The Stowaway Girl | Page 4

shortcomings--even the ship herself might have protested against the
horror of a long "e" in the penultimate syllable of her name--the other
man's rapid proffer of a light stopped him. He puffed away in silence;
there was an awkward pause; for once in his career, Verity regretted his
cultivated trick of covering up a significant phrase by quickly adding
some comment on a totally different subject. But the sailor smoked on,
stolidly heedless of a sudden lapse in the conversation, and the
shipowner was compelled to start afresh. He was far too shrewd to go

straight back to the topic burked by his own error. His sledge-hammer
methods might be crude to the verge of brutality where Iris was
concerned, but they were capable of nice adjustment in the case of wary
old sea-dogs of the Coke type.
"It's stuffy in 'ere with the two of us smokin'--let's stroll into the
garden," he said.
Coke was agreeable. He liked gardens; they were a change from the
purple sea.
"It's the on'y bit of green stuff you seem to be fond of, Mr. Verity," he
went on. "You keep us crool short of vegetables."
David's little eyes twinkled. Here was another opening; it would not be
his fault if it led again up a cul-de-sac. He threw wide the window, and
they crossed the lawn.
"Vegetables!" he cried. "Wish I could stock you from my place, an' I'd
stuff you with 'em. I can grow 'em 'ere for next to nothing, but they cost
a heap o' money in furrin ports, an' your crimson wave-catcher doesn't
earn money--she eats it."
"Even that's one better'n her skipper, 'oo doesn't do neether,"
commented Coke gloomily.
His employer seemed to find much humor in the remark.
"Gad, we both look starved!" he guffawed. "To 'ear us, you'd think we
was booked for the workhus or till you ran a tape round the contoor,
eh?"
But Coke was not to be cheered.
"I can see as far into a stone wall as 'ere a one an' there a one," he said,
"an' there's no use blinkin' the fax. The Andromeda was a good ship in
'er day, but that day is gone. You ought to 'ave sold 'er to the Dutchmen
five years ago, Mr. Verity. Times were better then, an' now you'd 'ave a

fine steel ship instead of a box of scrap iron."
They were passing the rhododendrons, and Verity's quick eyes noted
that a summer-house beneath the shade of two venerable elms was
unoccupied. The structure consisted of a rustic roof carried on half a
dozen uprights; it had a wooden floor, and held a table and some basket
chairs. The roof and supports were laden with climbing roses, a
Virginian creeper, and a passion flower. The day being Sunday, there
were no gardeners in the adjoining shrubbery or rose garden, and
anyone seated in the summer-house could see on all sides.
"Drop anchor in 'ere, Coke," said Verity. "It's cool an' breezy, an' we
can 'ave a quiet confab without bein' bothered. Now, I reelly sent for
you to-day to tell you I mean to better the supplies this trip--Yes,
honest Injun!"--for the Andromeda's skipper had clutched the cigar out
of his mouth with the expression of a man who vows to heaven that he
cannot believe his ears--"I'm goin' to bung in an extry 'undred
to-morrow in the way of stores. Funny, isn't it?"
"Funny! It's a meracle!"
Though not altogether gratified by this whole-hearted agreement with
his own views, Verity was too anxious to keep his hearer on the present
tack to resent any implied slur on his earlier efforts as a caterer.
"It's nothing to wot I'd do if I could afford it," he added graciously.
"But, as you said, let's look at the fax. Wot chance 'as an iron ship, built
twenty years ago, at a cost of sixteen pound a ton, ag'in a steel ship of
to-day, at seven pound a ton, with twiced the cargo space, an' three feet
less draught? W'y no earthly. We're dished every way. We cost more to
run; we can't jump 'arf the bars; we can't carry 'arf the stuff; we pay
double insurance; an' we're axed to find interest on more'n double the
capital. As you say, Jimmie, wot bloomin' chanst 'ave we?"
Coke smoked silently; he had said none of these things, but when the
shipowner's glance suddenly dwelt on him, he nodded. Silent
acquiescence on his part, however, was not what Verity wanted. He,
too, knew when to hold his tongue. After a long interval, during which

a robin piped a merry roundelay from the depths of a neighboring pink
hawthorn, Coke dug out a question.
"Premium gone up, then?" he inquired.
"She's on a twelve-month rate. It runs out