"I think you're a good judge of what you see, Captain Downs."
"I reckon that you and I as gents and master mariners are going to keep
mum about her being aboard the Alden?"
"Certainly, sir."
"The coast-guard crew don't know who she is, and they can't find out.
So she can go home and mind her business from this time out. 'Most every
woman does one infernal fool thing in her life--and then is all right
ever after. But now a word on some subject that's sensible! What are you
going to do?"
"Stick my head into the noose. It's about the only thing I can do."
"But you'll talk up to 'em, of course?"
"I'll play what few cards I hold as best I know, sir. The most I can
hope for is to make 'em drop that manslaughter case. Perhaps I can say
enough so that they'll be afraid to bring me to trial. As to getting my
papers back, I'm afraid that's out of the question. I'll have to start
life over in something else."
"Mayo, why don't you go to the captain's office?" He promptly answered
the young man's glance of inquiry. "Julius Marston himself is the
supreme boss of that steamship-consolidation business. Bradish gave all
that part away, telling about those checks; though, of course, we all
knew about Marston before. It is probably likely that Marston gives true
courses to his understrappers. If they take fisherman's cuts between
buoys in order to get there quick, I'll bet he doesn't know about it. Go
to him and tell him, man to man, what has happened to you."
"There are two reasons why I shall probably never see Mr. Marston,"
returned Mayo, grimly. "First, I'll be arrested before I can get across
New York to his office; second, I'll never get farther than the outer
office. He's guarded like the Czar of Russia, so they tell me."
"Does his girl know anything about your case?"
"I blabbed it to her--like a fool--when we were in the boat. Why is it
that when a man is drunk or excited or in trouble, he'll blow the whole
story of his life to a woman?" growled Mayo.
"I've thought that over some, myself," admitted Captain Downs.
"Especially on occasions when I've come to and realized what I've let
out. I suppose it's this--more or less: A man don't tell his troubles to
another man, for he knows that the other man is usually in'ardly glad
of it because any friend is in trouble. But a woman's sympathy is like a
flaxseed poultice--it soothes the ache and draws at the same time."