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"More freely, because it costs you nothing."
"And because we draw upon eternity," she retorted.
"Whether you do or think you do, it's the same thing. You spend what you
haven't got, and in return you get greater value from spending what you
haven't got than I get from spending what I have got, and what I have sweated
to get."
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"Why don't you change the basis of your coinage, then?" she queried teasingly.
He looked at her quickly, half-hopefully, and then said, all regretfully:
"Too late. I'd like to, perhaps, but I can't. My pocketbook is stuffed with
the old coinage, and it's a stubborn thing. I can never bring myself to
recognize anything else as valid."
He ceased speaking, and his gaze wandered absently past her and became lost in
the placid sea. The old primal melancholy was strong upon him. He was
quivering to it. He had reasoned himself into a spell of the blues, and
within few hours one could look for the devil within him to be up and
stirring. I remembered Charley
Furuseth, and knew this man's sadness as the penalty which the materialist
ever pays for his materialism.
CHAPTER XXV
"You've been on deck, Mr. Van Weyden," Wolf Larsen said, the following morning
at the breakfast-table, "How do things look?"
"Clear enough," I answered, glancing at the sunshine which streamed down the
open companion-way. "Fair westerly breeze, with a promise of stiffening, if
Louis predicts correctly."
He nodded his head in a pleased way. "Any signs of fog?"
"Thick banks in the north and north-west."
He nodded his head again, evincing even greater satisfaction than before.
"What of the Macedonia?"
"Not sighted," I answered.
I could have sworn his face fell at the intelligence, but why he should be
disappointed I could not conceive.
I was soon to learn. "Smoke ho!" came the hail from on deck, and his face
brightened.
"Good!" he exclaimed, and left the table at once to go on deck and into the
steerage, where the hunters were taking the first breakfast of their exile.
Maud Brewster and I scarcely touched the food before us, gazing, instead, in
silent anxiety at each other, and listening to Wolf
Larsen's voice, which easily penetrated the cabin through the intervening
bulkhead. He spoke at length, and his conclusion was greeted with a wild roar
of cheers. The bulkhead was too thick for us to hear what he said; but
whatever it was it affected the hunters strongly, for the cheering was
followed by loud exclamations and shouts of joy.
From the sounds on deck I knew that the sailors had been routed out
and were preparing to lower the boats. Maud Brewster accompanied me on deck,
but I left her at the break of the poop, where she might watch the scene and
not be in it. The sailors must have learned whatever project was on hand, and
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the vim and snap they put into their work attested their enthusiasm. The
hunters came trooping on deck with shot-guns and ammunition-boxes, and, most
unusual, their rifles. The latter were rarely taken in the boats, for a seal
shot at long range with a rifle invariably sank before a boat could reach it.
But each hunter this day had his rifle and a large supply of cartridges. I
noticed they grinned with satisfaction whenever they looked at the Macedonia's
smoke, which was rising higher and higher as she approached from the west.
The five boats went over the side with a rush, spread out like the ribs of a
fan, and set a northerly course, as on the preceding afternoon, for us to
follow. I watched for some time, curiously, but there seemed nothing
extraordinary about their behaviour. They lowered sails, shot seals, and
hoisted sails again, and continued on their way as I had always seen them do.
The Macedonia repeated her performance of yesterday, "hogging" the sea by
dropping her line of boats in advance of ours and across our course. Fourteen
boats require a considerable spread of ocean for comfortable hunting, and when
she had completely lapped our line she continued steaming into the north-east,
dropping more boats as she went.
"What's up?" I asked Wolf Larsen, unable longer to keep my curiosity in check.
"Never mind what's up," he answered gruffly. "You won't be a thousand years
in finding out, and in the meantime just pray for plenty of wind."
"Oh, well, I don't mind telling you," he said the next moment.
"I'm going to give that brother of mine a taste of his own medicine. In
short, I'm going to play the hog myself, and not for one day, but for the rest
of the season, - if we're in luck."
"And if we're not?" I queried.
"Not to be considered," he laughed. "We simply must be in luck, or it's all
up with us."
He had the wheel at the time, and I went forward to my hospital in the
forecastle, where lay the two crippled men, Nilson and Thomas
Mugridge. Nilson was as cheerful as could be expected, for his broken leg was
knitting nicely; but the Cockney was desperately melancholy, and I was aware
of a great sympathy for the unfortunate creature. And the marvel of it was
that still he lived and clung to life. The brutal years had reduced his
meagre body to splintered wreckage, and yet the spark of life within burned
brightly as ever.
"With an artificial foot - and they make excellent ones - you will be stumping
ships' galleys to the end of time," I assured him jovially.
But his answer was serious, nay, solemn. "I don't know about wot you s'y, Mr.
Van W'yden, but I do know I'll never rest 'appy till I
see that 'ell-'ound bloody well dead. 'E cawn't live as long as me. 'E's got
no right to live, an' as the Good Word puts it, ''E
shall shorely die,' an' I s'y, 'Amen, an' damn soon at that.'"
When I returned on deck I found Wolf Larsen steering mainly with one hand,
while with the other hand he held the marine glasses and studied the situation
of the boats, paying particular attention to the position of the Macedonia.
The only change noticeable in our boats was that they had hauled close on the
wind and were heading several points west of north. Still, I could not see
the expediency of the manoeuvre, for the free sea was still intercepted by the
Macedonia's five weather boats, which, in turn, had hauled close on the wind.
Thus they slowly diverged toward the west, drawing farther away from the
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remainder of the boats in their line.
Our boats were rowing as well as sailing. Even the hunters were pulling, and
with three pairs of oars in the water they rapidly overhauled what I may
appropriately term the enemy.
The smoke of the Macedonia had dwindled to a dim blot on the north-
eastern horizon. Of the steamer herself nothing was to be seen.
We had been loafing along, till now, our sails shaking half the time and
spilling the wind; and twice, for short periods, we had been hove to. But
there was no more loafing. Sheets were trimmed, and Wolf Larsen proceeded to
put the Ghost through her paces. We ran past our line of boats and bore down
upon the first weather boat of the other line.
"Down that flying jib, Mr. Van Weyden," Wolf Larsen commanded.
"And stand by to back over the jibs."
I ran forward and had the downhaul of the flying jib all in and fast as we
slipped by the boat a hundred feet to leeward. The three men in it gazed at
us suspiciously. They had been hogging the sea, and they knew Wolf Larsen, by
reputation at any rate. I
noted that the hunter, a huge Scandinavian sitting in the bow, held his rifle,
ready to hand, across his knees. It should have been in its proper place in
the rack. When they came opposite our stern, Wolf Larsen greeted them with a [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]