Chapter 30

He was patient with the girl's unwisdom in the ways of the sea.

“Since you've been here at Maquoit, Polly, you have seen the lobster-smacks with what they call 'wells' in them. All amidships is full of water, you know--comes in through holes bored in the hull--fresh sea-water that swashes in and out and keeps the lobsters alive till they get to market. But the vessel is tight at both ends, and she floats. Well, that's what I plan to do with the Conomo. With a few thousand dollars I'm sure I can make enough of a start so I can show 'em the rest can be done.” He promptly lost the bit of enthusiasm he had shown while he was explaining. He began his gloomy survey of the carpet once more. “But it's no use. Nobody will listen to a man who wants to borrow money on a wild hope.”

She was silent a long time, and gazed at him, and he did not realize that he was the object of such intent regard. Several times she opened her mouth and seemed about to address him eagerly, for her eyes were brilliant and her cheeks were flushed.

“I wish I had the money to lend you,” she ventured, at last.

“Oh, I wouldn't take it--not from a girl, Polly. No, indeed! This is a gamble for men--not an investment for the widow and orphan,” he declared, smiling at her. “I believe in it; that's because I'm desperate and need to win. It's for a big reason, Polly!”

She turned her face away and grew pale. She flushed at his next words:

“The biggest thing in the world to me is getting that steamer off Razee and showing that infernal Marston and all his 'longcoast gang that I'm no four-flusher. I've got it in for 'em!”

He patted the hands she clasped on her knees, and he did not notice that she was locking her fingers so tightly that they were almost bloodless. He rose and started for the door.

“I'll go and pacify Rowley to-night, and be ready for an early start.”

“Boyd,” she pleaded, “will you do me a little favor?”

“Most certainly, Polly.”

“Wait till to-morrow morning for your business with Mr. Rowley.”

“Why?” He looked at her with considerable surprise.

“Because--well, because you are a bit unstrung, and are tired, and you and he might have words, and you might not use your cool judgment if he should be short with you. You know you are a little at odds with all the world just now!” She spoke nervously and smiled wistfully. “I would be sorry to have you quarrel with Mr. Rowley because--well, father is a partner, and has already had words with him. Please wait till morning. You must not lose the schooner!”

“I'm too far down and out to dare to quarrel with Rowley, but I'll do as you say, Polly. Good night.”

“You're a good boy to obey a girl's whim. Good night.”

The moment his foot was off the last step of the porch she hurried to her room in the cottage and secured a little packet from her portfolio.

She heard the thud of his dory oars as she walked down the street. She was glad to know that he was safely out of the way.

Rowley's dingy windows shed a dim blur upon the frosty night. It was near time for him to close his store, and when she entered he was turning out the loafers who had been cuddling close to his barrel stove.

After a few moments of waiting the girl was alone with him.

“No, I don't want to buy anything, Mr. Rowley. I need your help. I ask you to help me to do a good deed.”

He pulled his spectacles to the end of his nose and stared at her doubtfully and with curiosity.

“If it's about the schooner, I'd rather do business with men-folks,” he said.

“This is business that only you and I can do, and it must be a secret between us. Will you please glance at this bank-book?”

He licked a thin finger and turned the leaves.

“Deposit of five thousand dollars and accrued interest,” he observed, resuming his inquisitive inspection of her animated countenance.

“My mother's sister left me that legacy. It's all my little fortune, sir. I want to loan that money to my father and Captain Mayo.”

“Well, go ahead, if you're fool enough to. I ain't your guardeen,” assented Deacon Rowley, holding the book out to her. “But I advise you to keep your money. I know all about their foolishness.”

“My father wouldn't take it from me--and Captain Mayo wouldn't, either.”

“That shows they ain't rogues on top of being fools.”

“But I have faith that they can succeed and make a lot of money if they get a start,” she insisted. “I see you do not understand, sir, what I need of you. I want you to lend them that money, just as if it came from you. I'll give you the book and a writing, and you can draw it.”

“No, ma'am.”

“Won't you help a girl who needs help so much? You're a Christian man, you say.”

“That's just why I can't lie about this money. I'll have to tell 'em I'm lending it.”

“You will be lending it.”

“How's that, miss?”

“For your trouble in the matter I'll let you collect the interest for yourself at six per cent. Oh, Deacon Rowley, all you need to do is hand over the money, and say you prefer not to talk about it. You're a smart business man; you'll know what to say without speaking a falsehood. You'll break my heart if you refuse. Think! You're only helping me to help my own father. He has foolish notions about this. You can say you'll let them have it for a year, and you'll get three hundred dollars interest for your trouble.”

“I don't believe they'll ever make enough to pay the interest--much less the principal.”

“Give them five thousand dollars and draw a year's interest for yourself out of my interest that has accrued.”

“Say, how old be you?”

“I'll be twenty-two in June.”

Deacon Rowley looked at her calculatingly, fingering his nose.

“Being of age, you ought to know better, but being of age, you can do what you want to with your own. Do you promise never to let on to anybody about this?”

“I do promise, solemnly.”

“Then you sign some papers when I get 'em drawn up, and I'll hand 'em the money; but look-a-here, if I go chasing 'em with five thousand dollars, I'll have 'em suspecting that I'm crazy, or something worse. It ain't like Rufus Rowley to do a thing of this sort with his money.”

“I know it,” she confessed, softening her frank agreement with an ingenuous smile. “But Captain Mayo is coming to you to-morrow morning on business about the schooner, and you can put the matter to him in some way. Oh, I know you're so keen and smart you can do it without his suspecting a thing.”

“I don't know whether you're complimenting me or sassing me, miss. But I'll see it through, somehow.”

She signed the papers giving him power of attorney, left her bank-book with him, and went away into the night, her face radiant.

She threw a happy kiss at the dim anchor light which marked the location of the _Ethel and May_ in the harbor.

“I am helping you get the girl you love,” she said, aloud.

She went on toward the widow's cottage. Her head was erect, but there were tears on her cheeks.

XXIX ~ THE TOILERS OF OLD RAZEE

Hurrah! Hurrah! for Yankee wit. Hurrah! Hurrah! for Cape Ann grit. It's pluck and dash that's sure to win--“The _Horton's_ in! The _Horton's_ in!” --Old Locality.

Polly Candage, covering her emotions with that mask of demureness which nature lends to the weaker sex for their protection, received a tumultuous Mayo next morning in the parlor of the cottage.

“I don't know how it has happened. I don't understand it,” he exploded. “I didn't suppose anybody could blast money out of his pocket with dynamite--your father said it couldn't be done. But Deacon Rowley has loaned us five thousand dollars. Here's his check on the Limeport First National. Only charges six per cent. I'm so weak it was all I could do to walk up here.”

“What did he say to explain it?” inquired Polly, with maiden's curiosity in learning to what extent of prevarication a deacon would go in order to make three hundred dollars.

“Wouldn't say much of anything. Handed out this check, said my indorsement on it would be enough for a receipt, and said your father and I could sign a joint note later--sometime--when he got around to it. Have you heard any rumor that the old fellow is losing his mind? But this check looks good!”

“Well, I think he's been pondering on the matter since father was here. In fact, Deacon Rowley has said a few things to me,” said the girl, meeting Mayo's gaze frankly. “Not much, of course, but something that hinted he had a lot of confidence in both of you, seeing that you have used him nicely in the other business he has done with you. Sometimes, you know, these hard old Yankees take a liking to somebody and do things all of a sudden.”

“This is sudden, all right enough,” stated Mayo, scratching the serrated edge of the check across his palm as if to make sure it was real and not a shadow. “Yes, he told me not to mention the note to him till he said something to us about it himself, and to keep quiet about the loan. Didn't want others running to him with their schemes.”

“And if I were in your place,” advised the girl, “I wouldn't tell father where you got the money--not for a time. You know, he doesn't get along so very well with Deacon Rowley--old folks sometimes do quarrel so--and he might be worried, thinking the deacon had some scheme behind this. But you don't think that way, do you?”

“I have the money, and he hasn't asked me to sign any papers. There's no come-back there, far as I can see,” declared the young man.

“Now what will you do?”

“Rush for Limeport, hire equipment--for I've cash to pay in advance for any leases--and get to that wreck and on to my job.”

“Simply tell father you raised the money--from a friend! If he is worrying about anything, he doesn't work half as well. I'll ask God to help and bless you every hour in the day.”

“Polly Candage,” cried Mayo, taking her warm, plump hands, “there's something about you that has put courage and grit and determination in me ever since you patted my shoulder there in the old Polly. I have been thinking it over a lot--I had time to think when I was out aboard that steamer, waiting.”

“There's only one girl for you to think about,” she chided.

His face clouded. “And it's the kind of thinking that isn't healthy for a man with a normal mind. Thank the Lord, I've got some real work to think about now--and the cash to do that work with.” He fondled his pocket.

She went with him to the wharf, and when the schooner slid to sea behind Hue and Cry her white handkerchief gave him final salute and silent God-speed.

Captain Boyd Mayo, back in Limeport once more, was not the cowed, apologetic, pleading suppliant who had solicited the water-front machinists and ship-yard owners a few days before. He proffered no checks for them to look askance at. He pulled a wallet that was plethoric with new yellowbacks. He showed his money often, and with a purpose. He drove sharp bargains while he held it in view. He received offers of credit in places where before he had been denied. Such magic does visible wealth exert in the dealings between men!

He did not come across Fletcher Fogg in Limeport, and he was glad of that. Somebody informed him that the magnate had gone back to New York. It was manifest to Mayo that in his contempt Fogg had decided that the salvaging of the _Conomo_ intact had been relegated to the storehouse of dreams. His purpose would be suited if she were junked, so the young man realized. Only the _Conomo_ afloat, a successful pioneer in new transportation experiments alongcoast, would threaten his vested interests.

There had been wintry winds and intervening calms in the days since Mayo had been prosecuting his projects ashore. But by word of mouth from straying fishermen and captains of packets he had been assured that the steamer still stuck on Razee.

And when at last he was equipped he went forth from Limeport; he went blithely, although he knew that a Titan's job faced him. He kept his own counsel as to what he proposed to do with the steamer. He even allowed the water-front gossips to guess, unchallenged, that he was going to junk the wreck. He was not inviting more of that brazen hostility that characterized the operations of Fogg and his hirelings.

He was at the wheel of a husky lighter which he had chartered; the rest of the crew he supplied from his own men. The lighter was driven by its own power, and carried a good pump and a sturdy crane; its decks were loaded high with coal. The schooner was now merely convoy. It was an all-day trip to Razee, for the lighter was a slow and clumsy craft, but when Mayo at last made fast to the side of the _Conomo_ and squealed a shrill salute with the whistle, the joy he found in Captain Candage's rubicund countenance made amends for anxiety and delay.

“I knew you'd make a go of it, somehow,” vouchsafed the old skipper. “But who did you have to knock down in a dark place so as to steal his money off'n him?”

“That's private business till we get ready to pay it back, with six per cent, interest,” stated the young man, bluntly.

“Oh, very well. So long as we've got it I don't care where you stole it,” returned Candage, with great serenity. “I simply know that you didn't get it from skinflint Rowley, and that's comfort enough for me. Let me tell you that we haven't been loafing on board here. We rigged that taakul you see aloft, and jettisoned all the cargo we could get at. It was all spoiled by the water. There's pretty free space for operations 'midships. I've got out all her spare cable, and it's ready.”

“And you've done a good job there, sir. We've got to make this lighter fast alongside in such a way that a blow won't wreck her against us. Spring cables--plenty of them--and we are sailors enough to know how to moor. But when I think of what amateurs we are in the rest of this job, cold shivers run over me.”

“That Limeport water-front crowd got at you, too, hey?”

“Captain Candage, I have watched men more or less in this life. It's sometimes a mighty big handicap for a man to be too wise. While the awfully wise man sits back and shakes his head and figures prospects and says it can't be done, the fool rushes in, because he doesn't know any better, and blunders the job through and wins out. Let's keep on being fools, good and plenty, but keep busy just the same.”

And on that basis the rank amateurs of Razee proceeded with all the grit that was in them.

The men of Hue and Cry had plenty of muscle and little wit. They asked no questions, they did not look forward gioomily to doubtful prospects. The same philosophy, or lack of it, that had always made life full of merry hope when their stomachs were filled, taking no thought of the morrow, animated them now. Fate had given Mayo and his associate an ideal crew for that parlous job. It was not a question of union hours and stated wages; they worked all night just as cheerily as they worked all day.

An epic of the sea was lived there on Razee Reef during the weeks that followed.

The task which was wrought out would make a story in itself, far beyond the confines of such a narrative as this must be.

Bitter toil of many days often proved to be a sad mistake, for the men who wrought there had more courage in endeavor than good understanding of methods.

Then, after disappointment, hope revived, for further effort avoided the mistakes that had been so costly.

The brunt of the toil, the duty of being pioneer, fell on Mayo.

He donned a diving-suit and descended into the riven bowels of the wreck and cleared the way for the others.

On deck they built sections of bulkhead, and he went down and groped in the murky water, and spiked the braces and set those sections and calked the spaces between bulkhead and hull.

There were storms that menaced their lighter and drove the little schooner to sea in a welter of tempest.

There were calms that cheered them with promise of spring.

The schooner was the errand-boy that brought supplies and coal from the main. But the men who went ashore refused to gossip on the water-front, and the occasional craft that hove to in the vicinity of Razee were not allowed to land inquisitive persons on the wreck.

After many weeks the bulkheads were set and the pumps were started. There were three crews for these pumps, and their clanking never ceased, day or night. There was less water in the fore part; her bow was propped high on the ledges. The progress here was encouraging.

Aft, there were disasters. Three times the bulkhead crumpled under the tremendous pressure of the sea, as soon as the pumps had relieved the opposing pressure within the hull. Mayo, haggard, unkempt, unshorn, thin with his vigils, stayed underwater in his diving-dress until he became the wreck of a man. But at last they built a transverse section that promised to hold. The pumps began to make gains on the water. As the flood within was lowered and they could get at the bulkhead more effectively from the inside, they kept adding to it and strengthening it.

And then came the need of more material and more equipment, for the gigantic job of floating the steamer was still ahead of them.

Mayo felt that he had proved his theory and was now in a position to enlist the capital that would see them through. He could show a hull that was sound except for the rent amidships--a hull from both ends of which the trespassing sea was being evicted. With the money that would furnish buoying lighters and tugs and the massive equipment for floating her, he felt that he would be able to convert that helpless mass of junk into a steamer once more--change scrap-iron into an active value of at least one hundred and fifty thousand dollars.

And when he and Captain Candage had arrived at that hopeful and earnest belief, following days of tremulous watching of the work the pumps were doing, the young man went again to the main on his momentous errand.

As they sailed into Limeport, Mayo was a bit astonished to see green on the sloping hills. He had been living in a waking dream of mighty toil on Razee; he had almost forgotten that so many weeks had gone past.

When he went ashore in his dory from the schooner, the balmy breath of spring breathed out to him from budding gardens and the warm breeze fanned his roughened cheeks.

As he had forgotten that spring had come, so had he forgotten about his personal appearance. He had rushed ashore from a man's job that was now waiting for him to rush back to it. He did not realize that he looked like a cave-man--resembled some shaggy, prehistoric human; his mind was too full of his affairs on Razee.

When Captain Mayo strode down the main street of Limeport, it troubled him not a whit because folks gaped at him and turned to stare after him. He had torn himself from his gigantic task for only one purpose, and that idea filled his mind.

He was ragged, his hands were swollen, purple, cut, and raw from his diver's labors, his hair hung upon his collar, and a beard masked his face. They who thronged the streets were taking advantage of the first warm days to show their spring finery. The contrast of this rude figure from the open sea was made all the more striking as he brushed through the crowds.

Here and there he bolted into offices where there were men he knew and whom he hoped to interest. He had no fat wallet to exhibit to them this time. He had only his empty, swollen hands and a wild, eager, stammering story of what he expected to do. They stared at him, many of them stupidly, some of them frankly incredulous, most of them without particular interest. He looked like a man who had failed miserably; there was nothing about him to suggest success.

One man put the matter succinctly: “Look here, Mayo, if you came in here, looking the way you do, and asked me for a quarter to buy a meal with, I'd think it was perfectly natural, and would slip you the quarter. But not ten thousand--you don't look the part.”

“What have my clothes got to do with it? I haven't time to think about clothes. I can't wear a plug hat in a diving-suit. I've been working. And I'm still on the job. The way I look ought to show you that I mean business.”

But they turned him down. In half a dozen offices they listened and shook their heads or curtly refused to look into the thing. He had not come ashore to beg for assistance as if it were a favor. He had come feeling certain that this time he had a valuable thing to offer. His labors had racked his body, his nerves were on edge, his temper was short. When they refused to help he cursed them and tore out. That they allowed his personal appearance to influence their judgment stirred his fury--it was so unjust to his self-sacrificing devotion to his task.

He soon exhausted his circle of acquaintances, but the rebuffs made him angry instead of despondent. Thrusting rudely past pedestrians who were polite and sleek, he marched along the street, scowling.

And then his eyes fell on a face that gave a fresh stir to all the bitterness that was in him.

He saw Fletcher Fogg standing outside the Nicholas Hotel. The day was bland, the spring sun was warming, but it was evident that Mr. Fogg was not basking contentedly; his countenance was fully as gloomy as that of Captain Mayo, and he chewed on an unlighted cigar and spat snippets of tobacco over the curb while he pondered.

Mayo was not in a mood to reason with his passion. He had just been battering his pride and persistence up against men whose manner of refusal showed that they remembered what Fletcher Fogg had said regarding the prospects of successful floating of the _Conomo_. There stood the ponderous pirate, blocking Mayo's way on the sidewalk, just as he had blocked the young man's prospects in life in the _Montana_ affair--just as he had closed avenues of credit. Mayo bumped against him and crowded him back across the sidewalk to the hotel's granite wall. He put his two raw, swollen hands on Fogg's immaculate waistcoat and shoved salt-stained, work-worn, and bearded face close.

Even then the promoter did not seem to recognize Mayo. He blinked apprehensively. He looked about as if he intended to summon help.

“You don't seem to have your iron wishbone in your pocket this time,” growled the assailant. He jabbed his thumbs cruelly into Fogg's ribs.

“Gad! You're--you're Captain Mayo! I'll be cursed if I knew you till you spoke!”

“I managed to hold myself in the last time you saw me, Fogg. I was waiting. Now, damn you, I've got you!”

He was making reference merely to the physical grip in which he held the man. But Fogg seemed to find deeper significance in the words.

“I know it, Mayo,” he whined. “That's why I'm down here. I have been wondering about the best way to get to you--to meet you right!”

“You got to me all right, you infernal renegade!”

“But, see here, Mayo, we can't talk this matter here on the street.”

“There isn't going to be any talking!” The meeting-up had been so unexpected and Mayo's ire was so hasty that the young man had not taken thought of what he intended to do. His impulse was to beat that fat face into pulp. He had long before given up all hope that any appeal to Fogg as a man would help. He expected no consideration, no restitution.

“But there must be some talk. I'm here to make it. You have me foul! I admit it. But listen to reason,” he pleaded. “It isn't going to do you any good to rave.”

“I'm going to mash your face for you! I'll take the consequences.”

“But after you do that, you still have got to talk turkey with me about those papers.”

In spite of his fury, Mayo realized from Fogg's demeanor and his words that mere fear of a whipping was not producing this humility; there was a policeman on the corner.

“Don't talk so loud,” urged Fogg. “Come up to my room where we can be private.”

Mayo hesitated, puzzled by his enemy's attitude.

“It's a word from the Old Man himself. He ordered me down here. It's from Marston!” whispered the promoter. “I'm in a devil of a hole all around, Mayo.”