We know the tricks of wind and tide
That make and mean disaster,
And balk 'em, too, the Wren and me,
Off on the Old Man's Pastur'.
Day out and in the blackfish there
Go wabbling out and under,
And nights we watch the coasters creep
From light to light in yonder.
--The Skipper.
It was the period of January calms--that lull between the tempest
ravings of the equinoxes, and the Ethel and May made slow time of it
on her return to the main. In Mayo's mood of anxious impatience, hope in
his affairs was as baffling as the winds in the little schooner's sails.
His passenger sat on the rail and gave the pacing captain occasional
glances in which irony and sullenness were mingled.
"So you're going to put me into court, eh?" he inquired, when at last
they drifted past the end of the breakwater at Limeport. "Well, that
will give you a good excuse for throwing up your work on that wreck."
Mayo kept on walking and did not reply. He had been pondering on the
question of what to do with this new "elephant" on his hands. In a way,
this stranger was an unwieldy proposition to handle in conjunction with
the problem of the Conomo.
"Just understand that I don't give a hoot in a scuttlebutt if you do
turn me over to the police," pursued the man. "I'm going to be taken
care of. So will you! You'll be tied up! Courts like to have chief
witnesses attend strictly to the job."
The young man had only a sailor's vague knowledge of the procedure of
courts of law; but that knowledge and considerable hearsay had convinced
him that law was lagging, exacting, and overbearing.
All his time, his best efforts, his presence were needed in the gigantic
task he had undertaken at Razee. To allow himself to be mired in a law
scrape together with this person, even in criminal prosecution of the
man, surely meant delay, along with repeated interruption of his work,
if not its abandonment for a time.
"Where's your boss?" he demanded, stopping in front of the prisoner.
"Name, please?"
"Don't try to bluff me. Fogg, I mean!"
"You'll probably find Mr. Fogg at the Nicholas Hotel."
"I'm going to walk you up there. If you try to run away--"
"Run your Aunt Huldah! Piff, son! Now you're showing sense. Take me to
Mr. Fogg. You'll be shown a few things."
They had no difficulty in finding Mr. Fogg. He was in front of the fire
in the office of the Nicholas, toasting his back and warming his slowly
fanning palms, and talking to a group of men.