Adventure stories; Islands -- Fiction; Love stories; Shipwrecks -- Fiction
If the plain-clothes man was willing to take the drink, all well and
good, but if he refused--but he did not refuse. He looked carefully
about, shivered appropriately, and said he "didn't care if he did."
Grace urged them to hurry as she entered the cab and Hugh gave his
promise. Scarcely had the two men passed beyond the light screen doors
when Grace Vernon coolly stepped from the cab and hurriedly made her way
off through the crowd of umbrellas, first telling the driver to wait for
her in front of the drug store.
A moment later she boarded a Broadway car, and excited, but intent only
on reaching a place where she could safely engage a cab to take her to
the dock. And all the time she was hoping and praying, not for herself,
but for the important young gentleman who was clicking his righteous
glass in a den of iniquity.
CHAPTER IV
READY FOR THE SEA
Ridgeway, his nerves tense and his eyes gleaming, marched his thoroughly
chilled companion up to the bar. He manoeuvred so that the plain-clothes
man stood with his back toward the door, and he seemed to be in no
especial haste to attract the attention of the bartender. As they gave
their order for drinks, Hugh saw Grace, in his mind's eye, slipping from
the carriage and off into the crowd--and every fibre of his heart was
praying for success to attend her flight. He found himself talking
glibly, even volubly to the watcher, surprised that he could be doing it
with his mind so full of other thoughts.
"Awful night to be out. I'd hate to have a job like yours," he was
rattling on, heaving intermittent breaths of relief as he saw the size
of the drink the other was pouring out for himself.
"I've been at it for twelve years. I don't mind anything just so it
helps to make a comfortable home for the old lady and the kids."
"Ah, the kids," said Hugh, grasping at the subject as if it were the
proverbial straw. "How I love kids! How many have you?"
"Four. The oldest is ten."
"They're worth working for, I'll bet. Nothing like children. How many
have you?"
"Four," said the officer, looking at him in surprise.
"I'm a little deaf," explained Hugh, recovering himself quickly. "I
thought you said ten."
"No; the oldest is ten. Yes; they're worth slaving for. I've hung onto
this job all these years just because it might go hard with 'em if I
gave it up and tried something else."
Hugh looked into the sober, serious face and a lump flew to his throat.
It struck him as probable that this man was to lose his position the
next morning. A sort of pity assailed Ridgeway for an instant, but he
put it away resolutely.
After all, he had Grace to think of and not the children of the
plain-clothes man.
They had a second drink and it fired his brain with a gleeful desire for
action. The plain-clothes man shivered as he swallowed the fiery stuff.
He looked thin and haggard and ill, a condition which Hugh, in his
hatred, had failed to observe until this moment.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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