“Oh, there’s plenty market. Herrin’s been that scarce this winter that people been from everywhere lookin’ for a load--yes. But I was savin’ them for Wesley. But if Wesley’s gone, and you’re such a great friend of Wesley’s--any friend of Wesley’s a friend of mine--and sailin’ from the same firm in Gloucester, you say?” “The same firm, the Duncans.” “That so? Well, I can’t say as ever I heard Wesley speak of you or any mention of your name down this way before--but that ain’t extraor’nary, maybe. Anyway, being as you’re a friend of Wesley’s, you can have them herrin’ just the same as if you was Wesley himself.” The loading of the _Calumet_ was a record performance. By dark she was off and away. And as she cleared the last headland of Placentia Bay, as she squeezed by Shag Rocks and left Lamalin astern, Captain Harry Glover had to laugh aloud. “O Lord, but I call that getting ahead of a man!” he chuckled. “It was too easy. Talk about strategy!” II The _Lucy Foster_ was lying into Big Whale Gut with Wesley Marrs chafing to complete his cargo. Five hundred barrels would just about fill her up--fill her up nicely. A man in a rowboat came into the cove. The one sail on the boat had evidently been blown away, for only some strips of canvas were tied to the little mast. Wesley Marrs, leaning against the main rigging of the _Lucy_, watched the weary oarsman approach. “Looks as if he’d been boxin’ the compass in strange waters,” commented Wesley meditatively. “What’s wrong?” he hailed. “Captain Marrs?” “Yes.” “I’ve been three days looking for you, Captain Marrs. But I don’t cal’late you have such a thing as a drink of good liquor aboard, have you, Captain? I’m most famished.” Wesley said no more--only led the way to the cabin and handed out a jug, a jug so full that from it the cork was yet to be taken for the first time. The messenger took the cork out and without help. He bit it out, and let the red rum of old Saint Pierre gurgle down after the manner in which all men said it should. “Good?” asked Wesley. The messenger sucked in his cheek and his lips kissed together lingeringly. “Good--m--m--you ought to try it yourself, Captain Marrs.” Wesley did try it--a small, safe drink. “It is good, ain’t it?” and was about to put it back in the locker of his stateroom--was about to, but looking around and observing that wistful gathering he hadn’t the heart. Six of his own crew and a dozen natives were there, and they passed it along the locker, though not too rapidly. When Wesley got it back he “hefted” it. It felt pretty light. He shook it up. Gauging by sound was a good way, too, when the jug itself was heavy. It was light. “Lucky ’twas the little jug,” said Wesley, and he laid it at his feet with a sigh. “But what was it you was goin’ to say?” he asked of the boatman he had rescued from famishing. “John Rose, of Folly Cove--you know him, Captain?” “For more than twenty year. But what of him?”