The Pirate Story Megapack. R.M. Ballantyne

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      “About those figures,” he said. “I’d recommend you take means to conceal them, Kitty. Even from Newton here, until the time comes. He might talk in his sleep. Lyman, you know them, too. Don’t let anybody hypnotize you.” His tone was ironical; it might have once more been meant for humor.

      “I don’t want to know them, Kit,” said Newton as the door closed.

      “I am going to mail that diary ahead,” she said. “I suppose we make certain ports of call, Mr. Lyman, for water and provisions?”

      There was a globe in the stockroom under the portrait of Kitty’s grandfather. They set this on the table and sat about it. Ellen, discovered suspiciously close to the door between them and the kitchen, was sent packing without excuse for lingering.

      “I packed her off for a walk,” said Kitty. “She’s probably heard more than is good for her. If curiosity was a fatal disease, Ellen would have died long ago. The funny part is that she appears to think herself absolutely entitled to knowledge of everything that happens, and usually offers her opinion freely.”

      “Taking her along?” asked Newton.

      “I’ll give her the chance, but I don’t believe she’ll go. She’s got some love affair on. She’s close-mouthed enough about that; but I understand he’s younger than she is. She has some money saved up—”

      “And the bounder is after that. Sure isn’t her looks.”

      Lynda Warner flushed. Jim Lyman realized the sensitiveness that lay behind her plain exterior and wanted to kick Newton for his lack of tact.

      Kitty Whiting broke up the awkwardness. “How about the itinerary,” she asked.

      “We would naturally stop at Hawaii,” said Lyman. He had tacitly accepted command. Since the girl was determined to go, and since he was persuaded that there were others determined to thwart her, he had made up his mind to take the trip. The question of the share could rest. It was not an unusual offer, after all. He wanted to pick his own crew, remembering the letters of Captain Whiting.

      “Two thousand and ninety-eight miles from San Francisco to Honolulu,” he went on. “Call it ten days with power equal to eight knots. We must get a boat with an engine, or we may drift for weeks trying to pass the line. The run to Suva in the Fijis is about twenty-seven hundred. That would be fourteen days more, full speed. But we do not know what capacity we will have for gasoline and we want to sail when the wind favors us. We ought to get a schooner capable of making ten to twelve knots with wind abeam or astern. Fourteen and ten. Call it a month. We should fetch Suva in a month, outside of stopovers or delays from engine trouble. Hardly from storms at this time of the year. There may be headwinds, of course.

      “Our real trip begins at Suva. We should take on water and supplies there, and I should like to add to the crew with native boys. They will be wanted to handle the landing boats. They’ll be better for many of our purposes than whites such as we are likely to get. We’ll ship a working crew at San Francisco.”

      “How about arms?” asked Newton.

      “You said there were no natives, but—”

      “It is best to go prepared,” said Lyman gravely. “I was only ashore a little while and at one place. That is one reason why I did not want to urge Miss Whiting to go.”

      “There were women in the war,” she said. “I am not afraid of taking the same risks as a man. And I fancy I could shoot on occasion. We can practice on the way down.”

      Jim had other reasons he could have advanced, but he forbore. The pluck of the girl was wonderful. He had no doubt of her ability to hold her own outside of sheer strength. But the thought of what might happen to her if they fell among the savage tribes locked his jaws tightly and cemented his resolve.

      It was midnight when they broke up. The two women got together a little supper. The car arrived with a bag for Newton and Jim’s pitiful belongings. He was glad that he possessed a decent suit of pajamas. Such things did not matter, but though much of his first antagonism toward Newton Foster had disappeared, he was human enough not to want to appear at any special disadvantage.

      He took a hot bath, somewhat clumsily. Newton shoved his head into their bathroom and asked if he could help.

      “Jupiter, but you’re banged up!” he said. “I imagine you put up a tidy scrap, Lyman. I envy you your muscles. I’m soft as a rag doll. I’d like to shake hands with you as soon as your fin gets in shape. Over this trip, you know. Mighty glad you’re going to be along. It’s a pretty serious proposition when you come to think of it. For Kitty—and Lynda—I mean. It’s up to you and me to look out for them. And you’ll have to make a sailor out of me. So far I’m not a shining light in any profession. But I’m willing to play general utility.”

      It was impossible to hold much of a grudge after that speech. It began to look as if there was good stuff in Newton Foster after all. With his father Jim still reserved judgment.

      “Here’s my left hand on it, for the time being,” he said. And they turned in together.

      There was no alarm in the night. The next morning Jim went to see Dr. Dimmock, the purchaser of the antique store arrived and Ellen Martin gave notice to quit.

      VI

      Under Way

      The trip to San Francisco established a camaraderie between the four. Lyman was the most reserved. He had much to think about and he did not possess Newton Foster’s ready knack of conversation. He envied his ready intimacy with Kitty Whiting and devoted himself to squiring with Lynda Warner. His liking for her readily ripened into real friendship. She would have made a wonderful wife for some chap, he thought, but she had been handicapped. Naturally a man preferred a girl with a pretty face and good figure—such as Kitty Whiting—though Jim did not allow his thoughts to wander in that direction, consciously at least. He found in the elderly spinster a quick appreciation of affairs, discussing with her details of the voyage while Newton haled his cousin off to the observation platform. Not that they did not all have serious consultations. Newton was a partner in the enterprise and full of suggestions, but it was plain that to him the expedition was one of romance and adventure intimately connected with his pretty cousin. He was gay, impractical, good-looking and likeable, if he did attempt to monopolize Kitty. Jim acquitted him early of being a snob.

      Lynda Warner appeared to weigh Newton lightly, though she made no comments. Jim believed that Lynda understood his own feelings toward the girl and sympathized with him. Naturally, he never discussed it. The gap between them was still open and unbridged, he considered. Only in the matter of his reading was he on equal terms. Her life had held a thousand things he had never come in touch with.

      But every now and then Lynda Warner spoke of American democracy. Sometimes she quoted Burns.

      “Every man in this country of ours may not be literally equal,” she said, “but at least he has an equal start in the race of life. It is up to him to win the race. Some are bound to drop behind, but the real man can gain the prizes. Superficial qualities do not count. They can always be acquired. And the man is lucky who has a chance to show his real manhood in the big things.”

      All this was pleasant talk to Jim, though he bent his mind to the task in hand, without contemplation of possible rewards. A man’s first job was his duty, he believed firmly. And he privately subscribed to Lynda Warner’s theories.

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