'Polyte, the pilot, stood, cap in hand, and asked me to one side.
"Pardon, Monsieur," said he, "but those gentilhommes--those fat
one--ees eet she'll was Monsieur Davelson who'll H'I'll got letter on
heem from those lighthouse, heem?"
"Why, yes, 'Polyte--the letter you said would take four days to get to
New Orleans."
'Polyte smiled sheepishly. "He'll wouldn't took four days now,
Monsieur! H'I'll got it h'all those letter here. H'I'll change the
coat on the lighthouse, maybe, h'an H'I'll got the coat of Guillaume
witt' h'all those letter in her, yass?" And he now handed me the
entire packet of letters, which I had supposed left far behind us on
the previous day!
I took the letters from him, and handed all of them but one to
Edouard's old body servant to put in the office mail. The remaining
one I held in the same hand with its mate: and I motioned Davidson
aside to a spot under a live oak as the other began now slowly to move
toward the path from the landing up the hill.
"This is for you," said I, handing him his letter; and told him how it
came to him thus.
"It's from Helena--dear old girl, isn't she a trump, after all!" he
said, tearing open the letter and glancing at it.
"She is a dear girl, Mr. Davidson," said I, stiffly, "yes."
"Why, of course--yes, of course I'd have done it, if I'd got this
before I left the city," said he, "but how can I now?"--holding the
letter open in his hand.
"Do you mean to tell me," I began, but choked in anger mixed with
uncertainty. What was it she had asked of him, offered to him? And was
not Helena's wish a command.
"Yes, I mean to tell you or any one else, I'd do a favor to a lady if
I could; but----"
"What favor, Mr. Davidson?" I demanded icily.
"Well, why 'Mr. Davidson'? Ain't I your pal, in spite of all the muss
you made of my plans? Why, I'm damned if I'll pay you the charter
money at all, after the way you've acted, and all----"
"Mr. Davidson, damn the charter money!"
"That's what I say! What's charter money among friends? All right, if
you can forgive half the charter fee, I'll forgive the other half,
and----"
"What was in the letter from her?"
"It's none of your business, Harry--but still, I don't mind saying
that Miss Emory wrote me and said that if I was still--oh! I say!" he
roared, turning suddenly and poking a finger into my ribs, "if you
haven't got on one of my waistcoats!"
"The one with pink stripes," said I still icily, "and deuced bad ones
they all are. And these clothes I borrowed from my China boy. But
then----"