Wyndham's Pal

"Then, you have an explanation?"

Peters smiled. "Yes. It looks as if the Bat had let his old friends go and taken Wyndham up."

"Ridiculous!" said Marston. "What has the Bat to do with trade? He's not a merchant or a cultivator."

"For all that, the fellow has power. The President rules the cities, the guardias rurales the cleared land, but the Bat and the devil rule the bush. I know half-civilized Mestizos who believe the Bat is the devil. Anyhow, he's a useful friend."

"He's not my friend," Marston rejoined. "However, if your employers are not satisfied, I don't see how I can help."

"I have a plan," said Peters. "I know the bush, the negroes, and their habits, as few white men know them, and my knowledge is worth much to a merchant house. Well, I'm not greedy and imagine you'd find it worth while to give me a small partnership; or, if you'd sooner, appoint me your agent at a port from which I could control the lagoon trade."

Marston looked at him with some surprise. On the whole, he did not like the fellow and he had no grounds for trusting him.

"I'm afraid I can't agree," he replied. "We have a pretty good agent at all the ports where we trade, and Wyndham sent a man he was satisfied about to the lagoon. Our business is not large enough to justify our taking a new partner."

"The business is extending. Would you like to talk to Wyndham about it?"

"He won't be back for some time, and I expect he'll agree that we don't need help. I think you had better stick to your Hamburg friends."

"Oh, well," said Peters philosophically, "it looks as if I must drop the plan, but if you need me later, you know where I can be found. In the meantime, we'll let it go. When I left, Ramon Larrinaga sent you his compliments. He's getting an important man; had some part in the plot that put the new president in power and has, no doubt, claimed his reward."

"You may give him our congratulations when you go back," Marston replied, and soon afterwards Peters went off.

Marston smoked a cigarette and reviewed his visitor's remarks. The fellow had implied that Wyndham had, by some means, gained the Bat's support, and this jarred. Perhaps it jarred worse because Marston had tried to banish suspicions that chimed with the hint. Then he imagined Peters' offer was rather made to Wyndham than to him. Marston meant to urge his partner to refuse. He did not want to see Peters again, but doubted. The fellow was cunning and obstinate. By-and-by Marston threw away his cigarette and rang for his clerk. He would not bother about Peters until he was forced. In fact, if Peters did not come back, he was not sure he would tell Wyndham about it at all.

CHAPTER IV
THE LOST EXPLORERS

The days were getting longer and although the evening was cold Marston rejoiced that winter had gone. He had worked hard at the office until Wyndham's return from his honeymoon, and now he was glad to get on the water again. Putting down his oars, he let Red Rose's dinghy drift, because he doubted if the tide had risen enough to carry him across the sands. A bitter wind blew up the estuary, where belts of shining water wound among the shoals, and some distance astern Red Rose rode at her moorings in a sheltered pool. For half a mile, sand and shallow water ran between Marston and the beach.

He had brought the yacht round from a neighboring river mouth where the smoke of a busy port blackened her gear, and had since been occupied on board. Now he was pleasantly tired, hungry, and braced by the cold. He knew no amusement that gave him as much satisfaction as working on board a yacht. In fact, if one went about the thing properly, it was really a scientific job.

The dinghy grounded, and letting her bump across the sand, he lighted his pipe and reviewed his changed life since Wyndham won the Commodore's cup. Things had begun to change then. For the most part, he had worked hard; at first as Columbine's mate and supercargo, afterwards as a merchant's clerk. Although he had invested a good sum, he was really a clerk. Sometimes he stated his views and Wyndham listened politely; but when one came to think about it, Harry did not tell him much. Then he did not altogether understand transactions in which the house engaged.

For all that, Marston was not hurt. He admitted that his judgment was not worth much. He had not, like Harry, been trained for business. In fact, it was something of a relief when Harry came home and he got rid of his responsibility, although he thought he had, on the whole, managed rather well. Recently, he had taken things easier and Wyndham had encouraged him to do so. He suggested Marston's going off for a few days now and then, and told him not to bother about the office while he fitted out Red Rose. Harry was a good sort, and since he did not need him, Marston was glad to occupy himself with the yacht.

By-and-by the dinghy floated off the shoal and Marston saw the Welsh hills on the other shore were getting dim and blue. He was cold and drove the little boat briskly across the rippling water. Carrying her up the beach, he went to an inn where he left his yachting clothes and then set out across the heathy common for Mrs. Hilliard's house. Mabel gave him tea by the fire and when it got dark outside they talked in the flickering glow. Flora, Wyndham and Chisholm were coming to dinner, but would not arrive yet, and Marston lounged contentedly in a big easy chair.

"I don't know if I'm tired or lazy," he remarked. "Anyhow, it's very nice to sit by the fire with you."

"When you're lazy?" said Mabel, with a smile.

"Always," Marston declared. "However, you get a particular satisfaction from loafing after you have had a good day."

"On board the yacht? I'm not jealous, Bob, but you haven't been to the office much."

"That is so," Marston admitted. "I was rather keen about the business; in fact, I'm keen yet. I like to know how things are going, even if I can't help; but the boat's a temptation and Harry doesn't need me all the time."

"Do you know how things are going?"

"For the most part," Marston replied, with a touch of embarrassment, because he sometimes felt he did not know as much as he would like. "I don't bother about small particulars."

"Has Harry stated he did not need you? Or did you imagine this, and make it an excuse for a holiday?"

Marston pondered for a moment or two. He did not altogether approve Mabel's line, perhaps because it excited doubts he had tried to banish.

"Harry knows I like pottering about the boat," he said. "He has hinted that I needn't stick to business quite so close now he's in control. After all, there's hardly enough work for two partners."

Mabel let this go. She knew Bob and thought he was rather trying to justify Wyndham than to find an excuse for his own laziness. It looked as if he suspected his partner was willing to get rid of him now and then. Moreover, Bob was not lazy.

"Harry's occupied pretty closely, is he not?" she said. "I have thought he looks tired."

"That is so," agreed Marston, who had recently noted a hint of strain about his comrade. Wyndham was sometimes impatient; his gay carelessness had gone. "After all, managing a business like ours is not an easy job," he resumed. "Things, however, are going well and I imagine I made a sound investment. In fact, we're getting rich."

A car rolled up the drive and Mabel rang for lights. Flora, Wyndham, and Chisholm came in and soon afterwards dinner was served. Mrs. Hilliard did not come down and Mabel, sitting at the top of the table, studied her guests. Flora looked charming; she had since her marriage got a touch of dignity. Mabel thought she was happy, but now and then she gave her husband a quick glance. Wyndham was thin, and although he talked and laughed, when he was quiet the jaded look Mabel had remarked was plain. She knew Bob's mind and his puzzled uneasiness about his partner that he would not own. Chisholm, she thought, was altogether satisfied, and the grounds for his satisfaction were obvious. Wyndhams' was prospering, and his consent to his daughter's marriage was justified. Still, Chisholm did not see very far.

When they got up Mabel gave them coffee by the fire in the hall and told the men to smoke. Chisholm, feeling for his tobacco, pulled a piece of newspaper from his pocket.

"Have you read the news to-day?" he asked Wyndham.

"I have not," Wyndham replied. "One may be able to study newspapers at the office of a navigation board, but my job is not a sinecure. Besides, Bob deserted me, and I'd hardly time for lunch."

"Then, I've something that may interest you. I cut the thing out, in case you missed it. It's headed, 'A tragic story of tropical adventure.'"

Wyndham looked up, rather sharply, and held out his hand for the cutting, but Marston said to Chisholm, "Suppose you read it. Then we'll all hear."

"Very well," said Chisholm, who polished his spectacles and began:

"'Some time since, a small exploring expedition started inland from the Salinas coast of the Caribbean.'" He stopped and asked: "Isn't that the country you are exploiting?"

"Yes," said Wyndham, with some dryness. "It's not a healthy country for white explorers, unless they're acclimatized. But go on."

"'The party consisted of a commercial botanist, a student of tropical diseases, a mining expert, and a trader stationed on the coast.'"

"Peters!" said Wyndham, looking at Marston. "No doubt, he persuaded the others; I expected the fellow would try to get on our track."

"That's the name," said Chisholm and resumed:

"'The party engaged a number of half-breed porters and set off, although they had been warned the bush country was disturbed. The belt of swampy forest was penetrated by the Spaniards four hundred years since, but it is, for the most part, little known by white men, and its Mestizo and negro inhabitants dislike strangers.'"

"The newspaper man seems remarkably well informed," Wyndham observed. "I expect he has a correspondent in the neighborhood."

"'When some time had gone and no news of the explorers reached the coast, the government got alarmed,'" Chisholm went on. "'Señor Larrinaga, the head official for the district, fitted out a rescue expedition and searched the forest. They found one survivor, the trader Peters, exhausted by suffering.'"

"Peters said Ramon Larrinaga was getting an important man," Marston interposed. "Sorry, sir! please don't stop."

"'Peters' story was tragic. The porters had got uneasy soon after the start, but their employers forced them to go on, until one night, when the party stopped at an empty village, they vanished. In the morning, Peters left his companions, with the object of overtaking the porters, but lost their track, and returning in two or three days, found the others dead. They were in a native hut and he saw no indication that violence had been used. Since the party carried their own provisions, it did not look as if they had been poisoned. Señor Larrinaga had some trouble to reach the village. The half-breeds and negroes in the forest belt are turbulent and rebellious and the rescue party was small. He, however, pushed on and when he arrived found the hut had been burned and nobody about. Two of the explorers had previously undertaken the development of rubber and mining concessions for merchants of this city, by whom their mysterious fate is much regretted.'"

Chisholm put down the cutting and the others were silent for a few moments. Wyndham looked disturbed, but lighted a cigarette, rather deliberately.

"Peters ought not to have taken those fellows into the bush. He knew the risk," he said.

"The others probably knew it, since the paper states they had done such work before," Marston replied.

"I think not. Anyhow, they did not know all the risk. Peters did. It's significant that he escaped."

"You don't imply that he ought not to have escaped?" Chisholm said, with some surprise.

"Certainly not. Still the fellow's cunning and greedy. I expect he got up the expedition, and he gambled with his companions' lives. If he had won, I don't imagine they would have got much of the reward."

Mabel studied Wyndham. It was plain that he did not like Peters and she thought he had some grounds for resenting his attempt to explore the country. Wyndham was a trader and Peters, no doubt, a rival, but she did not think he was altogether moved by commercial jealousy. Somehow the thing went deeper than this. His voice was level, but she saw his calm was forced. Mabel remembered that he had taken some time to light his cigarette.

"The half-breeds seem to be a lot of savage brutes," Chisholm remarked. "What stock do they spring from? The Carib?"

"The African strain is strongest, and pure negroes are numerous. In Central and part of South America, it's hard to fix the origin of the population. About the cities, they've made some progress and a number of their institutions are good. In the swamps I know best, they have gone back to rules of life the slaves brought from Africa long since. If you want to understand them, that's important."

"Do you think the Bat had anything to do with the explorers getting killed?" Marston asked.

"We don't know they were killed, and the Bat's rather a bogey of yours," Wyndham replied. "Anyhow, from one point of view, perhaps his efforts to keep out Peters and his gang were justified. The country belongs to the Bat and his friends; their rules are not ours, but they suit the people who use them, and I expect they know what often happens to a colored race when white men take control. Semi-civilization and industrial servitude, forced on you for others' benefit, are a poor exchange for liberty."

"You mean their leaders know?" said Mabel. "They would lose their power when the white men came?"

Wyndham said nothing for a moment and Marston imagined he was getting impatient. Then Flora gave him a puzzled glance and he smiled.

"Did the fellow you thought the Bat look very powerful, Bob?" he asked.

"In a way, he did not," said Marston. "He was a dirty, ragged old impostor – and yet I don't know. Perhaps it was his grin, but you got a hint that he was a bigger man than he looked. There was something about him – "

"Something Mephistophelian?" Wyndham suggested with a twinkle.

"But Mephistopheles was rather a gentleman," Flora remarked.

"That's it! You have given me the clew I was feeling for," said Marston. "You felt the old fellow might have been a gentleman long since and had degenerated. Now I come to think of it, his confounded grin was ironical; as if he knew your point of view and laughed at it. In fact, I imagine he laughed at himself; at his claim to be a magician and the tricks he used. A cynical brute, perhaps, but he was not a fool."

"Aren't you getting romantic, Bob?" Flora asked.

Marston said nothing. He had seen Wyndham's frown and imagined he had had enough. For a few moments Mabel studied both. She saw Bob wanted to talk about something else, but she did not mean to help him yet. His portrait of the old mulatto had given her ground for thought. For one thing, it had disturbed Wyndham, and she wondered why. She was not deceived when Wyndham laughed.

"As a rule, Bob is not romantic, but he was ill before he left the lagoon and fever excites one's imagination. We'll let it go. Did you shift the ballast they stowed forward of Red Rose's mast, Bob?"

"I did. We moved half a ton of iron and she trims much better with it aft," Marston replied.

Then they talked about the yacht until Mabel got up and took them to the drawing-room. She was curious, but in the meantime did not think her curiosity would be satisfied. Bob knew no more than he had told and it was plain that Wyndham meant to use reserve.

CHAPTER V
WYNDHAM CHANGES HIS PLAN

There was no wind, the sun was hot, and the reflection of Red Rose's mast and rigging trembled on the shining sea. She rode at anchor in a quiet bay, near the woods that rolled down to the smooth white boulders. Dark firs checkered the fresh green of the beeches and the bronzy yellow of the new oak leaves. The tide flowed smoothly past the yacht, and across the strait a lonely cloud threw a soft blue shadow on the scarred face of a lofty crag. Now and then the echoes of a blasting shot rolled among the hills. Flora sat in the yacht's cockpit. She wore a pale yellow dress that harmonized with her brown eyes and hair. Wyndham lay on the counter, smoking a cigarette, and when she thought he did not see her Flora gave him a careful glance. After a few days at sea, Harry's face was getting brown and he was losing his jaded look, but he was thin and she did not like the way his mouth was set. He had been working hard for some time, and now he had taken a holiday the strain he had borne did not relax. Flora did not altogether understand this, because things were going well with Wyndhams'.

She looked up the strait. Not far off an old castle stood upon a lawn where a long green point ran out, and the spot had romantic memories for her. She had promised to marry Harry on the lawn, one summer night when the yacht's lanterns twinkled in the roadstead and colored fires burned on the castle walls. Wyndham lifted his head, and smiled when he saw where she was looking.

"It is not very long since, scarcely twelve months, but much has happened in the meantime," he said.

"How did you know – ?" Flora asked and blushed.

"Your thoughts were in your eyes; gentle thoughts. It looks as if you were not disillusioned yet!"

"I'm not," said Flora, firmly. "For all that, I don't know if I like you when you're cynical."

"It's a relapse, or perhaps a reaction. Living up to your standard is a bit of a strain now and then."

"Would you sooner I lowered the standard?"

"Not at all," said Wyndham, with a twinkle. "Keep it as high as you can for yourself, so long as you are willing to make some allowances for me."

"That's a man's point of view," Flora remarked. "However, on the whole, you're very good. I really don't get many jars."

She studied him and mused. Harry was all, or very nearly all, she had thought, and she was happy. Sometimes, perhaps, she wished he would give her a little more of his confidence, about the office for example. The control of the extending business was not easy; she saw he had cares he did not talk about. He was a handsome man and she approved the fastidious neatness of his white yachting clothes, but he looked fine-drawn. Flora rather liked this half-ascetic look; Harry had no gross passions to draw him away from her, although she sometimes feared she had a rival in his ambition. He was ambitious and did not tell her much about his plans.

She looked about. Near the point, a little varnished boat shone in the strong light. Bob had taken Mabel for a row in the dinghy.

"I'm sorry for them," she remarked.

"Sorry for whom?" said Wyndham, and turned his head. "Oh, yes; it's hard for Bob! Mabel, no doubt, gets some satisfaction from feeling she's doing what she ought. I, myself, don't know if she ought or not, but this doesn't matter so long as Bob's persuaded. Well, I suppose she's worth waiting for and Bob is patient."

"You are not patient," Flora rejoined. "You refused to wait."

Wyndham gave her a twinkling smile. "No; I hadn't Bob's advantages. I seized my chance, and made a plunge. So, I think, did you!"

"After all, I wasn't very rash. I knew you better than my friends; but I'll own to feeling proud because they're all satisfied. You were not very long persuading them."

"It cost me something," said Wyndham quietly. "However, we'll let it go. I mean to have a lazy day and brace up for our climbing trip in the morning. I sent a message that we would need a car."

Flora nodded and glanced at a peak that rose behind the hills across the sparkling strait. She was a mountaineer and sometimes wondered whether she liked best the high rocks or the sea. Then she turned and noted a long plume of smoke that rolled across the woods.

"The early boat from town," she said.

A steamer swung round the point and headed for the yacht, piling the oily water in a wave at her bows. The thud of her paddles nearly drowned the music of the band on board, and confused echoes rang among the trees. A group of passengers forward sang lustily and a row leaned against the rail.

"She'll pass pretty close," said Wyndham. "I wonder whether anybody we know is on board."

Flora picked up the glasses and Wyndham, resting on his elbow, turned his head. The steamer drove on, a feather of foam shooting up her stem, and Wyndham languidly studied the faces of the passengers. Then, when she was level with the yacht, he moved abruptly, for a short, thin man with a yellow face sat on a bench, looking at Red Rose.

"Do you see somebody? Shall I give you the glasses?" Flora asked.

"No," said Wyndham, sharply. "Hold fast! Look out for her wash!"

Flora seized the coaming and the white wave from the steamer's paddles lifted the yacht. Red Rose plunged violently and when she steadied, the passenger boat was slowing near the pier. Flora put down the glasses and turned to Wyndham. She had seen the little man on the bench and imagined Harry was studying him. The fellow looked like a foreigner and she did not like his face. Yet it was strange his being on board the steamer had annoyed Harry. She thought it had annoyed him, although the need to warn her about the wash perhaps accounted for the sharpness of his voice.

"I saw all I wanted," Wyndham resumed, with a touch of grimness. "I thought you might drop the glasses when the wave struck us. If I wasn't lazy, I'd send a complaint to the office about their driving their boats full speed across a yacht anchorage. Has the splash hurt your dress?"

Flora looked down and shook the sparkling drops from the thin material.

"This stuff won't spoil. A dress that will spoil is no use for yachting; I've been to sea before."

Soon afterwards the others returned. They had promised to lunch with Chisholm at the hotel where Flora and Mabel had a room, but by and by Wyndham remarked:

"I feel rather dull and think I won't go ashore. Perhaps you had better stay, Bob, and we'll fit the new rigging screws. The others look as if the hooks might draw in a hard breeze."

"Stay if you like," said Flora. "You have come for a holiday. Are you sure you feel equal to our climb in the morning?"

Wyndham hesitated. "I'd hate to disappoint you, but I am lazy. I found the scramble up the big gully hard enough the last time I went along the ridge, and I hadn't been to Africa then. After close work in an office, three thousand feet and some awkward rock climbing is a stiff pull."

Flora looked at the others. Harry was tired and rather slack, and she wanted to indulge him. It was something of a relief when Marston played up.

"We came for a cruise, not to climb hills," he said. "Let's stop and go fishing in the dinghy."

"There aren't many fish and digging bait's a bother," Wyndham replied. "I've a better plan. The wind will turn east at sunset and there is a moon. Suppose we run down the coast to Carmeltown and see the Irish boats finish their cross-channel race?"

The others agreed and in the evening Red Rose left the anchorage. It was getting dark when they hoisted sail, but Marston, who occupied with the halyards, thought he heard a distant shout. Looking round, he saw a dinghy near the point.

"Is that somebody hailing us?" he asked.

"I don't think so," said Wyndham. "There are other boats about. But be careful; you've got the topsail yard foul of the lift."

Marston pulled the yard clear, and dropping down the channel through the sands, they stole out to sea. A light east wind blew behind them, the water sparkled as the moon rose, and shadowy woods and dark hills opened out and faded on their port side. The night was warm, the sea ran in long undulations, wrinkled by the breeze. In the distance one heard surf break upon the reefs, and now and then a steamer with throbbing engines went by. Wyndham lounged at the tiller, Marston and Mabel sat under the booby hatch and talked quietly, while Flora, in the cockpit sang a song. Red Rose, lurching gently with all sail set, headed for the west.

"Harry's plan is good," Flora remarked when she finished her song. "There are two grand things, the sea and the mountains; but, on a night like this, I like the sea best."

"Then you ought to be happy and I hope you are," rejoined Mabel. "The trouble about dividing your affection between two objects is, when you get one you feel you want the other."

"That is so now and then," Flora agreed. "When you can't have both, you are forced to choose and choosing's generally hard."

"You let Harry choose for you. Perhaps it's a good plan, but I don't know if I'll use it much with Bob."

Flora laughed and thought Mabel's remark was justified. It looked as if Harry had meant to leave the strait, although he had said nothing about this until the passenger boat arrived. Anyhow, it did not matter. She was glad to indulge him and it was a splendid night for a sail. Flora was happy and began to sing again.

The wind freshened as they crossed a rock-fringed bay where a famous emigrant ship went down. Sparkling ripples flecked the swell, which presently began to roll in short angry waves. The rigging hummed, a foaming wake ran astern, and a white ridge stood up about Red Rose's bows. After a time, Marston and the paid hand set a smaller jib and hauled down the topsail, and when they had finished Bob stood on deck looking about. The sea ahead was white and Red Rose rolled hard when the rising combers picked her up. Astern, the dinghy sheered about and lifted half her length out of the water when she felt the strain on the rope. Once or twice she surged forward on a wave, as if she were going to leap on board. Marston had seen enough and jumped into the cockpit.

"It's freshening up," he said. "The tide will be running strong round Carmel when we get there and the sea breaks awkwardly in the race. If you're going on, we'll heave down a reef and pull the dinghy on deck."

Wyndham looked at his watch. "I don't know if I'm going on or not. The flood's running now and there are two nasty races before we reach Carmel. Suppose we make for Porth Gwynedd? I don't see much use in getting wet."

"The Porth's an awkward harbor to enter in the dark," Marston remarked thoughtfully.

"I know the way," said Wyndham. "Mrs. Evans will give the girls a room; we have got her up late at night before. Ask them what they think?"

Flora and Mabel agreed, Wyndham changed his course, and the dark hills they were following got nearer. By and by Marston hauled down the staysail and stood on the deck forward, studying the forbidding coast Wyndham steered for.

A narrow strip of gloom, piercing the hills, indicated a valley, and at its end a dim red light blinked. One could see no entrance. Shadowy rocks dropped to the water, and a line of foam marked the course of the tide across a reef. A white belt of surf glimmered without a break at the foot of the cliffs.

Wyndham, however, did not hesitate and Flora glanced at him with quiet confidence. The moonlight touched his face and she liked his calm. One could trust Harry when there was a strain; she was proud of his pluck and steady nerve. Besides, he looked strangely handsome and virile as he controlled the plunging yacht.

When the white turmoil on the reef was close ahead she saw a break in the rocks. The gap was dark and very narrow; spouting foam played about its mouth. Wyndham signed to the fisher lad at the mainsheet, blocks rattled, and Red Rose, swerving, listed over until her lee deck was in the foam. Showers of spray blew across her, she was sailing very fast, and Flora knew she would soon be broken on the rocks if Wyndham missed the harbor mouth.

They drove past the reef, the long boom lurched across, and Red Rose rolled violently. Dark rocks towered above her mast and the sails thrashed and filled in the conflicting gusts, but the water got smooth and the harbor opened up. Presently Marston jumped to the foot of the mast and the peak of the mainsail swung down.

"Starboard!" he shouted. "Look out for the perch!"

Flora looked under the sail and saw a tall post with iron stays running from it into the water. She wondered whether the flapping canvas hid it from Wyndham, because he was slow to move the helm.

"Starboard it is," he answered after a moment or two, leaning hard on the tiller as he pushed it across.

There was a heavy shock, something cracked and broke, and a thick iron bar ground against the yacht's side. She slowed but did not stop and when she forged ahead again Marston leaped forward.

"Bobstay's gone and bowsprit's broken at the cap!" he shouted.

"Down sail! Ready with the anchor," said Wyndham quietly.

Marston dropped the anchor under the bows, running chain rattled, and Red Rose stopped. They pulled up the half-swamped dinghy and when they had thrown out the water Marston took a rope to a pier. Wyndham went forward and occupied himself with the wreck at the bows until Marston returned.

"We'll need a new bowsprit and she's drawn the stay-bolt on the stem," he said. "I think that's all, but it will keep us here two or three days. Perhaps you had better see if you can wake Mrs. Evans before we land the girls."

Marston pulled up the harbor and returning after a time said Mrs. Evans was getting a room ready. Flora and Mabel got on board the dinghy and when Marston rowed them to the steps Mabel remarked: "I suppose Harry couldn't see the perch?"

"He could hear me shout," said Marston. "I made noise enough. If he'd shoved his helm over, instead of looking for the perch, we'd have gone past. I don't quite understand it, because Harry's not often slow. However, a new bowsprit doesn't cost much; the only trouble is, we'll have to stay while somebody makes it."

Flora said nothing, although she was somewhat puzzled. On the whole, she imagined Harry had not looked for the perch; the sail was in his way. He was slow to move the helm and she thought this strange. All the same, it was not important, and she talked to Mabel about the Welsh landlady as they went to the inn.