Wyndham's Pal Part 16

"Oh, well," said Mabel, "I think we'll let it go. I like you to trust your friends."

Soon afterwards a car came to the steps and Mabel saw that Marston put on a warm scarf and fastened his collar before he drove off. Then she went back to the fire and pondered his story and subsequent remarks. The story was strange, but she thought she saw a light where all was dark to Bob. She had long suspected that Wyndham was reckless and would not be bound by rules if the prize he sought made his breaking them worth while. Moreover, she had got books about West Africa and the Caribbean that touched on Fetish and Voodoo superst.i.tions. Perhaps she was romantic, but it was possible Wyndham, led by strong temptation, had ventured where a white man ought not to go. With an effort, Mabel banished her doubts. After all, the thing was unthinkable. Bob had not been cheated; he knew Harry.

In the morning, Marston occupied himself with some old books in Wyndhams' office at the top of a big stone building. The office was comfortably furnished and there was a good picture of an old-fas.h.i.+oned sailing s.h.i.+p on the wall; the big single-top sails indicated when she was built. At the end of the street the window commanded, the masts and funnels of channel steamers rose above a warehouse where Wyndhams' barks and brigs had loaded goods they bartered for slaves. Marston glanced at the modern iron masts and smiled when he looked up, for the book he studied had nothing to do with business.

It was the log of the slaver _Providence_ that Wyndham had talked about, and it related how they towed her with the boats when the negroes died in the suffocating hold. There was something about a sacrifice that did not bring the needed wind and its cost was charged against the freight.

They were hard men, touched by strange superst.i.tions, who towed the _Providence_, but their brutality was businesslike. Marston found an entry for the negroes used up at the oars, with their value at Jamaica properly noted.

After a time, he shut the log-book. He had read enough and resolved there would be a break in some of Wyndhams' traditions now he was a partner in the house. He had noted things he did not like, and Harry would support his new plans when he came home. By and by he heard steps in the clerks' office and a broker was announced. The latter came in and put a small brown jar on the table.

"I told your people we wanted some hard oil and they sent us samples,"

he said. "If the bulk's quite up to specimen, I think it ought to meet the bill. We must have prime quality for the particular job."

Marston picked up the jar, which held a quant.i.ty of thick yellow grease.

It was palm oil and its strong but rather pleasant smell awoke vivid memories. He saw the whitewashed factory s.h.i.+ne beside the muddy river and a gang of naked negroes filling big barrels in a compound tunneled by land-crabs' holes. The compound glowed with light against a background of forest wrapped in unchanging gloom, from which the palm oil came. For all that, the oil was a well-known article of commerce.

There was nothing mysterious about its production and Marston would have been satisfied had Wyndhams' confined its trade to stuff like this. Then he saw the broker was waiting.

"Don't samples generally stand for the bulk?" he asked.

The broker looked at him rather sharply and smiled.

"It depends upon the people with whom you deal and the skill of their warehouseman. A man who knows his job can draw samples that will pa.s.s a good-middling lot as prime, and this without the buyer's being able to claim that they're not fairly representative. But of course, you know----"

"I don't know. You see, I'm a beginner," Marston replied, and examined a ticket stuck in the oil. "Well, I saw this lot barreled in Africa. The quality is _not_ prime."

The broker looked surprised and annoyed. "Then your manager has made things rather awkward for us. One uses some judgment about samples, but our customer must have a first-cla.s.s article and we engaged to supply him at a stated price. I'll own that the price was a little below what others asked. We quoted on your offer."

"Our offer stands," said Marston, who indicated the jar. "Will you be satisfied if the oil we send is all like this?"

"We will be quite satisfied."

"Very well. Send in the order and you'll get the quality you want."

The broker lighted a cigarette and gave Marston his case. "I like the way you do business. We are buying for big people, the trade's steady and good, but we haven't dealt much with Wyndhams' before. If this lot's all right, other orders will follow."

"You can take it for granted the lot will be all right," Marston replied.

He frowned when the broker went out. It looked as if Wyndhams' goods had not always been up to sample and Marston remembered hints he heard about the character of the house. Harry, however had not long had control and had, perhaps, left things to his clerks. It was going to be different now.

Presently Marston got up and went to the general office where he interviewed the young manager. He did not say much, but he was very firm and when he returned to his room the other shrugged.

"If the new partner takes this line, your next balance sheet won't be good," he remarked to the book-keeper.

CHAPTER II

MABEL'S PEARLS

Four months after Marston reached England, Wyndham came home. He had got thin and, when he was quiet, looked worn, but he had returned in triumph and soon persuaded Marston that his efforts had earned a rich reward.

Things had gone better than his letters indicated.

On the evening of his arrival, he waited in Flora's drawing-room for Chisholm, who had not yet got back from his office at the port. Electric lights burned above the mantel and Wyndham sat by the cheerful fire, with Flora in a low chair opposite. For a time she had listened while he talked, and now her eyes rested on him with keen but tranquil satisfaction. Harry had come back, as she had known he would come, like a conqueror. She was proud that he had justified her trust, and although it had been hard to let him go, this did not matter.

She was ashamed of her hesitation when he first declared himself her lover, but the suspicion that she was rash had not lasted long. Flora was loyal and when she had accepted him looked steadily forward. It was not her habit to doubt and look back. One thing rather disturbed her; Harry was obviously tired. Before he went away his talk and laugh were marked by a curious sparkle that Flora thought like the sparkle of wine.

This had gone, but, in a way, she liked him better, although his sober mood was new.

By-and-by he glanced about the room, which was rather plainly furnished, but with a hint of artistic taste. Chisholm was not rich and the taste was Flora's. Then he moved his chair and leaned forward to the fire with a languid smile.

"Our English cold is bracing, but it bites keen when one has known the tropics," he said. "I like light and warmth."

"You got both on the Caribbean," Flora remarked.

"No," said Wyndham, "not much light. For a few hours, the glare was dazzling, but soon the shadow crept back from the bush and the fever-mist floated about the boat. On the creek and at the village, you got a sense of gloom that never melted." He paused and added with a smile: "It's often like that in the tropics, and the gloom is not altogether physical."

Flora noted the thinness of his face and his pallor. Her glance got soft and pitiful.

"My dear!" she said. "I wanted you to win; not that I cared for your winning, but because I wanted you to satisfy others who do not know you so well."

"Your father, for example?" he rejoined with a twinkle. "Well, he took the proper line, but I think I have some arguments that will persuade him."

"I sent you," she said, with a touch of color. "Afterwards I saw that I was shabby and vain. I ought not to have let you go. What did it matter about the others, when I was satisfied? You have won and they will own this, but I'm afraid it has cost you much."

Wyndham gave her a rather sharp glance and then smiled. "One must pay for what one gets, but, if it's much comfort, I was very willing."

"You were always generous, but I'm afraid you're sometimes rash."

"The rashness was justified. If I had to choose again, I'd stake my all, fortune, mind, and body, and think the risk worth while."

"You're very nice," said Flora, and added with a blush: "But, in one way, there was no risk. Even if you had been beaten, I would have persuaded father. It was rather for his sake you went than mine and that's why I'm half ashamed. But he deserved something; he has long indulged me."

She got up. There were steps in the pa.s.sage, and Chisholm came in.

Wyndham stayed for dinner and afterwards went with Chisholm to his smoking-room and gave him a doc.u.ment.

"My book-keeper drafted the statement, because I thought you ought to know where I stand," he said. "The sum indicated could be invested for Flora. Not much of a marriage settlement of course, but perhaps it will help to banish your very natural doubts."

Chisholm studied the paper with some surprise. "You have done much better than I thought; I don't know if this is flattering or not. In fact, when one remembers that you have not long been head of the house, your success is rather remarkable."

"I ran some risks," said Wyndham, smiling. "We have got started; perhaps I'm optimistic, but I came home persuaded we are going on. It's possible we may go far."

"You have a good partner," Chisholm remarked.

"The best!" Wyndham agreed quietly.

Chisholm liked his hint of feeling, but hesitated, although there was no obvious reason for this. He liked Wyndham, and the latter was on the way to mend his fortune. All the same, he shrank, rather illogically, from giving his formal consent to the wedding.