: “We don’t want no old pa with us, eh?”
Hillary responded by a vacant look; then, seeing Ulysses’s broad, friendly smile, lifted his hand and smacked the giant on the back uproariously. Alas! even the apprentice was under the influence of drink.
Gabrielle’s father sat huddled in his arm-chair; his wooden leg shivered pathetically as he mumbled: “So she’s on the Bird of Paradise, my daughter, my Gabby.”
As for Ulysses, when he heard the name of the ship he smacked his mighty knees and roared out: “Ho! ho! for a bottle of rum! The Bird of Paradise!” The adventurous sailorman had made all possible inquiries about the aforesaid vessel when it sailed from the straits, etc., and had calculated to a nicety when it would arrive in New Guinea. “There’s no time to lose, by heaven!” he thundered, as he swallowed his ninth whisky and looked at the parlour clock. Then he shook Hillary, woke him up with a start and said: “Come on, lad, let’s put the old man to bed; he’s tired; it’s the least we can do for him.”
Before Everard fell to the floor they both lifted him and placed him comfortably on his settee. Drunk as the prematurely aged ex-sailor was, he looked like some bedraggled apostle as he lay there on his couch, his hands crossed, a smile on his lips, as though he still laughed to himself over Ulysses’ wild jokes.
Then they both left the bungalow. If Hillary staggered slightly as he gripped Bilbao’s arm, and thought that the coco-palms were doing a hushed step-dance on the moon-lit slopes of Bougainville, it must be taken into account that he had to be sociable. He could not very well stand like a mute as those reunited shipmates drank to the sprees of other days and finished up in wild farewells and sanguine toasts to the success of the venture they were engaged upon. As the apprentice softly closed the front door of the bungalow Bilboa said, “Wait a tick,” and hurriedly returning into the parlour he picked up the whisky bottle and swallowed the remaining contents. He excused himself before Hillary by saying: “Ah! youngster, I had to drink once again to the success of our venture and to the pretty eyes of that girl; we’ll find her, don’t you fear.”
“I know we will,” replied the apprentice, as he clutched the big man’s arm.