Chapter 13

VERNON'S CURIOSITY

Silky blue lines streaked the long undulations that ran back to the horizon and the _Flaminian_ rolled with a measured swing. When her bows went down the shining swell broke with a dull roar and rainbows flickered in the spray about her forecastle; then, while the long deck got level, one heard the beat of engines and the grinding of screws. A wake like an angry torrent foamed astern, and in the distance, where the dingy smoke-cloud melted, the crags of Labrador ran in faint, broken line. Ahead an ice-floe glittered in the sun. The liner had left Belle Isle Strait and was steaming towards Greenland on the northern Atlantic course.

Harry Vernon occupied a chair on the saloon-deck and read the _Montreal Star_ which had been sent on board at Rimouski. The light reflected by the white boats and deck was strong; he was not much interested, and put down the newspaper when Lister joined him. They had met on the journey from Winnipeg to Montreal, and on boarding the _Flaminian_ Lister was given the second berth in Vernon's room. Vernon liked Lister.

"Take a smoke," he said, indicating a packet of cigarettes. "Nothing fresh in the newspapers. They've caught the fellow Porteous; he was trying to steal across to Detroit."

Lister sat down and lighted a cigarette. Porteous was a clerk who had not long since gone off with a large sum of his employer's money.

"Canada is getting a popular hunting ground for smart crooks. It looks as if our business men were easily robbed."

"There are two kinds of business men; one lot makes things, the other buys and sells. Some of the first are pretty good manufacturers, but stop at that. They concentrate on manufacturing and hire a specialist to look after finance."

"But if the specialist's a crook, can't you spot him when he gets to work?"

"As a rule, the men who get stung know all about machines and material but nothing about book-keeping," Vernon replied. "A bright accountant could rob one or two I've met when he was asleep. For example, there was Shillito. His employers were big and prosperous lumber people; clever men at their job, but Shillito gambled with their money for some time before they got on his track. I expect you read about him in the newspapers?"

Lister smiled and, pushing back his cap, touched his forehead.

"I know something about Shillito. That's his mark!"

"Then you were the man he knocked out!" Vernon exclaimed. "But he hasn't got your money. Why did you help the police?"

"It isn't very obvious. Somehow, I didn't like the fellow. Then, you see, the girl--"

"The girl? What had a girl to do with it?"

Lister frowned. He had not meant to talk about the girl and was angry because he had done so, but did not see how he could withdraw his careless statement. Moreover Vernon looked interested, and it was important that both were typical Canadians. The young Canadian is not subtle; as a rule, his talk is direct, and at awkward moments he is generally marked by a frank gravity. Vernon was grave now and Lister thought he pondered. He had not known Vernon long, but he felt one could trust him.

"I met a girl on board the train," he said. "She was keen about getting away from Shillito."

"Why did she want to get away?"

"I don't know. Looked as if she was afraid of him. When I first saw her she was on the car platform and I reckoned she was bracing herself to jump off. Since we were running across a trestle, I pulled her from the steps. That's how the thing began."

"But it didn't stop just then?"

"It stopped soon afterwards," Lister replied. "She wanted to get off and go East; the train was bound West, but we were held up at a side-track, and I put her on board a gravel train locomotive."

"Then she went East!" said Vernon thoughtfully, and studied the other.

Lister sat with his head thrown back and the sun on his brown face. His look was calm and frank; his careless pose brought out the lines of his thin but muscular figure. Vernon felt he was honest; he knew Lister's type.

"She went off on board our construction locomotive," Lister replied.

"But I don't see yet! Why did you meddle? Why did she give you her confidence?"

"She didn't give me her confidence," Lister said, and smiled. "She wanted to get away and I helped. That's all. It's obvious I wasn't out for a romantic adventure, because I put her off the train."

Vernon nodded. Lister's argument was sound; besides, he did not look like a philanderer.

"Then you don't know who she is?"

"I don't know. She didn't put me wise and my business was not to bother her."

"What was she like? Did you guess her age? How was she dressed?"

Lister lighted a fresh cigarette. Vernon's keenness rather puzzled him, but he thought he had told the fellow enough. In fact, he doubted if the girl would approve his frankness. He was not going to state that he had met her at Montreal. Anyhow, not yet. If Vernon talked about the thing again and gave proper grounds for his curiosity, he might perhaps satisfy him.

"She was young," he answered vaguely. "Attractive, something of a looker, I think. I don't know much about women's clothes."

"Oh, well!" said Vernon. "You helped her off and Shillito found this out and got after you?"

"He got after me when he saw he was corraled," Lister replied, and narrated his struggle on the platform. He was now willing to tell Vernon all he wanted to know, but saw the other's interest was not keen and they presently began to talk about something else.

"What are you going to do in the Old Country?" Vernon asked.

"I have no plans. For a time, I guess I'll loaf and look about. Then I want to see my father's folks, whom I haven't met."

"Your father was English?"

"Why, yes," said Lister, smiling. "If you reckon up, you'll find a big proportion of the staunchest Canadians' parents came from the Old Country. In fact, I sometimes feel Canada belongs to us and the boys of the sourdough stock. Between us we have given the country its stamp and made it a land for white men; but we'll soon be forced to make good our claim. If we're slack, we'll be snowed under by folks from Eastern Europe whose rules and habits are not ours."

Vernon nodded. "It's a problem we have got to solve. But are you going back to the railroad when you have looked about?"

"I'm going back some time, but, now I have pulled out, I want to see all I can. I'd like to look at Europe, Egypt and India."

"Wandering around costs something," Vernon remarked.

"That is so. My wad's small, but if I've not had enough when it's used up, I'll look for a job. If nothing else is doing, I'll go to sea."

Vernon's smile was sympathetic and he looked ahead, over the dipping forecastle to the far horizon. The sea shone with reflected light and an iceberg glimmered against the blue. He felt the measured throb of engines and the ship leap forward. Vernon was a young Canadian and sprang from pioneering stock. The vague distance called; he felt the lure of going somewhere.

"If the thing was possible, I'd go with you," he said. "All the same, I'm tied to business and the old man can't pull his load alone. My job's to stick to the traces and help him along. But do you know much about the sea?"

"I was engineer on board a Pacific coasting boat and a wheat barge on the Lakes."

"Well," said Vernon thoughtfully, "I know an English shipping boss who might help you get a berth. I'd rather like you to meet him, but we'll talk about this again. Now let's join those fellows at deck-quoits."

Their friendship ripened, but it was not until the last day of the voyage Vernon said something more about the English ship-owner. _Flaminian_ was steaming across the Irish Sea, with the high blue hills of Mourne astern and the Manx rocks ahead. Vernon lounged on the saloon-deck and his face was thoughtful as he looked across the shining water.

"We'll make Liverpool soon after dark, and if I can get the train I want, I'll pull out right then," he said. "You allowed you might try a run on board an English ship before you went back?"

"It's possible," said Lister. "Depends on how my wad holds out and on somebody's being willing to give me a post."

Vernon nodded. "That's where I'm leading." He stopped, and Lister wondered why he pondered. The thing did not seem worth the thought his companion gave it.

"I reckon you don't know Cartwright of the Independent Freighters, but he could put you wise about getting a ship," Vernon resumed. "I'm stopping for a week or two at his country house. The freighters are small boats, but Cartwright's worth knowing; in fact, to know him is something of an education. In the West we're pretty keen business men, and I've put across some smart deals at the Winnipeg Board of Trade, but I'll admit Cartwright would beat me every time. Where do you mean to locate?"

Lister said he was going to the neighborhood of a small country town in the North of England, and was puzzled by Vernon's start.

"That fixes it! The thing's strangely lucky. Cartwright's country house is not far off. You had better come along by my train. Soon after I arrive I'll get Mrs. Cartwright to ask you across."

"I mustn't bother your friends," said Lister. "Besides, I really don't know if I want to go to sea."

"All the same, you'll come over to Carrock. You ought to know Cartwright and I reckon he'll like to know you. I have a notion you and he would make a good team."

Lister wondered whether Vernon had an object for urging him to meet his friend, but this looked ridiculous.

"What's Cartwright like?" he asked carelessly.

"My notion is, Cartwright's unique. You imagine he's something of a highbrow Englishman, rather formal and polite, but he has an eye like a fish-hawk's and his orders go. Hair and mustache white; you don't know if his clothes are old or new, but you feel they're exactly what he ought to wear. That's Cartwright, so to speak, on top; but when you meet him you want to remember you're not up against a Canadian. We're a straight type. When we're tough, we're very tough all the time; when we're cultivated, you can see the polish shine. In the Old Country it's harder to fix where folks belong."

"You imply that you have got to know Cartwright before you fix him?"

Vernon laughed. "I haven't quite fixed him yet. At one time he's a sober gentleman of the stiff old school; at another he's as rough as the roughest hobo I've met in the West. I reckon he'd beat a business crook at the other's smartest trick, but if you're out for a straight deal, you'll find Cartwright straight."

He went off to change some money and Lister went to his cabin and began to pack his trunk. When he came up they had passed the Chicken Rock and a long bright beam touched the sea astern. In the East, water and sky faded to dusky blue, but presently a faint light began to blink as if it beckoned. The light got brighter and gradually drew abeam. The foaming wake glimmered lividly in the dark, the beat of screws seemed quicker, and Lister thought the ship was carried forward by a stream of tide.

Other lights began to blink. They stole out of the dark, got bright, and vanished, and Lister, leaning on the rails, felt they called him on. One knew them by their colors and measured flashes. They were beacons, burning on a well-ordered plan to guide the navigator, but he did not know the plan. In a sense, this was important, and he began to muse.

Now he would soon reach the Old Country, he felt he had made a momentous plunge. Adventure called, he knew Canada and wanted something fresh, but he wondered whether this was all. Perhaps the plunge had, so to speak, not been a thoughtless caprice. In a sense, things had led up to it and made it logical. For example, it might not have been for nothing he met the girl on the train and got hurt. His hurt had kept him at Winnipeg and stopping there had roused his discontent. Then he had met Vernon, who wanted him to know the English ship-owner. It was possible these things were like the flashes that leaped out of the dark. He would know where they pointed when the journey was over. Then Lister smiled and knocked out his pipe.

When he went on deck again some time afterwards the ship was steering for a gap between two rows of twinkling lights. They ran on, closing on each other, like electric lamps in a long street, and in front the sky shone with a dull red glow. It was the glimmer of a great port, they were entering the Mersey, and he went off to get up his luggage.