In a longer race the North Cape would have had little chance against the speedier Trinidad; but the distance from Dominica to the roadstead off Bridgetown, Barbadoes, is so small that the two vessels dropped anchor there almost at the same moment, the North Cape as near to the breakwater as safety allowed, and the Trinidad farther out. As the day was about closing, Captain Griffith was in no hurry to enter his ship at the Custom House, for in any case he could not begin unloading until the next day; but it was different with the other steamer, which had passengers on board who were anxious to land. So it happened that the boat in which Kit was set ashore to pay an early visit to his agent, reached the landing-steps almost at the same moment as the boat that carried the Trinidad’s purser.
Kit was first up the steps, followed by the well-fed purser, who, although not a tall man, weighed something over two hundred pounds.
“Just my luck!” the fat purser panted, as he looked about the large open square. “If I—huh, ahuh, huh—if I didn’t want a—huh, huh—want a carriage, the square would be full of them; but when I want one in a—ah!—in a hurry, there’s none here. Here it’s four minutes to six; and how’s a man of my—huh, huh—of my size going to get to the Custom House before they close at six o’clock, I’d like to know!”
“Maybe I can be of use to you, sir,” Kit said, stepping up to him. “I am supercargo of the North Cape, and I’m a pretty good runner. I’ll take your papers up to the Custom House for you if you like.”
“Oh, thank you,” the purser panted, looking very much relieved. “I’ll be a thousand times obliged to you. Here they are, then, all ready; all you have to do is to shove them under the clerk’s nose.”
Kit made a hurried inquiry about the direction of the Custom House and started on a run, and had the satisfaction of delivering the papers just half a minute before business closed for the day. He next visited his agent and arranged for lighters in the morning; and an hour later he met the Trinidad’s purser again, not quite so short-breathed and red in the face this time.
“Here we are again, supercargo!” he exclaimed, seizing Kit’s hand. He had a very jolly manner, and seemed as free with Kit as if they had been acquainted for years. “You can’t miss anybody in this hole of a place. They call it a town, but I call it a hole. I’m just going in here to get something to cool me off, and I want you to come along.”
“I’m just as much obliged,” Kit answered; “but I suppose you mean something to drink, and I never drink anything.”
“I suppose you’ve made a mistake, for the first time in your life,” the purser rejoined, with a laugh that shook him all over. “I mean something to eat; a big heaped-up plate of the coldest ice cream this side of New York. We’re right in front of the ice-house, where I always eat a lot of ice cream for the fun of hearing it sizzle as it goes down. By the way, my name’s Clark; what’s yours?”
“Silburn,” Kit replied. “But the ice-house? This looks like a store.”