The Stowaway Girl
L >> Louis Tracy >> The Stowaway Girl[Frontispiece: Hosier tightened a protecting arm around her waist]
THE STOWAWAY GIRL
By
LOUIS TRACY
AUTHOR OF
THE WINGS OF THE MORNING, SON OF THE IMMORTALS, CYNTHIA'S CHAUFFEUR,
THE MESSAGE, THE SILENT BARRIER, ETC.
ILLUSTRATIONS BY
NESBIT BENSON
NEW YORK
GROSSET & DUNLAP
PUBLISHERS
Copyright, 1909, 1912,
By EDWARD J. CLODE
CONTENTS
CHAPTER
I. THE "ANDROMEDA"
II. WHEREIN THE "ANDROMEDA" BEGINS HER VOYAGE
III. WHEREIN THE "ANDROMEDA" NEARS THE END OF HER VOYAGE
IV. SHOWING WHAT BECAME OF THE "ANDROMEDA"
V. THE REFUGEES
VI. BETWEEN THE BRAZILIAN DEVIL AND THE DEEP ATLANTIC
VII. CROSS PURPOSES
VIII. THE RIGOR OF THE GAME
IX. WHEREIN CERTAIN PEOPLE MEET UNEXPECTEDLY
X. ON THE HIGH SEAS
XI. A LIVELY MORNING IN EXCHANGE BUILDINGS
XII. THE LURE OF GOLD
XIII. THE NEW ERA
XIV. CARMELA
XV. SHOWING HOW BRAZIL CHOSE HER PRESIDENT
XVI. WHEREIN THE PRESIDENT PRESIDES
ILLUSTRATIONS
Hosier tightened a protective arm around her waist . . . _Frontispiece_
"Is that the Southern Cross?"
"How did I come here?"
"Well, gimme your 'and on it"
A withering volley crashed through the window
THE STOWAWAY
CHAPTER I
THE "ANDROMEDA"
"Marry Mr. Bulmer! That horrid old man! Uncle, what _are_ you saying?"
The girl sprang to her feet as if she were some timid creature of the
wild aroused from sylvan broodings by knowledge of imminent danger. In
her terror, she upset the three wineglasses that formed part of the
display beside each _couvert_ on the luncheon table. One, rose-tinted
and ornate, crashed to the floor, and the noise seemed to irritate the
owner of Linden House more than his niece's shrill terror.
"No need to bust up our best set of 'ock glasses just because I 'appen
to mention owd Dickey Bulmer," he growled.
The color startled so suddenly out of the girl's face began to return.
Her eyes lost their dilation of fear. Somehow, the comment on the
broken glass seemed to deprive "owd Dickey Bulmer's" personality of its
real menace.
"I'm sorry," she said, and stooped to pick up the fragments scattered
over the carpet.
"Leave that alone," came the sharp order. "So long as I've the brass
to pay for 'em, there's plenty more where that kem from, an' in any
case, it's the 'ousemaid's job. Leave it alone, I tell you! An' sit
down. It's 'igh time you an' me 'ad a straight talk, an' I can't do
wi' folk bouncin' about like an injia-rubber ball when I've got things
to say to 'em."
He stretched a fat hand toward a mahogany cigar-box, affected to choose
a cigar with deliberative crackling, hacked at the selection with a
fruit knife, and dropped the severed end into an unused finger-bowl;
then he struck a match, and puffed furiously until a rim of white ash
tipped the brown. This achieved, he helped himself to the port.
Though he carefully avoided glancing at his companion, he knew quite
well that she had drawn a chair to the opposite end of the table, and
was looking at him intently; her chin was propped on her clenched
hands; the skin on her white forehead was puckered into nervous lines;
her lips, pressed close, had lost their Cupid's bow that seemed ever
ready to bend into a smile. Meanwhile, the man who had caused these
signs of distress gulped down some of the wine, held the glass up to
the light as a tribute to the excellence of its contents, darted his
tongue several times in and out between his teeth, smacked his lips,
replaced the cigar in his mouth, and leaned back in his chair until it
creaked.
Iris Yorke was accustomed to this ritual; she gave it the unobservant
tolerance good breeding extends to the commonplace. But to-day, for
the first time during the two years that had sped so happily since she
came back to Linden House from a Brussels _pension_, she found herself,
even in her present trouble, wondering how it was possible that David
Verity could be her mother's brother. This coarse-mannered hog of a
man, brother to the sweet-voiced, tender-hearted gentlewoman whose
gracious wraith was left undimmed in the girl's memory by the lapse of
years--it would be unbelievable if it were not true! He was so gross,
so tubby, so manifestly over-fed, whereas her mother had ever been
elegant and _bien soignee_. But he had shown kindness to her in his
domineering way. He was not quite so illiterate as his accent and his
general air of uncouthness seemed to imply. In his speech, the broad
vowels of the Lancashire dialect were grafted on to the clipped
staccato of a Cockney. He would scoff at anyone who told him that
knives and forks had precise uses, or that table-napkins were not meant
to be tucked under the chin. In England, especially in the provinces,
some men of affairs cultivate these minor defects, deeming them tokens
of bluff honesty, the hall-marks of the self-made; and David Verity
thought, perhaps, that his pretty, well-spoken niece might be trusted
to maintain the social level of his household without any special
effort on his part.
Shocked, almost, at the disloyalty of her thoughts, Iris tried to close
the rift that had opened so unexpectedly.
"It was stupid of me to take you seriously," she said. "You cannot
really mean that Mr. Bulmer wishes to marry me?"
Verity screwed up his features into an amiable grin. He pressed the
tips of his fingers together until the joints bent backward. When he
spoke, the cigar waggled with each syllable.
"I meant it right enough, my lass," he said.
"But, uncle dear----"
"Stop a bit. Listen to me first, an' say your say when I've finished.
Like everybody else, you think I'm a rich man. David Verity, Esquire,
ship-owner, of Linden House an' Exchange Buildings--it looks all right,
don't it--like one of them furrin apples with rosy peel an' a maggot
inside. You're the first I've told about the maggot. Fact is, I'm
broke. Ship-ownin' is rotten nowadays, unless you've lots of capital.
I've lost mine. Unless I get help, an' a thumpin' big slice of it, my
name figures in the _Gazette_. I want fifty thousand pounds, an' oo's
goin' to give it to me? Not the public. They're fed up on shippin'.
They're not so silly as they used to be. I put it to owd Dickey
yesterday, an' 'e said you couldn't raise money in Liverpool to-day to
build a ferry-boat. But 'e said summat else. If you wed 'im, 'e makes
you a partner in the firm of Verity, Bulmer an' Co. See? Wot's wrong
with that? I've done everything for you up to date; now it's your
turn. Simple, isn't it? P'raps I ought to have explained things
differently, but it didn't occur to me you'd hobject to bein' the wife
of a millionaire, even if 'e is a doddrin' owd idiot to talk of
marryin' agin."
"Oh, uncle!"
With a wail of despair, the girl sank back and covered her face with
her hands. Now that she believed the incredible, she could utter no
protest. The sacrifice demanded was too great. In that bitter moment
she would have welcomed poverty, prayed even for death, as the
alternative to marriage with the man to whom she was being sold.
Verity leaned over the table again and finished the glass of port.
This time there was no lip-smacking, or other aping of the connoisseur.
He was angry, almost alarmed. Resistance, even of this passive sort,
raised the savage in him. Hitherto, Iris had been ready to obey his
slightest whim.
"There's no use cryin' 'Oh, uncle,' an' kicking up a fuss," he snapped
viciously. "Where would you 'ave bin, I'd like to know, if it wasn't
for me? In the gutter--that's where your precious fool of a father
left your mother an' you. You're the best dressed, an' best lookin',
an' best eddicated girl i' Bootle to-day--thanks to me. When your
mother kem 'ere ten year ago, an' said her lit'rary gent of a 'usband
was dead, neither of you 'ad 'ad a square meal for weeks--remember
that, will you? It isn't my fault you've got to marry Bulmer. It's
just a bit of infernal bad luck--the same for both of us, if it comes
to that. An' why shouldn't you 'ave some of the sours after I've given
you all the sweets? You'll 'ave money to burn; I'm not axin' you to
give up some nice young feller for 'im. If you play your cards well,
you can 'ave all the fun you want----"
The girl staggered to her feet. She could endure the man's coarseness
but not his innuendoes.
"I will do what you ask," she murmured, though there was a pitiful
quivering at the corners of her mouth that bespoke an agony beyond the
relief of tears. "But please don't say any more, and never again
allude to my dear father in that way, or I may--I may forget what I owe
you."
She was unconscious of the contempt in her eyes, the scornful ring in
her voice, and Verity had the good sense to restrain the wrath that
bubbled up in him until the door closed, and he was alone. He grabbed
the decanter and refilled his glass.
"Nice thing!" he growled. "I offer 'er a fortune an' a bald-'eaded owd
devil for a 'usband, 'oo ought to die in a year or two an' leave 'er
everything; yet she ain't satisfied. D--n 'er eyes, if I'd keep 'er as
scullery-maid she'd 'ave different notions."
With the taste of the wine, however, came the consoling reflection that
Iris as a scullery-maid might not tickle the fancy of the dotard who
had undertaken to provide fifty thousand pounds for the new
partnership. And she had promised--that was everything. His lack of
diplomacy was obvious even to himself, but he had won where a man of
finer temperament might have failed. Now, he must rush the wedding.
Dickey Bulmer's Lancashire canniness might stipulate for cash on
delivery as the essence of the marriage contract. Not a penny would
the old miser part with until he was sure of the girl.
So David Verity, having much to occupy his mind, lingered over the
second glass of port, for this was a Sunday dinner, served at mid-day.
At last he closed his eyes for his customary nap; but sleep was not to
be wooed just then; instead of dozing, he felt exceedingly wide awake.
Indeed, certain disquieting calculations were running through his
brain, and he yielded forthwith to their insistence. Taking a small
notebook from his pocket, he jotted down an array of figures. He was
so absorbed in their analysis that he did not see Iris walk listlessly
across the lawn that spread its summer greenery in front of the
dining-room windows. And that was an ill thing for David. The sight
of the girl at that instant meant a great deal to him.
He did happen to look out, a second too late.
Even then, he might have caught a glimpse of Iris's pink muslin skirt
disappearing behind a clump of rhododendrons, were not his shifty eyes
screwed up in calculation--or perchance, the gods blinded him in behalf
of one who was named after Juno's bright messenger.
"Yes, that's it," he was thinking. "I must wheedle Dickey into the
bank to-morrow. A word from 'im, an' they'll all grovel, d--n 'em!"
The door opened.
"Captain Coke to see you, sir," said a servant.
"Send 'im in; bring 'im in 'ere."
The memorandum book disappeared; Verity's hearty greeting was that of a
man who had not a care in the world. His visitor's description was
writ large on him by the sea. No one could possibly mistake Captain
Coke for any other species of captain than that of master mariner. He
was built on the lines of a capstan, short and squat and powerful.
Though the weather was hot, he wore a suit of thick navy-blue serge
that would have served his needs within the Arctic Circle. It clung
tightly to his rounded contours; there was a purple line on his red
brows that marked the exceeding tightness of the bowler hat he was
carrying; and the shining protuberances on his black boots showed that
they were tight, too. It was manifestly out of the question that he
should be able to walk any distance. Though he had driven in a cab to
the shipowner's house, he was already breathless with exertion, and he
rolled so heavily in his gait that his shoulders hit both sides of the
doorway while entering the room. Yet he was nimble withal, a man
capable of swift and sure movement within a limited area, therein
resembling a bull, or a hippopotamus.
The hospitable Verity pushed forward the mahogany box and the decanter.
"Glad to see you, Jimmie, my boy. Sit yourself down. 'Ave a cigar an'
a glass o' port. I didn't expect you quite so soon, but you're just as
welcome now as later."
Captain Coke placed his hat on top of a malacca cane, and balanced both
against the back of a chair.
"I'll take a smoke but no wine, thankee, Mr. Verity," said he. "I kem
along now' 'coss I want to be aboard afore it's dark. We're moored in
an awkward place."
"Poor owd _Andromeeda_! Just 'er usual luck, eh, Jimmie?"
"Well, she ain't wot you might call one of fortune's fav'rits, but
she's afloat, an' that's more'n you can say for a good many
daisy-cutters I've known."
Verity chuckled.
"Some ships are worth less afloat than ashore, an' she's one of 'em,"
he grinned. "You want a match. 'Ere you are!"
Whether Coke was wishful to deny or admit the _Andromeda's_
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 in September. If you're
lucky, an' fill up with nitrate soon, you may be 'ome again. If not,
I'll 'ave to whack up a special quotation. After that, there'll be no
insurance. The _Andromeeda_ goes for wot she'll fetch."
Another pause; then Coke broached a new phase.
"Meanin' that I lose the two thousand pounds I put in 'er to get my
berth?" he said huskily.
"An' wot about me? _I_ lose eight times as much. Just think of it!
Sixteen thousand pounds would give me a fair balance to go on wi' i'
these hard times, an' your two thou' would make the skipper's job in my
new ship a certainty."
Coke's brick-red face darkened. He breathed hard.
"Wot new ship?" he demanded.
Verity smiled knowingly.
"It's a secret, Jimmie, but I must stretch a point for a pal's sake.
Dickey Bulmer's goin' to marry my niece, an' 'e 'as pledged himself to
double the capital of the firm. Now I've let the cat out of the bag.
I'm sorry, ole man--pon me soul, I am--but w'en Dickey's name crops up
on 'Change you know as well as me 'ow many captain's tickets will be
backed wi' t' brass."
This time, if so minded, the robin might have trilled his song _adagio
con sostenuto_ without fear of interruption by those harsh voices.
Neither man spoke during so long a time that the break seemed to impose
a test of endurance; in such a crisis, he who has all at stake will
yield rather than he who only stakes a part.
"S'pose we talk plainly as man to man?" said Coke thickly, at last.
"_I_ can't talk much plainer," said Verity.
"Yes, you can. Promise me the command of your next ship, an' the
Andromeda goes on the rocks this side o' Monte Video."
Verity jumped as though he had been stung by an infuriated wasp.
"Coke, I'm surprised at you," he grunted, not without a sharp glance
around to make sure no other was near.
"No, you ain't, not a bit surprised, on'y you don't like to 'ear it in
cold English. That's wot you're drivin' at--the insurance."
"Shut up, you ijjit. Never 'eard such d--d rot in all me born days."
"Listen to it now, then. It's good to 'ave the truth tole you some
times. Wot are you afraid of? I take all the risk an' precious little
of the money. Write me a letter----"
"Write! Me! Coke, you're loony."
"Not me. Wait till I'm through. Write a letter sayin' you're sorry
the _Andromeda_ must be laid up this fall, but promisin' me the next
vacancy. 'Ow does that 'urt _you_?"
Verity's cigar had gone out. He relighted it with due deliberation; it
could not be denied that his nerve, at least, was superb.
"I'm willin' to do anything in reason," he said slowly. "I don't see
where I can lay 'ands on a better man than you, Jimmie, even if you
_do_ talk nonsense at times. You know the South American trade, an'
you know me. By gad, I'll do that. Anyhow, it's wot you deserve, but
none the less, I'm actin' as a reel friend, now ain't I? Many a man
would just lay you up alongside the _Andromeeda_."
"I'll call at your office in the mornin' for the letter," said Coke,
whose red face shone like the setting sun seen through a haze.
"Yes, yes. I'll 'ave it ready."
"An' you won't back out of them extry stores? I must sweeten the crew
on this run."
"I'll supply the best of stuff--enough to last for the round trip. But
don't make any mistake. You must be back afore September 30th. That's
the date of the policy. Now let's trot inside, an' my gal--Mrs. Dickey
Bulmer that is to be--will give you some tea."
"Tea!" snorted Coke.
"Well, there's whisky an' soda on tap if you prefer it. It _is_ rather
'ot for tea. Whew! you're boilin'? W'y don't you wear looser clo'es?
Look at me--cool as a cucumber. By the way, 'oo's the new man you've
shipped as second? Watts is the chief, I know, but 'oo is Mr. Philip
Hozier?"
"Youngster fillin' in sea-service to get a ticket an' qualify for the
Cunard."
"Thoroughly reliable sort of chap, eh?"
"The best."
It was odd how these men left unsaid the really vital things. Again it
was Coke who tried to fill in some part of the blank space.
"Just the right kind of second for the _Andromeda's_ last cruise," he
muttered. "Smart as a new pin. You could trust 'im on the bridge of a
battleship. Now, Watts is a good man, but a tot of rum makes 'im fair
daft."
"Ah!" purred Verity, "you must keep a tight 'and on Watts. I like an
appetizer meself w'en I'm off dooty, so to speak, but it's no joke to
'ave a boozer in charge of a fine ship an' vallyble freight. Of
course, you're responsible as master, but you can't be on deck mornin',
noon, an' night. Choke Watts off the drink, an' you'll 'ave no
trouble. So that's settled. My, but you're fair meltin'--wot is it
they say--losin' adipose tisher. Well, come along. Let's lubricate."
* * * * * *
The _Andromeda_ sailed on the Tuesday afternoon's tide. She would drop
the pilot off Holyhead, and, with fair weather, such as cheered her
departure from the Mersey, daybreak on Thursday would find her pounding
through the cross seas where St. George's Channel merges into the wide
Atlantic. If she followed the beaten track on her long run to the
River Plate--as sailors will persist in miscalling that wondrous Rio de
la Plata--she might be signaled from Madeira or the Cape Verde Islands.
But shipmasters often prefer to set a course clear of the land till
they pick up the coast of South America. If she were not spoken by
some passing steamer, there was every possibility that the sturdy old
vessel would not be heard of again before reaching her destination.
* * * * * *
But David Verity heard of her much sooner, and no thunderbolt that ever
rent the heavens could have startled him more than the manner of that
hearing.
Resolving to clinch matters with regard to Iris and her elderly suitor,
he invited "Owd Dickey" to supper on Sunday evening. The girl endured
the man's presence with a placid dignity that amazed her uncle. On the
plea of a headache, she retired at an early hour, leaving Bulmer to
gloat over his prospective happiness, and primed to the point of
dementia.
He was quite willing to accompany Verity to the bank next morning; a
pleasant-spoken manager sighed his relief when the visitors were gone,
and he was free to look at the item "bills discounted" on Verity's page
in the ledger. More than that, a lawyer was instructed to draw up a
partnership deed, and the representatives of various ship-building
firms were asked to supply estimates for two new vessels.
Altogether Dickey was complaisant, and David enjoyed a busy and
successful day. He dined in town, came home at a late hour, and merely
grinned when a servant told him that Mr. Bulmer had called twice but
Miss Iris happened to be out on both occasions.
Nevertheless, at breakfast on Tuesday, he warned his niece not to keep
her admirer dangling at arm's length.
"E's a queer owd codger," explained the philosopher. "Play up to 'im a
bit, an' you'll be able to twist 'im round your little finger. I
b'lieve he's goin' dotty, an' you can trust me to see that the marriage
settlement is O. K."
"Will you be home to dinner?" was her response.
"No. Now that the firm is in smooth water again I must show myself a
bit. It's all thanks to you, lass, an' I'll not forget it. Good-by!"
Iris smiled, and Verity was vastly pleased.
"I am sure you will not forget," she said. "Good-by."
"There's no understandin' wimmin," mused David, as his victoria swept
through the gates of Linden House. "Sunday afternoon Dickey might ha'
bin a dose of rat poison; now she's ready to swaller 'im as if 'e was a
chocolate drop."