“Perfectly,” said Joe, sagely.
His countenance was calm and composed, but the cook’s forehead had wrinkled itself into his hair in a strong brain effort, while Ben was looking for light on the deck, and not finding it. Flower, as a sign that the conversation was now ended, walked aft again, and taking the wheel from the mate, thoughtfully suggested that he should go below and turn in for five minutes.
“I’ll get through this all right, after all,” he said, comfortably. “I’ll lay up at Seabridge for a week or two, and after that I’ll get off the schooner at Greenwich for a bit and let you take her up to London. Then I’ll write a letter in the name of Robinson and send it to a man I know in New York to post from there to Miss Tipping.”
His spirits rose and he slapped Fraser heartily on the back. “That disposes of one,” he said, cheerily. “Lor’, in years to come how I shall look back and laugh over all this!”
“Yes, I think it’ll be some time before you do any laughing to speak of,” said Fraser.
“Ah, you always look on the dark side of things,” said Flower, briskly.
“Of course, as things are, you’re going to marry Miss Banks,” said Fraser, slowly.
“No, I’m not,” said the other, cheerfully; “it strikes me there’s plenty of time before that will come to a head, and that gives me time to turn round. I don’t think she’s any more anxious for it than I am.”
“But suppose it does come to a head,” persisted Fraser, “what are you going to do?”
“I shall find a way out of it,” said the skipper, confidently. “Meantime, just as an exercise for your wits, you might try and puzzle out what would be the best thing to do in such a case.”