smiled quietly as if somewhat amused by something, and shook his head until the gold rings in his ears swayed with merriment.
The gondola came alongside the Adventure, whose chief officer had lowered away a side ladder that, like many other appointments of the ship, appeared too well made, too clean and bright, for the use of a mere tramp. The chief himself stood at the head and hailed, “Glad you came back, Captain Ware. We can make our dock right after lunch and the shipping agent has been off to see you, sir.”
Jimmy told the gondolier to wait alongside the ladder, disappeared below and did his hasty packing. The gondolier lounged gracefully on the running board of his slender craft and—singularly enough—held a conversation in very good English with one of the sailors-who had some questions to ask about shore resorts. Furthermore, the gondolier himself seemed to have an inquisitive strain, for he asked several adroit questions as to the master, the owners, and previous voyages. But he used nothing but Italian when the owner appeared behind one of his sailors, who deposited the steamer trunk and bag in the gondola, and even the thanks for the liberal fee given him was expressed in the tongue. The captain, with an expression of amusement in his eyes, watched the gondola sliding away and then turned briskly to his chief officer.
“Mr. Barton,” he said, “I'm afraid you will have to take the ship into the dock and deliver her cargo. About that agent”
“I think I see him shoving off there now,” Barton said, staring at a spot shoreward.
“Oh. Coming off again, is he? That's good. Send him down to my cabin.”
“Yes, sir.” Then after a moment's pause and further staring, “Yes, sir, that's him all right.”
The agent came aboard briskly and with an air of businesslike concern. He was taken below, gaped for a moment at his surroundings, and then remarked, cautiously, “Captain, I've some rather good news for you. Our firm can contract a cargo out at once—that is, of course, if we can come to terms.”
“What is it?” the owner asked, with anything but an air of joy.
“Cement from Spalato, down on the Jugo-Slavia coast, to Alexandria, Egypt. Easy stuff to handle, good berth down there—run right alongside the cement company's dock, steam-crane work, so no delays, use their own men to stow, and full tonnage. All you can carry, if the price is right.”
But to the agent's surprise the owner of the Adventure hesitated, pondered and then asked, “Any rush about it?”
“Yes,” the agent admitted, “there is. It's necessary to get it off immediately.”
“Afraid I can't take it on,” said the skipper, shaking his head. “In fact, I am not open to anything, not even charter for—well—maybe for some days, or possibly weeks,”
And when the agent went over the side he muttered, “That man is crazy!” A judgment in which Ware himself might have concurred smilingly.
CHAPTER III.
IN the week following his arrival at the Danieli, Captain Jimmy found himself in what was for him a most peculiar predicament. Very peculiar for him, inasmuch as he found himself more than half in love with a young lady who seemed willing to accept his companionship at odd hours but who never bestowed any confidences regarding herself or her past and asked none of him. He was baffled by her attitude and actions. There would be forenoons when she rambled with him unconcernedly through the delightful old quarters of the delightful old city, and seemed carefree, happy, unconcerned in anything save the pleasure or interest of the moment. She invited him on excursions to Murano, that ancient island home of the glassworkers, whose furnaces still glowed, and rambled with him on other islands of the Lagune, islands scattered prodigally and green on placid blue waters Where romance seemed at home. Sometimes she herself handled the wheel of her launch and displayed a skill that appealed to his seamanship. Once she drove daringly under the counter of his own ship now unloaded and lying in ballast only in the Giudecco, and he pretended interest in the lacing of his shoes, bending his head downward and leaning his broad shoulders forward lest some of his lounging men recognize him. He noted with approval that Barton had taken the opportunity to repaint the Adventure and that she had lost her seaworn look. Evidently Barton was hoping to surprise her owner with his diligence when the latter returned from his shore wandering.
“Look! Look, Mr. Ware,” the girl called
