El Diablo Part 30

"Don't like her, eh?" he grinned.

"Can't say that I do," Gregory answered. "It looks to me like Mr.

Barrows misunderstood my orders."

The stranger's face grew instantly serious.

"You wanted a sea-going craft which could stand rough water and beat the _Fuor d'Italia_ we built for Mascola," he said slowly. "And you left the lines and everything else entirely up to us. Is that right?"

Gregory nodded. Then a gleam of hope lighted his eye.

"You think this one will fill the bill?" he questioned.

"If she doesn't, it's up to us," the man answered. Noting the skeptical look in Gregory's face, he went on: "Don't make the mistake of trying to judge a boat from the dock, Mr. Gregory. 'You can't tell by the looks of a frog how far he can jump,' or how fast either. Barrows has been at the game long enough to quit guessing. When he tackles a proposition like yours, he wants your money, not your boat. I came down this morning to take you out for a trial. Then if there's anything you want changed we can fix it up before we turn her over to you to beat Mascola. If you can spare the time I'll take you back with me to Port Angeles. That will give you a good chance to see her perform in rough water as it's blowing up nasty off the breakwater."

Gregory's face cleared. The suggestion had two-fold value. By acting upon it at once he could combine business with pleasure. Visit the jobbers in the city and at the same time test out the launch.

"I'll be ready in half an hour," he answered.

The boatman nodded. "I'll run down-town," he said, "and get a bite to eat. Don't forget to bring a rain-coat with you. You're liable to get wet."

Gregory promised and hurried away. In the cannery he found McCoy and outlined his plans.

McCoy objected. "Better take it easy for a day or two," he counseled.

"No use trying to hit the ball too hard at the start."

Gregory smiled brightly. "I'm feeling like a king, Mac," he said. "I'll find out what the trouble is with the jobbers and be back sometime to-morrow."

Seeing that his advice was futile, McCoy left to put up a few samples while his employer hurried into the office. Gregory turned at once to his desk. As he prepared the quotations for submission to the jobbers, a cheery voice interrupted him in his work.

"Welcome home."

In the doorway stood d.i.c.kie Lang.

He jumped hastily to his feet and put out his hands.

"Oh, if you only knew how good it was to be back," he began. Then, as he noticed the girl's rapid change of expression at his words, he hastened to amend: "I don't mean I was glad to leave your house. I wasn't. It's the only home I've known for a long time. I was only trying to say how glad I am to be able to get back to work."

d.i.c.kie smiled at his enthusiasm.

"I know," she said. "It's wonderful you were able to get back so soon."

Soon the talk turned to business and Gregory explained his plans for visiting Port Angeles. Like McCoy, d.i.c.kie voiced her objections, but with more vehemence. Seeing at last, however, that the young man could not be talked out of it, she exclaimed:

"Never let on to Aunt Mary that I knew you were going or she never would forgive me. She's kind of adopted you and she told me to look out for you."

Soon they were discussing the new speed-boat and its practicability at the present time should it be proved a success.

"Mascola ran across our trammels this morning with a dragnet," the girl explained. "If you had had that boat, you might have stopped them. He's getting pretty ugly lately and last night his men tried to crowd ours off the beach with their seine. If they try it again, there'll be trouble."

Remembering Gregory's object in going to the city, d.i.c.kie suggested:

"While you're in Port Angeles you might look in at the fresh fish markets and find out what's the matter with them, too. They are bad enough at best, but they've been getting worse for a long time. Now they are hardly yielding us enough to pay to s.h.i.+p."

Gregory promised and looking at his watch, saw he would have to leave at once.

"I wish you could go up there with me," he exclaimed. "Why couldn't you?

I'll wait."

A smile flashed to the girl's lips, then disappeared on the instant. "It wouldn't be proper," she said gravely. "Port Angeles is a city and people look at things differently in cities. Aunt Mary would have nervous prostration if I even suggested it."

McCoy walked with d.i.c.kie Lang to the dock to bid Gregory _bon voyage_ and wish him luck on his mission. Then they caught sight of the launch nearing the float and their disappointment registered in their faces.

Gregory drew the girl aside.

"You have the same idea about her that I had," he said. "But don't worry. Barrows' man, I guess, knows what he's talking about and if she doesn't make good I don't take her." Lowering his voice so that only d.i.c.kie could hear, he met her eyes. "You'll notice," he said, "that I named her Richard. But as boats are always called 'she,' you will understand that means 'd.i.c.kie.'"

Before the girl could recover from her surprise he hurried away and dropped into the seat beside the driver. As the boatman threw in the clutch and the launch shot out into the stream, Gregory looked back at the wharf and noted that d.i.c.kie Lang's cheeks were red beneath her tan.

And Jack McCoy, though he said nothing as he walked with the girl along the dock, wondered what the boss could have said to make d.i.c.k blush like that.

CHAPTER XIX

ROCK FOLLOWS UP

His first ride in a speed-boat.

Kenneth Gregory leaned back on the cus.h.i.+ons and watched the _Richard_ drag her heavy hull through the quiet water of Crescent Bay. A feeling of disgust a.s.sailed him. The craft was utterly worthless for his purposes. She had no pick-up at all and was barely able to maintain her lead as she lumbered along ahead of one of the fastest of Mascola's fis.h.i.+ng-boats.

The driver, who called himself Bronson, appeared to be perfectly satisfied with the vessel's behavior and made no effort to crowd her by the fis.h.i.+ng fleet. At length they reached the outlet and the _Richard_ settled comfortably into the trough of the swell. Then Bronson turned to his pa.s.senger.

"Better put on your rain-coat," he suggested. "We'll be bucking the wind and it picks up the spray and throws it right back at us."

As he spoke he slipped into his slicker and waited for Gregory to don his mackintosh.

"I'm ready when you are," Gregory announced. "Let her go."

Bronson looked cautiously over his shoulder.

"Want to keep an eye out for Mascola," he said. "Don't want him to see this one in action until we're good and ready. I won't open her up to-day. Motor's too stiff yet and we're liable to burn out something."

As he spoke he advanced the throttle and the _Richard_ protested at his action in a series of spasmodic coughs. Then the hood began to incline slowly and Gregory felt the hull rising. Perhaps the craft was not dead after all, but only sleeping. Watching Bronson's fingers on the spark and throttle, he noticed that the man was advancing them cautiously.

"Watch out for your hat," Bronson admonished.

Gregory moved his hand carelessly to his head and caught his hat just in time. With an angry roar the _Richard_ shot forward, raising her great hood higher and higher in air while the hull seemed scarcely to be in the water at all. The wind blew in their faces like a hurricane carrying with it great clouds of spray which drenched their skins and blinded Gregory's eyes. Gasping for breath, he noticed that the _Richard_ was climbing higher. Then Bronson opened the cut-out and the craft sped away like an angry sea-bird.

The roar of the exhaust was deafening and Gregory was obliged to shout to the man beside him before he was able to make himself heard.