“Then I suppose you’ve heard the talk in Grande Mignon before this?”
“Yes, Code, I have; and I’ve called every man a liar that said anything definite against you. I’m gettin’ old, but there ain’t very many men here able enough to shove that name back down my throat, an’ I notice none of ’em tried. It’s all idle talk, that’s all; an’ there ain’t a soul that can prove a single thing against you, even cowardice. An’ that’s more’n can be said o’ some men in this village.”
Code was grateful, and he said so. It was something to find a friend so stanch and loyal that suspicion had never even found soil in his mind where it might take root. Two such he had now: Elsa Mallaby and Bijonah Tanner.
“What else did those men say?” he asked in conclusion.
“If I remember right, an’ I was perfectly clear at the time, this is what one said: ‘Fellers,’ sez ’e to the other two, ’e sez–‘fellers, that young Captain Schofield in Freekirk Head is goin’ on the rocks, or I don’t hear what’s goin’ on in my office.’
“‘Then they’re goin’ to sue him to recover part of his insurance on the old schooner May Schofield?’ asks the second.
“‘If I didn’t hear the chief say that this mornin’ you can shoot me on sight!’ the first answers. An’ then for a while I couldn’t hear any more, an’ you can bet I was watchin’ the door somethin’ awful for fear ma would come in an’ spoil it all by draggin’ me off.”
“But who were these men?” asked Code. “Whom did they mean by the chief?”
“I was just gettin’ to that. After a while, from a little bit here an’ a little there, I made out that the first young feller was private secretary to the president of the Marine Insurance Company. That’s the firm that carried the old May, isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“I thought so. They’ve got my Rosan, too, though I wish mightily now that they hadn’t. This feller is the private secretary to the president, an’ the other two are clerks or something in the office. They may have been up to something crooked, and then again they may have just been talkin’ things over as young fellers often do when they’re interested in their work. Anyway, there’s enough in what they said to set you thinkin’, I cal’late.”
“Yes,” said Code slowly and grimly, “it is. I’ve only known that the island was talking since last night, and now I find St. John’s is, too. It’s spreading pretty fast, it seems; and I wonder where it will end?” He pondered silently for a while.
“If they sue to recover, what’ll you do?” ventured Tanner hesitatingly.
“God knows!” answered Schofield and laughed bitterly. “I haven’t got a thing on earth but the Charming Lass, an’ this year I haven’t caught enough fish to pay for my new mains’l. My credit is still good at Bill Boughton’s, but that’s all.”
“But the cottage–”
“That is my mother’s, and they could never get that. If they sue and I lose they must take the Lass, and after they’ve subtracted the judgment from the sale price I suppose I’ll get the rest–maybe enough to buy a second-hand sloop.”
“Yes, but that isn’t the worst part of it, Code. As soon as they bring suit they will attach the schooner, so that even if the trial doesn’t come up for weeks you still can’t use her, and will have to sit around idle or go hand-lining in your dory. And you know what that means with winter comin’ on.”
“I know.” He had seen hard winters that had tried the resources of the village to the utmost, but he had never faced one that promised to be like the next.
“Well, what would you advise me to do, captain?”
“Get out!” snapped Tanner. “Get a crew and take the Lass to sea. There’s one thing sure, a lawyer can’t serve you with a summons or anything else if he has to look for you on the Atlantic Ocean.”
Schofield smiled. The remedy called for was heroic, truly; but was it honorable?
“I wonder if they can do that, anyway?” he asked. “After the May was lost the insurance people settled without a complaint. Can they rake up that matter again now?”
“By Jove! That reminds me. Them fellers discussed that very thing; an’ the secretary said that if the law had been broke at the time of the sinkin’–I mean, if the schooner wasn’t fit or had been tampered with–that it was within the law. But, o’ course, somebody’s got to make the complaint.”
“That’s just it,” cried Code, springing up and throwing away the stump of his cigar; “somebody has got to make the complaint! Well, now, from what I can see, somebody’s made it. All this talk could not have gone on in the island unless it started from somewhere. And the question is, where?”
They were interrupted by the sound of footsteps. In the darkness the figure of a man appeared approaching the house. A moment later the newcomer stepped on the low veranda, and both men recognized him.
It was Nat Burns.
“Is Nellie here?” he asked without the formality of the usual greetings.
“I cal’late she is, Nat,” replied Tanner, rising to his feet. “Wait a minute an’ I’ll call her.”
But he had not reached the door before the girl herself stepped out on the porch. She ran out eagerly, but stopped short when she saw Code in the darkness. Their meeting was obviously reserved.
In the interim Tanner walked to where Schofield stood, silent.
“I cal’late I can give you a pretty good idea where all this trouble started from,” he growled in a low tone; but before he could go on Nellie interrupted him.
“Father,” she said, coming forward with Nat, “I want to tell you something that we’ve all been too busy to discuss before this. Nat and I are engaged. He gave me the ring night before last when you were in St. John’s. I hope you are pleased, father.”
Bijonah Tanner remained silent for a moment, plainly embarrassed by the duty before him. Between most men who follow the sea and their daughters there is much less intimacy than with those who are in other walks of life. Long absences and the feeling that a mother is responsible for her girls are reasons for this; while in the case of boys, who begin to putter round the parental schooner from their earliest youth, a much closer feeling exists. Tanner could not bridge the chasm between himself and his daughter.
“Did you tell your mother?” he asked finally.
“Yes.”
“And was she satisfied?”
“Yes, indeed; she was very happy about it, and told me to come right down and tell you.”
“Wal, if it suits her it suits me,” was the dry conclusion. “I hope you’ll be happy. You’ve got a fine gal there, Nat.”
“I know I have, captain,” said Burns warmly; “and I’ll try to make her happy.”
“All right,” grunted Bijonah, and sank back into his chair. Between praising one man who saved his youngest boy, and congratulating another who was to marry his eldest girl, Captain Tanner’s day had been over full of ceremonial.
Face to face with the inevitable, Code Schofield offered sincere but embarrassed congratulations; and he was secretly glad that, when opportunity offered for him to shake Nat Burns’s hand, that young gentleman was busy lighting a cigarette.
The lovers went inside, and Code stood dejectedly, leaning against the railing. Tanner removed his pipe and spat over the railing.
“It’s too blamed bad!” he muttered.
“What?” asked Code, almost unconsciously.
“It’s too bad, I say. I used to think that mebbe Nellie would like you, Code.