LOT & COMPANY BY WILL LEVINGTON COMFORT LOT & COMPANY RED FLEECE MIDSTREAM DOWN AMONG MEN FATHERLAND GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY NEW YORK _Lot & Company_ BY WILL LEVINGTON COMFORT AUTHOR OF “RED FLEECE,” “MIDSTREAM,” “DOWN AMONG MEN,” “ROUTLEDGE RIDES ALONE,” ETC., ETC. NEW YORK GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY Copyright, 1915, BY GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY TO JANE CONTENTS PART ONE PAGE THE JADE: I 11 PART TWO LOT & COMPANY: I 21 PART THREE THE JADE: II 67 PART FOUR THE OPEN BOAT 107 PART FIVE THE STONE HOUSE: I 197 PART SIX LOT & COMPANY: II 241 PART SEVEN THE STONE HOUSE: II 321 PART ONE THE JADE: I 1 ALL would have happened differently for Bellair had he been drowsy as usual on this particular Sunday afternoon. The boarding-house was preparing for its nap; indeed already half enveloped, but there came to Bellair’s nostrils a smell of carpets that brought back his first passage up stairs five years before. The halls were filled with greys--dull tones that drove him forth at last. It was November, and the day didn’t know what to do next. Gusts of seasonable wind, wisps of sunshine, threats of rain, and everywhere Bellair’s old enemy--the terrifying Sabbath calm, without which the naked granite soul of New York would remain decently hid. Sundays had tortured him from the beginning. It was not so bad when the garment was on--the weave of millions. He walked east with an umbrella, thinking more than observing, crossed to Brooklyn and followed the water-front as closely as the complication of ferries, pier-systems and general shipping would permit. Finally he came to a wooden arch, marked Hatmos & Company, the gate of which was open. Entering, he heard the water slapping the piles beneath, his eyes held in fascination to an activity ahead. In the wonder of a dream, he realised that this was a sailing-ship putting forth. On her black stern, he read _Jade of Adelaide_ printed in blue of worn pigment. A barkentine, her clipper-built hull of steel, her lines satisfying like the return of a friend after years. Along the water-line shone the bright edge of her copper sheathing; then a soft black line smooth as modelled clay where she muscled out for sea-worth, and covered her displacement in the daring beauty of contour. Still above was the shining brass of her row of ports on a ground of weathered grey, and the dull red of her rail. Over all, and that which quickened the ardour of Bellair’s soul, was the mystery of her wire rigging and folded cloths against the smoky horizon, exquisite as the frame of a butterfly to his fancy.