The Secret of the Reef Part 8

"Very true," Bethune admitted. "To clear the ground, I suppose you believe we'd try?"

"We'll take it that you mean to deal straight with me. Anyway, you believe you have a pretty good chance of getting at the gold?"

"I think it's a fair business risk. In proof of this, we're going back to do our best if you will give us the supplies we want. We wouldn't be willing to incur the liability unless we had some hope of success."

"Very well; you don't suggest my letting you have the truck and taking a partner's share on the strength of it?"

"No," Bethune answered decidedly; "not unless you press the point."

Mrs. Jaques nodded as if she had approved of the question and found the answer rea.s.suring. It implied that the adventurers thought the scheme good enough to keep to themselves.

"I'd rather my husband stuck to his regular line," she said.

"Then," said Bethune, "this is my proposition: Give us the goods, and charge us ten per cent. interest until they're paid for. You'll get it as well as the princ.i.p.al, sooner or later."

Jaques looked at his wife; and she made a sign of a.s.sent.

"Well, it's a deal!"

A half-hour later, when they rose to go, Jimmy turned to his hostess.

"While your husband has treated us fairly," he said, "we have to thank you, and that makes it a point of honor to show you were not mistaken."

He noticed now that there were wrinkles which suggested anxious thought already forming about her eyes, and that her hands were work-hardened; but she smiled at him.

"One learns in keeping store that a customer's character is quite as important as his bank account."

"That's the nicest thing I've had said about me since I came to British Columbia!" Bethune declared gaily.

Mrs. Jaques smiled.

"If you find the evenings dull before you sail, come in and talk to us,"

she said.

When they went outside, Bethune made a confession.

"I felt strongly tempted to take our custom somewhere else. They're nice people, and it looks as if they found it hard enough to get along."

"Whatever happens, they must be paid," Jimmy declared.

"Yes," agreed Moran, who seldom expressed his opinion except on nautical matters; "that's a sure thing!"

"How would it do to ask them to a picnic on one of the islands?" Bethune suggested. "It would be an afternoon's outing, and it's generally smooth water here. I shouldn't imagine Mrs. Jaques gets many holidays."

The others thought it a good idea; and when the sloop was refitted and ready for sea, Bethune put his suggestion into practice. His guests were pleased to come, and with a moderate breeze rippling the blue water, they ran up the straits in brilliant sunshine. Jimmy laid a cushion for Mrs. Jaques near the wheel, and her rather pale face lighted up when he asked if she would steer. He saw that she knew how by the way she held the spokes.

"This is delightful!" she exclaimed, as they sped on swiftly. "I used to go sailing now and then at Toronto, but all the time we have lived here I've never been on the water."

She glanced in a half-wistful manner at the sparkling sea. A gentle surf made a snowy fringe along the shingle beach, and beyond that dark pinewoods rolled back among the rocks toward blue, distant peaks.

Overhead, the tall, white topsail swayed with a measured swing across the cloudless sky. Silky threads of ripples streamed back from the bows, and along the _Cetacea's_ side there was a drowsy gurgle and lapping of water.

"You're to be envied when you sail away," Mrs. Jaques said, with something that was almost a sigh. "Still, it isn't all sunshine and smooth water in the North."

"By no means," Jimmy a.s.sured her. "I can think of a number of occasions when I'd gladly have exchanged the sloop for your back room, or, for that matter, for a yard or two of dry ground."

"One can imagine it," she laughed. "Well, you have to face the gale and fog, while we try not to be beaten by Jefferson and to meet our bills. I don't know which is the harder."

Jimmy felt compa.s.sionate. She was young, but she had a careworn look, and he surmised that she found life difficult in the primitive wooden town. It seemed to be all work and anxious planning with her; there was something pathetic in the keen pleasure she took in her rare holiday.

Late in the afternoon they dropped anchor in a rock-walled cove with a beach of white shingle on which sparkling wavelets broke. Dark firs climbed the rugged heights above, and their scent drifted off across the clear, green water. Bethune, who had been busy cooking, brought up an unusually elaborate meal and laid it out on the cabin top with the best gla.s.s and crockery he had been able to borrow. His expression, however, was anxious as he served the first course to his guests.

"I've done my best. I used to think I wasn't a bad cook; but after the supper Mrs. Jaques gave us, I'm much less confident," he said. "It's easier to get proud of yourself when you have nothing to compare your work with, and your critics are indulgent. Jimmy's been very forbearing; and it's my opinion that Moran would eat anything that's fit for human food."

"I've had to," Moran retorted. "Anyway, I've seen you set up worse hash than this."

There were no complaints, and the appet.i.te every one showed was flattering. They jested and talked with great good humor; until at last Moran indicated the lengthening shadow of the mast which had moved across the deck.

"It's mighty curious, but we've been an hour over supper, and there's something left. Guess I never spent more'n about ten minutes at my grub before."

Bethune took a bottle from a pail of ice in a locker and filled the borrowed gla.s.ses.

"To our happy next meeting!" he proposed. "Our guests, who have made the trip possible, will not be forgotten while we are away."

The gla.s.ses were drained and filled again, and Mrs. Jaques turned to her hosts with a cordial smile.

"May you win the success you deserve!" she responded; and a few minutes afterward Bethune, beckoning Moran, went forward to raise the anchor.

The light was fading when they hove the _Cetacea_ to near the wharf and a boat came off. With many good wishes Jaques and his wife went ash.o.r.e, and the sloop stood away for the lonely North.

CHAPTER VIII-PUZZLING QUESTIONS

Hot sunshine poured into the clearing on the sh.o.r.e of Puget Sound where Henry Osborne had his dwelling. The pretty, wooden house, with its wide veranda and scrollwork decoration, was finely situated in a belt of tall pine forest. The resinous scent of the conifers crept into its rooms; and in front a broad sweep of gra.s.s, checkered with glowing flower-beds, ran down to the shingle beach. Rocky islets, crested with somber firs, dotted the sparkling sound, and beyond them, climbing woods and hills, steeped in varying shades of blue, faded into the distance, with behind them all a faint, cold gleam of snow. The stillness of the afternoon was emphasized by the soft splash of ripples on the beach and the patter of the water which the automatic sprinklers flung in glistening showers across the thirsty gra.s.s.

Caroline Dexter, lately arrived from a small New England town, sat in the shade of a cedar. She was elderly and of austere character. The plain and badly cut gray dress displayed the gauntness of her form, and her face was of homely type; but her glance was direct, and those who knew her best had learned that her censorious harshness covered a warm heart. Now she was surveying her brother-in-law's house and garden with a disapproving expression. All she saw indicated prosperity and taste, and though she admitted that riches were not necessarily a snare, she hoped Henry Osborne had come by them honestly.

She had never been quite sure about him, and it was not with her goodwill that he had married her younger sister. She thought him lax and worldly; but after his wife's death, which was a heavy blow to Caroline, she had taken his child into her keeping and tenderly cared for her.

Indeed, she ventured to believe that she had molded Ruth Osborne's character and won her affection. The girl might have fallen into worse hands, for, in spite of her narrow outlook, Caroline Dexter was unflinchingly upright.

Sitting stiffly erect in the garden chair, she turned to her niece, who reclined with negligent grace in a canvas lounge. This, Caroline thought, was typical of the luxurious indolence of the younger generation, but, for all that, Ruth had some of the sterner virtues. The girl was pretty, and though her aunt believed that beauty is a deceptive thing, it was less dangerous when purged of pride and vanity. Caroline hoped that the strictness with which she had brought up her niece had freed her of these failings.

"Well, dear," she said, "this is a pretty place; and your father's affairs have evidently improved. It's sad your dear mother didn't live to enjoy it."

Though her dress and appearance were provincial, the austere simplicity of her manner had in it something of distinction, and her accent was singularly clean.