The Maker of Opportunities Part 2

"It's lucky Ollie Farquhar's fat," said Mortimer Crabb when Geltman was out of earshot. "It was neat, Jepson, beautifully neat. Did you ever see fish take the bait better? But he'll be coming to in a minute."

Captain Jepson was watching the bewildered brewer. "He won't get much information there," he grinned.

"It can't last much longer, though," said Crabb. "How much of a run is it to the coast?"

"About an hour, sir."

"Well, keep her on her course until eight bells. Then if he insists we'll run in and land him on the beach somewhere."

"Aye, aye, sir."

"It will soon be over now. He can't get in until to-morrow and then"--Crabb beamed with satisfaction--"and then it'll be too late.

Stow your smile, Jepson. He's coming back."

Not even this complete chain of circ.u.mstantial evidence could long avail against the brisk air and sunlight. In the broad expanse between the thumb and forefinger of his right hand Geltman noted the blue of some youthful tattooing. As he saw the familiar letters doubt took flight. He _was_ himself. There was no doubt of that. As he went aft again he smiled triumphantly.

"Let's be done with nonsense, Dr. Woolf," he growled. "Look at that,"

holding his hand before Crabb's eyes. "If I'm Otto Fehrenbach how is it that the letters C. G. are marked in my hand?"

Crabb, his arms akimbo, stood looking him steadily in the eyes.

"So," he said calmly, "you're awake at last!"

He looked at Crabb and the Captain with eyes which saw not. What he had thought of saying and doing remained unsaid and undone. With no other word he lurched heavily forward and down the companion.

"There'll be a hurricane in that quarter, Jepson, or I'm not weather wise," laughed Crabb. "We'd better run in now. There isn't much sea and the wind is offsh.o.r.e. We'll land him at Quogue or Westhampton. In the meanwhile, keep the tarpaulin over the for'ard boat so that he can't see the name on her. We'll use the gig. If he tries to peep over the stern we'll clap him in the stateroom. It will mean five years at least for me if he learns the name of the _Blue Wing_. So look sharp, Jepson, and keep an eye on him."

"Never fear," said the Captain with a grin, and walked forward.

Crabb walked the deck in high jubilation. He looked at his watch. Three o'clock! If McFee had followed his instructions d.i.c.ky Bowles and Juliet Hazard were man and wife. He had nicely figured his chances. To Geltman he was Dr. Woolf. To his crew he was Mr. Crabb taking an unfortunate relative for an airing; to d.i.c.ky Bowles he was the rescuer of forlorn damsels and the trump of good fellows.

Crabb was fully prepared to carry the villainy through to the end. Of one thing he was certain, the sooner his guest was off the _Blue Wing_ and safely landed the better.

And so, when at last Geltman came on deck with the watchful Weckerly at his heels, Crabb noted the chastened expression upon the brewer's face with singular satisfaction.

"I'll go ash.o.r.e, if you please," he said, quietly.

Crabb affected disappointed surprise.

"Here? Now?" he said. "We're pretty far down the coast. That's Quogue in there. I can't very well run back to New York, but----"

"Put me ash.o.r.e, sir," said Geltman sulkily.

When the gig was lowered, Crabb bowed the brewer over the side, his evening clothes tied in a paper package.

"Good-by," said Crabb. "When you're done with the flannels, Mr. Geltman, send 'em to Fehrenbach."

But Geltman had no reply. He had folded his arms and was gazing stolidly toward the sh.o.r.e. The last glimpse Crabb had of him was when the _Blue Wing_ drew offsh.o.r.e leaving him gesticulating wildly upon the beach in the glow of the setting sun.

When the figure was but a speck in the distance Mortimer Crabb turned away and threw himself wearily in his wicker chair.

"Where to now, sir?" asked Jepson.

"Oh, anywhere you like."

"Sandy Hook, sir?"

"Oh, yes," he sighed, "as well go there as anywhere else. New York, Jepson."

Poor Crabb! In twenty-four hours he was, if anything, more bored than ever. The sight of the joyous faces of d.i.c.ky Bowles and his bride had done something to relieve the _tedium vitae_, but he knew that their joy was of themselves and not of him, and so he gave them a "G.o.d bless you"

and his country place on Long Island for a few weeks of honeymooning. He had even had the presumption to offer them the _Blue Wing_, but d.i.c.ky, whose new responsibilities had developed a vein of prudence, refused point blank. Crabb shrugged his shoulders.

"Suit yourselves," he laughed. "It's yours if you want it."

"And have Geltman putting you in jail?"

"Oh, _he_ won't trouble me."

"How do you know?"

"I've made some inquiries. He's dropped the thing."

"Are you sure?"

"Oh, yes. He's not so thick-skinned as he looks. That story wouldn't look well in print, you know."

With an outburst of friends.h.i.+p, d.i.c.ky threw his arms around Crabb's shoulders and gave him a bear hug.

"I'll never forget it, Mort, never! You're the salt of the earth----"

"There, there, d.i.c.ky. Salt should be taken in pinches, not by the spoonful, and you've mussed my cravat! Be off with you and don't come back here until matrimony has sobered you into a proper sense of your new responsibilities to your Creator."

From the window of his apartment Crabb watched d.i.c.ky's taxi spin up the avenue in the direction of the modest boarding-house which sheltered the waiting bride, then turned with a heavy sigh and rang for McFee. Love like that never comes to the very rich. He, Mortimer Crabb, was not a sentient being, but only a chattel, an animated bank account upon which designing matrons cast envious eyes and for which ambitious daughters laid their pretty snares. No, love like that was not for him--or ever would be, it seemed.

His toilet made, Crabb strolled out for the air, wondering as he often did how the people on the street could smile their way through life, while he----

A hansom pa.s.sed, turned just beyond and drew up at the curb beside him, and a voice addressed him.

"Crabb! Mortimer Crabb! By all that's lucky!"

"Ross Burnett!" said Crabb, gladly. "I thought that you were dead. Have you dropped from heaven, man?"

"No," laughed Ross, "not so far, only from China."

Burnett dismissed the hansom at once and together they went to the Bachelors' Club near by, where, over a friendly gla.s.s, they gathered up the loose ends of their friends.h.i.+p. Crabb listened with new interest as his old friend gave him an account of what had happened in the five years which had intervened since they had last met, recalling piece by piece the unfortunate events which had led to his departure from New York, and Burnett, glad of receptive ears, rehea.r.s.ed it for him.

The boy had squandered his patrimony in Wall Street. Then by the grace of one of the senators from New York he obtained from the President an appointment as consular clerk, an office, which if it paid but little at home carried with it some dignity, a little authority, and certain appreciable perquisites in foreign ports.