The Trey o' Hearts/Chapter 10
CHAPTER X
The Captain of the "Seaventure"
HE WASTED the better part of an hour in fruitless inquiries: then his luck led him down a poorly lighted wharf, at the end of which he discovered a young man perched atop a pile, hands in pockets, gaze turned seaward, lips pursed—whistling. At the sound of footsteps this person turned to appraise the stranger, then, reassured, resumed his harmonious diversion of melancholy, and with it his gloomy stare across the water.
"Pardon me," Alan ventured, "perhaps you can help me out"
"You've come to the wrong shop, my friend," the young man interposed. "I couldn't help anybody out."
"I thought possibly you might know where I could charter a seaworthy boat."
"What kind of a boat?" the young man demanded.
"Anything moderately fast, well-found and able, with accommodations for two passengers—one a lady."
The young man slipped down from his perch. "If you don't look sharp," he said, "you'll charter the Seaventure." He waved his hand toward a vessel moored nearby. "There she is, schooner-rigged, fifty feet over all, twenty-five horsepower auxiliary, two staterooms—all ready. Come aboard."
Alan accepted his invitation, and the light of the cabin lamp revealed to Alan's scrutiny a roughly modelled, good-humoured face enlivened by twinkling though steady blue eyes.
"Name, Barcus," said the young man, "christened Thomas. Nativity, American. State of life, flat broke. I found myself this spring with this boat on my hands, sunk every cent I had fitting out on an oral charter with a moneyed blighter in New York who was to have met me here a fortnight since. He didn't—and here I am, in pawn to the ship-chandler."
"How much do you owe?"
"Upward of a hundred."
"Say I advance that amount, when can we sail?"
"Pay my bills, and we can be off inside an hour. That is—I may have some trouble scaring up a crew."
"How much of a crew do you need?"
"One other who knows his job will be enough."
"Then that's settled," Alan said. "I know boats. I'll be your crew—and the better satisfied to have nobody else aboard."
The eyes of Mr. Barcus clouded. "See here, what's your little game, anyway? I'll be no party to a kidnapping or"
"It's an elopement," Alan interrupted on inspiration. "We've simply got to get clear of Portland by midnight."
"I'm on!" Barcus agreed. "God knows why I believe you, but I do."
"Now," Alan proceeded, "here's a hundred and fifty. Be ready for us in half an hour—ready to cast off the minute we come aboard."
"I'll be ready," Mr. Barcus agreed, and in a moment the feet of his employer drummed along the deck overhead while Barcus soliloquized: "I don't know your name; you haven't asked my price; if it wasn't for that smile of yours, my hair-trigger friend, I'd be less satisfied that this was my lucky day!"