Read Ebook: History of Dogma Volume 2 by Harnack Adolf Von Buchanan Neil Translator

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Ebook has 760 lines and 115975 words, and 16 pages

"Oh, have it your own way, then!" Hammer shrugged his shoulders, resignedly. "I'll meet you say, at Prince's for dinner. Centre table, far end."

"Very well, thanks," murmured Harcourt, and so the colloquy ended--in amused and rather interested toleration on the part of the sunfish, and in bewildered doubt on that of the Englishman.

At seven-thirty that evening Harcourt received another shock, and this time a greater one. For after he stepped into the big dining-room at Prince's and beckoned the stately head-waiter, that individual arrived with the calm information that Mr. Hammer was waiting.

"Er--you know Mr. Hammer, Bucks?"

"Quite well, sir," responded Bucks, and Harcourt followed in subdued amazement.

He was led to a table, from which a man in evening dress sprang to meet him, hand extended. For a moment the sorely-doubting Englishman did not recognize the sunfish, until he took in the hard grey eyes, the tanned features, the keen incisive lines of the face.

Then he recovered himself and went through the form of greeting stiffly; but Hammer had no intention of letting him off so easily.

"It was rather a low-down trick, wasn't it?" grinned the American cheerfully. "However, we'll have an explanation all around. Poor chap, your face was a picture this morning when I announced that we'd dine here!"

"I must apologize, of course, my dear chap," returned Harcourt ruefully; then, unable to resist the infectious humour of the other, he broke into a laugh and the incident was closed.

His mouth was hard, and there were lines in his face which has no place in the face of a man of twenty-eight who had lived his life well; but these were in great part redeemed by an abundance of unfailing good humour, which hid, mask-like, the hard-fisted quality of the man underneath.

Harcourt wasted no time, and no sooner was the dinner fairly begun than he plunged headlong into the subject under discussion.

"Hammer, I have a little surprise for you myself, perhaps. I told you this morning that I had changed my plans pending your acceptance of my offer to you, so there is no use in beating about the bush.

"Until a month ago I had considered myself fairly well fixed for life; then came that flurry in Wall Street which wrecked two of your big institutions.

"I woke up one morning to find myself almost a beggar, as all my funds were invested in American securities and they had slipped down and out with a crash. My word, it was a blow! I had a few hundreds left; no more."

Hammer displayed none of the surprise he felt at this astounding revelation, but merely nodded; and after a moment, the other continued:

"Well, I'd about made up my mind to sell the craft and try my luck in your bally country, when along comes an offer to charter the yacht. That gave me the idea. I say, Hammer, why couldn't I take this party out to East Africa, where they wish to go, then--er--browse around the ocean, acting as my own captain? Couldn't a chap make a decent living at that, eh?"

"Ought to," chuckled Hammer, making no secret of his interest by this time. "If you're willing to take a bit of risk once in a while, I fancy you could pick up some easy coin, and have a good time as well. But why should this party want to charter a yacht to reach East Africa with?"

Hammer looked at him silently, wondering if the man meant what he said. But the other was plainly in earnest, and, moreover, Hammer thought that he had seldom met a man to whom he was so attracted. That the liking was mutual there seemed to be no doubt; but would it last?

"I don't know," he returned slowly. "I'm no sailor, for one thing--I'm a cattle-boat hand, and nothing else. I can't see where I'd be any good."

"No matter," declared Harcourt impatiently. "You could soon pick up navigation; for that matter, there are plenty of men in command of craft without proper license. However, I'm not figuring on you as a sailor. I can do that, but I don't know a bally thing about business. You could handle the business end of everything and gradually work into handling the ship; she'd be my property, of course, but we'd share even on what we made."

"Go slow now," and Hammer laughed quietly while the waiter hovered about them. Then, when they were once more alone, he went on: "Better let me spin you my yarn first, then see how far you'd be willing to trust me."

Hammer's real name was Cyrus Murray, and until three years before this time he had been engaged in a profitable brokerage business in New York City. Alone in the world, he had made his own way, and in the course of its making he had contracted a hasty and ill-advised marriage with a girl who was in no way fitted to be his wife.

It was a sordid little tragedy, by no means uncommon in American life of to-day; but, unfortunately for Murray, his wife had been the first to discover that it was a tragedy.

He glossed over this portion of the tale in its telling, merely stating that he had allowed her to obtain a divorce, and had turned over to her the greater part of his worldly goods; but he had been hard hit by the entire affair.

Impulsively, he had thrown his business overboard, and one night, in reckless desperation, he sought shelter from his thoughts by shipping aboard a cattle-boat. Curiously enough, before he reached Liverpool he had found that in spite of the terribly rough life, in spite of the almost daily battles for existence into which his very appearance and manner flung him, the hard physical labour and the tortured weariness of his body was a relief to his mind. Then the liquor.

So for three years he had been traversing the Atlantic, working hard, fighting hard, drinking hard; his ambition was destroying; he took savage zest in bullying the thugs and degenerates who were his companions in misfortune, and he had thought himself fairly content at the level to which he had sunk.

Upon each arrival in England he made a practise of going to London and living like a gentleman for a week or two--for he had still some money left--until the life became unbearable to him, and back he would go to his cattle-boats and human cattle.

"There's the whole thing," he concluded with a bitter smile. "A fool paying for his folly, that's all. Still want me?"

"Yes," came the quiet answer. "I think we're well mated, Hammer; but, to make sure, suppose we make this a trial cruise together. You'll never find any ambition aboard a bally cattle-boat, that's sure, and you might better go to hell decently, if you're bound to go.

"Done!" cried Harcourt in undisguised delight, but as he raised his cup Bucks approached with a whispered word and a card. Harcourt frowned, glancing at the latter.

"'John Solomon'--who the devil is John Solomon? Who is he, Bucks?"

"Cool off," laughed the American. "Here, have another cigarette before we go, and we can investigate your friend after we finish. Funny name, John Solomon!"

JOHN SOLOMON

Since Hammer had an inveterate dislike of fat men in general, and blue-eyed fat men in particular--born out of his experience with a fat and demented Swede cook on his first cattle-boat trip--it was not to be wondered at that he eyed John Solomon with no great favour in his heart. For John Solomon was fat and blue-eyed.

"Pudgy" would be a better word than the flat and misleading "fat". Pudgy embraces the face that a man is not merely fat, but that he is filled to a comfortable completeness, as it were; that he is not too fat to move about, but just enough so to be dignified on occasion; and that his expression is cheerful above all else.

Save for this last item, the description fitted John Solomon to a dot, for while his face was cheerful enough, it was as totally devoid of expression as a face can be--and still remain a face.

He was a short, little man, not more than five feet six, very decently dressed in blue serge, and he sat quite contentedly filling a short clay pipe from a whittled plug as Hammer and Harcourt entered the private room.

When he glanced up and rose to meet them, the first thing Hammer noticed was that healthy-looking yet expressionless face, from which gazed out two eyes of pale blue and of great size.

As he came to learn later, Nature had endowed John Solomon with absolutely stolid features, but in compensation had given him eyes which could be rendered unusually intelligent at times.

"You are John Solomon?" questioned Harcourt curtly. "What is your business with me, and how did you know I was here?"

"Beggin' your pardon, sir," and the pale-blue eyes met the darker ones of Harcourt without shrinking. "I 'ave a pal down at Deptford who 'appens to 'ear what you and Mr. 'Ammer said this morning. 'E knowed I was werry anxious for a ship, and 'e comes to me with it."

"I didn't mean no 'arm, sir," broke in Solomon, without cringing, however. "You see, sir, I 'adn't no means o' knowing where to find you otherwise. I say that if so be as a man wants work, it don't matter 'ow 'e gets it, so 'e gets it, and I trust as 'ow you'd look at it the same way, Mr. Harcourt, sir."

"And quite right you are, John Solomon," exclaimed Hammer, amused despite himself, and beginning to think that this pudgy little man had some brains. Since Harcourt was not quite sure whether to be angry or not, the American's laugh saved the situation for the moment. "You're got plenty of nerve, my friend, but you must want work pretty badly to go after it so strong. What's your line--seaman?"

"No, sir," and the wide blue eyes rested in child-like faith on Hammer's face. "I'm a bit 'eavy for that there, sir, though I've A.B. papers. No sir, though I can do a bit o' navigation at a pinch, I'd feel more at 'ome like wi' figures. I writes a good 'and, sir, and I knows 'ow to 'andle port off'cers and such. If so be as you could use a supercargo, sir?"

Hammer turned to the Englishman, who was still eyeing Solomon doubtfully.

"How are we fixed for officers, anyway, Harcourt? I've got a grudge against fat men as a rule, but hanged if I don't admire this chap's nerve! A man who'll butt into a place like this to get a job must have something in him."

Harcourt rubbed his chin reflectively. "Well, the yacht has been laid up for six months and didn't have any crew, so Krausz agreed to place a dozen of his own men aboard her under a mate, if I'd find a chief officer and an engine-room crew.

"So far as standing watches is concerned, you can rank as first mate, unofficially, and I've already arranged for my old chief engineer to pick up his own men.

"A supercargo isn't absolutely essential, but Krausz is going to take a lot of stuff out to do his excavating with, as well as packing cases and all that bally impedimenta--my word, Hammer, I don't just know what to say!"

"Beggin' your pardon, sir," put in Solomon, as the other paused, "but I can take care o' port papers and such werry well, and 'ave A1 references. A supercargo ain't no use unless 'e's a lot o' use, I says, sir, and I goes on that princ'ple. What's more, Mr. 'Ammer, I knows a man as can fix you up wi' first off'cer's papers for a matter o' two pun and no questions asked."

The twinkle in the blue eyes drew an answering chuckle from the American, even Harcourt relaxing sufficiently to smile slightly.

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