Kit Musgrave's Luck

CHAPTER III
KIT'S SURPRISE

In Spanish towns a merchant's office generally occupies the ground floor of his house, and Kit liked Jefferson's. The narrow street was very hot, and the reflections from the white walls hurt his eyes. To enter the tunnel, guarded by a fine iron gate, and cross the shady patio was a relief. In the middle, a little fountain splashed, the walls were lemon-yellow and a splendid purple bougainvillea trailed about the pillars that carried a balcony. The dark spaces behind the posts looked like cloisters. In front big heliotrope bushes occupied green tubs.

As he crossed the patio Kit met Jefferson going to the gate.

"Hallo!" said Jefferson. "Got back all right? Sorry I can't stop. I've fixed it to meet a customer at the Metropole."

Kit told him about their meeting the Cayman and pulled out a folded paper. "I made a note——"

"Thanks! I must order the truck the captain wants," said Jefferson, who did not take the paper. "The port doctor allowed you had loaded up the boat and brought a good flock of sheep. What did you trade for them?"

"We landed no goods; I imagined the sheep would be paid for afterwards. Looks as if Wolf had an agreement with somebody in the interior."

"It's not usual. Nobody trusts us like that," Jefferson remarked in a thoughtful voice. "You carried an interpreter. Did you talk to the Berbers?"

"Not at all," said Kit. "You see——"

He stopped. Jefferson was his friend, but after all he was to some extent his employer's antagonist. The other noted his pause.

"Oh, well, I reckon Wolf knows his job, but I'd watch out for those fellows. They're a pretty hard crowd. Anyhow, I must get along. Do you mind giving my English clerk the note?"

He smiled as if something amused him, and went off, and Kit crossed the flags. At the arch that opened on Jefferson's office, he stopped abruptly and wondered whether his imagination had cheated him.

A few yards off Betty sat in front of a writing-table. Her head was bent; Kit saw her face in profile against the coloured wall and noted the clean, flowing line. After a moment or two she looked up and Kit's heart beat. His advance was impetuous, and when she gave him her hand he pulled himself up with an effort. When he last saw Betty in the shabby street at Liverpool, he had kissed her. It was strange and disturbing, but he had come near to kissing her again. Betty, however, was very calm and her hand was cool and steady.

"Why Kit! You looked startled!" she said.

"I'm very much surprised," he admitted. "You see, I thought you were at Liverpool."

"At Liverpool? Then you didn't think I'd gone for a holiday to the South Coast?"

Kit was embarrassed. It looked as if his mother had not used much tact, but Betty's smile was gentle.

"Sometimes you're rather nice, Kit, but all the same you ought to see I couldn't go."

"We won't talk about it," Kit replied. "When I came in you didn't look at all—surprised."

Betty gave him a calm glance, but he thought she had noted his hesitation. Surprised was not altogether what he had meant.

"I was not," she said. "I knew you were on board a ship that had just arrived. Then I heard you talking to Mr. Jefferson."

He pulled up a chair and studied her while she neatly folded some documents. Betty was thin, but if she had been ill, she was obviously getting better. A faint colour had come to her skin, and her eyes were bright. At Liverpool she had worn very plain, dark clothes, because they were economical; now her dress was white and she had pretty grey shoes. In fact, Betty was prettier than he had thought. Perhaps her escape from monotonous labour and the dark Liverpool office accounted for much, but she was not the tired girl he had known.

Kit looked about the room. There was not much furniture, and all was made of Canary pine that polishes a soft brown. The wall was yellow, and blue curtains hung across the arch; Kit knew they were needed to keep out the morning sun. A rug was on the floor, and it was like the curtains, the dull blue one saw in Morocco. Betty had fastened a spray of heliotrope in her white dress.

"Do you like my room?" she asked.

"It's just right. The strange thing is, I hadn't noticed this before; I don't think—Jefferson bothered about his office. Anyhow the room was his."

"Now it's mine. Mrs. Jefferson gave me the rug. I think it came from Africa. She said you were a friend of hers. Isn't she nice?"

"She is a very good sort," Kit agreed. "I'm glad you have got an office like this; the dark stuffy hole at Liverpool wasn't fit for you. I haven't asked if you're getting better, because I can see. Somehow you are another girl."

Betty said nothing, but rather thought Kit another man. He looked stronger and his skin was brown. Then something about his voice and carriage indicated quiet confidence. At Liverpool when Kit was resolute he was, so to speak, aggressive, as if he wanted others to remark his firmness. Now his glance was calm, his nervous jerkiness had gone. All the same, she thought he had not got fresh qualities but developed those he had. Betty knew Kit.

"But where do you live?" he resumed. "In a Spanish town it's awkward——"

"I live with Mrs. Jefferson. Before I came we agreed on this. She's very nice and takes me about; sometimes for a drive to the mountains and sometimes in the sailing boat. When I remember my other post, I feel as if I'd got out of prison."

Kit was satisfied. To know Betty was happy was much; she deserved the best. Then she gave him a thoughtful glance.

"It's strange you didn't know I was coming. Mr. Jefferson wrote to me a month since."

"Jefferson wrote?"

"Of course. He stated he wanted somebody to answer his English letters and undertake general office work, and he understood from you I might take the post."

"I certainly did not tell Jefferson anything like this," said Kit. "I gave Mrs. Austin my mother's letter, in which she said you were ill and must leave the office. But Mrs. Jefferson was with Mrs. Austin, and perhaps they talked about it afterwards."

"Then, giving me the post was Mrs. Austin's plan?" Betty remarked and Kit thought her voice was rather hard.

"I expect it was," he agreed. "Mrs. Austin does things like that. I imagine she persuaded Wolf to send me on board Mossamedes."

Betty studied him. She did not think he saw the light he had given her. Sometimes Kit was dull.

"Don't you like Mrs. Austin?" he asked.

"I like Mrs. Jefferson better," Betty replied. She stopped and noting that Kit was puzzled, resumed: "She is kind. So is Mr. Jefferson. When he comes into his office he throws away his cigar. He asks me—Won't I write a note for him and count up the bills. He doesn't think because I'm paid it doesn't matter how he talks. But why did you give Mrs. Austin your mother's letter?"

"Now I think about it, I don't altogether know. She's sympathetic and I was bothered because you were ill. I imagine she saw I was bothered."

"Were you bothered very much?"

"Of course," said Kit. "You were breaking down, and must stop at Liverpool in the rain and cold; I had the sea and sun. Sometimes I was savage because I couldn't help."

"Then you didn't think Mrs. Austin might persuade her husband to give me a post at Las Palmas?"

"I did not. I gave her the letter, that's all. Mrs. Austin likes helping people, and Austin and Jefferson wanted an English clerk. I expect this accounts for their engaging you."

Betty doubted. For one thing, she had met Olivia and two or three young men from the coaling wharfs, who had tried to amuse her by humorous gossip about the English people at Las Palmas. Then Mrs. Austin had sent Kit on board Wolf's steamer, which made longer voyages than the correillo, and had persuaded Jefferson to engage her for his clerk. Betty thought Mrs. Austin's object was plain, but wondered much what Kit had said to her. Since she could not find out, she began to talk about Liverpool, and Kit presently narrated his adventures on the African coast.

Nobody disturbed them and the shady room was cool. The smell of heliotrope floated in; one heard the fountain splash and the languid rumble of the surf. Betty leaned back in her revolving chair and Kit lighted a cigarette.

Jefferson was occupied for some time at the Metropole, but when he crossed the patio he slackened speed in front of the arch. He was a sober merchant, but it was not very long since he was a romantic sailor, and the picture that met his glance had some charm. His pretty clerk rested her cheek in her hollowed hand; her pose was unconsciously graceful, and she studied Kit with thoughtful eyes. Kit talked and his face wore a strangely satisfied smile; Jefferson imagined he did not know his cigarette had gone out. His thin figure was athletic, he looked keen and virile. Jefferson approved them both. They had not his wife's and Austin's cultivation, but they were honest, red-blooded people. In fact, they were good stuff.

For all that he was puzzled; he had not thought Musgrave a philanderer. Besides his office was not a drawing-room and he advanced rather noisily. Kit pulled out his watch and got up with a start, but Betty did not plunge into her proper occupation. Betty was generally marked by an attractive calm; then she knew her employer.

"I expect you gave Miss Jordan the note about the stores for Cayman?" Jefferson said to Kit.

Kit took out the paper. "Sorry, but I did not. I must get on board. Perhaps I ought to have gone before."

"You can go now. Come back for supper, if you like," Jefferson replied with a twinkle and put down some documents. "If you can give me a few minutes, Miss Jordan——"

When Betty got to work at her typewriter he went to Mrs. Jefferson's drawing-room.

"I have asked young Musgrave to supper and reckon he'll come," he said.

"Don't you know if he is coming?" Mrs. Jefferson rejoined.

"He didn't state his plans. I imagine he was rattled when I fired him out. It had probably dawned on him he'd been loafing about my office most part of the afternoon."

"You knew he was a friend of Miss Jordan's," Mrs. Jefferson remarked.

"I knew Jacinta Austin was pretty smart, but it begins to look as if she was smarter than I thought."

Mrs. Jefferson smiled. "Oh, well, you have got a good clerk and Kit has got a post he likes."

"But what about Olivia?"

"I don't think you need be disturbed about Olivia," said Mrs. Jefferson, dryly. "Anyhow, you mustn't meddle. Your touch is not light."

"That is so," Jefferson agreed. "Jacinta's touch is surely light; she can pull three or four wires at once, without your knowing how she's occupied. For all that, I've a notion she'll some time snarl the wires in a nasty tangle. Can't you give her a hint she's got to leave my clerk and Kit alone?"

"I doubt. The thing is puzzling. You see, Betty refused Kit," Mrs. Jefferson remarked in a thoughtful voice. "However, I think two of the leading actors in the comedy know what they want. The others do not."

"It rather looks as if three didn't know."

"I think my calculation's accurate. However, I see no useful part for us. Ours is to look on and smile when the play's amusing."

"If Jacinta hurts Miss Jordan, I won't smile," Jefferson rejoined. "I'm fond of the girl, because in a way she's like you."

"Sometimes you're very nice," said Mrs. Jefferson, and went off to talk to the Spanish cook in the kitchen that had, when Jefferson got the house, adjoined the stable.

CHAPTER IV
WOLF GIVES A FEAST

"Give me the hot plates," said Mrs. Jefferson, and when Jefferson did so one slipped and rattled.

"Perhaps it's lucky my touch is not light," he remarked. "If it had been lighter, I'd have broken some crockery."

Kit imagined there was a joke, but since the joke was not obvious he studied Betty. She now wore a thin black dress, made in the Spanish fashion with black lace at the short sleeves and neck. Her skin was very white and smooth and Kit thought she looked as if she had always worn a dinner dress.

The room was spacious. Mrs. Jefferson's china and silver were good. A bowl of splendid roses occupied the middle of the table, and although they had no smell, the little tierra roses, half hidden by the others, were seductively sweet. Decanters of red and yellow wine shone among coloured fruit, and in front of Betty a cluster of white Muscatel grapes glimmered against dark vine leaves.

One got a hint of taste and cultivation, and Kit remembered that for a time after his arrival he had felt raw and awkward at houses like his host's. At Liverpool Betty had worn rather shabby clothes, and often when he met her going home from the office her boots were wet and muddy. Now she looked as if she belonged to Mrs. Jefferson's circle. Kit did not know if this was strange or not; he began to think he had not really known Betty.

All the same, he was conscious of keen satisfaction. Betty had fronted poverty and smiled, but her smile was no longer forced. She had escaped, like Cinderella, from dreary servitude, and Kit was very glad, although he doubted if his analogy were good. Cinderella was splendidly conspicuous when she went to the ball, but Betty was not. Her charm was her gracious quietness; she did not stand out from her background, she harmonised with it. Kit thought her like the Muscatels that glimmered with pearly tints among the leaves.

"I guess you are thinking about Wolf's cargo," Jefferson remarked.

"Not at all," said Kit. "I was thinking about Liverpool. And Muscatel grapes."

He imagined Betty's glance rested on him for a moment and was gone, but Jefferson looked amused.

"Don't you get things mixed? When we towed out on board the old Orinoco in the sooty fog, Liverpool wasn't much like a vineyard. However, I allow the Muscatel's a pretty good fruit. Doesn't catch your eye like the red grapes, but when you put the colorado in the press the wine has a bite and some is mighty sour. The white wine's sweet and fragrant. All the same, you don't get the proper bouquet until the grapes are in the press. What d'you think about my philosophy, Miss Jordan?"

"Sometimes the press hurts," Betty remarked quietly.

"It hurts all the time," said Jefferson and his thin face got grave. "You know this when you have felt the screws. Well, I guess it's done with, but when I hear them sing their Latin psalm In exitu, I understand. Some of us have been in Egypt——"

"Now you are mixing things! You were not in Egypt," Mrs. Jefferson rejoined, and Kit thought she meant to banish her husband's sombre mood.

"Anyhow, Egypt's in Africa and considerably cooler than the swamp where the Cumbria lay. Then I reckon Harry Austin and I made some bricks without much straw."

"Jacinta helped. She has helped a number of people."

"Mrs. Austin has helped me," Kit agreed and looked at Betty. It was strange, but he imagined she did not own her debt to Mrs. Austin.

Soon afterwards it got dark and they went to the flat roof. There was no moon, but the stars were bright and the sky was clear. The soft land-breeze had begun to blow and stirred the mist that rolled down the dark rocks behind the town. Lights twinkled along the sweep of bay and two that swung across a lower group marked Mossamedes rolling at the harbour mouth. Footsteps and broken talk echoed along the narrow street; one heard guitars and somebody began to sing the Africana.

Kit was strangely content. Betty was getting strong again, and he thought her happy; he, himself, had a post he liked, and all went well. His ambitions were not important; he was not moved, as he was moved at Mrs. Austin's, to efforts that would force people to own his talents. In fact, he recovered something of the tranquillity that had marked the afternoons when Betty and he gathered primroses in the woods.

Jefferson talked about the strain and suffering on board the sailing ships. He pictured a battered wooden vessel, stripped to her topsails and staysails and kept afloat by the windmill pump, beating round Cape Horn while her exhausted crew got mutinous, and food got short. The story harmonised with the languid rumble of the surf, for Jefferson's voice was quiet, as if he talked about things that were done with. Man had come out of bondage and steam was his deliverer.

Kit did not want to talk; he was satisfied to be near Betty and Mrs. Jefferson. It was plain that they were friends, and he thought them alike. Neither urged her rules on one, but one felt the rules were good. One could do nothing shabby when one had been with them.

In the morning, Kit went to Wolf's office with some documents. Perhaps it was the contrast between his employer and his recent hosts, but somehow Wolf jarred. Kit began to feel vague doubts about the fellow. Nevertheless, he admitted that Wolf's approval was flattering, and they planned a dinner to be given on board Mossamedes.

The dinner was not like the captain's feast. It was served with much ceremony, and the guests were important people, for the most part Spanish merchants and government officers. All the chairs at the long tables in the saloon were occupied, and Don Erminio, sitting at the end of one, did not look comfortable. The captain liked old English clothes, but now wore his tight, blue correo uniform. Moreover, since Don Ramon, the company's manager, was not far off, and his neighbors were Commandancia officials, he could not talk about animals and anarchists.

Kit's chair was next to Jefferson's and opposite Austin's, and he was satisfied to look on. He was rather interested by the captain of a French gunboat that had recently anchored behind the mole. Captain Revillon did not talk, but he looked about thoughtfully, and Kit imagined he knew Castilian.

The giver of the loyal toast was a high official, who said the Spanish crown stood for justice and steady progress. One lost much by rash experiments, and to modify cautiously old traditions was a better plan. A country's prosperity was built upon the efforts of all its citizens, and men must know the reward of their labour was theirs. Just laws were needed and the loyal Canarios knew the Spanish laws were good. But this was not all. Effort must be made for cultivation and commerce. Although the islanders were industrious, much of the soil was barren and sometimes food was short. Spain owned a belt of Africa with fertile oases where corn was grown and flocks were fed. The country was richer than people thought; it must be developed and extended until it made up for the territories Spain had lost. This was why he wished the new venture, launched under the Spanish flag, good luck.

There was a shout and a rattle of glasses, but Kit thought the little French captain pondered.

"Since France claims the back country, I expect Revillon wonders how they're going to extend the Rio de Oro," Jefferson remarked.

Don Ramon, urbane and smiling, got up. The islanders must live by trade, he said. They were a virile race of sailors and small farmers, but since modern ships and machines cost much, they could not refuse foreign help. With English help they had made much progress and might go farther. They had built up Cuba and now Cuba was gone they must build up their African colony. The Mossamedes, flying the Spanish flag, was opening a new, rich field. Don Ramon was proud he had some part in sending her out.

"He has struck the same note," Austin observed. "In a way it's the note one would strike, but somehow I imagine Wolf has used the tuning fork. When you make a speech to order, you rather like a hint about the line you ought to take. However, the fellow is going to talk."

Kit afterwards thought Wolf's speech clever. To begin with, he indicated the richness of the Rio de Oro belt and its hinterland. His venture was small, but when he had opened the way, Spanish effort would make the African oases another Cuba. He paused and turned to the high official, who smiled as if he agreed. Then Wolf hinted at a community of interest and talked as if his gains would be his guests'. Kit felt that a stranger might imagine the merchants were shareholders and the others had given the undertaking official patronage.

"Looks as if we were all in it," Jefferson commented. "On the whole, I'm satisfied our house is not. I'd rather like to know what Revillon thinks."

"Revillon's thoughts are not very obvious. Since he has stopped at Las Palmas before, I expect he knows our friends are patriotic sentimentalists," Austin replied.

Soon afterwards Kit went on deck. Wolf did not want him and the saloon was hot. Leaning against the rails, he looked across the harbour, and his glance rested on the French gunboat. She was a small, two-masted vessel, of a type that was getting out of date but was used by French and British for police duty on the African coast. Sometimes she touched at Las Palmas for coal, and Kit understood she cruised from Morocco to Senegal. She was not fast, and he thought her rather deep for use in shallow water. When he was on board the correillo he had seen her hauled up on the beach after grounding. Hearing a step he turned and saw Wolf.

"I came up for a few minutes to get away from Revillon; the fellow's rather curious about your voyage," said Wolf. "Besides, I want to talk to you. Let's go into the captain's room."

The captain's room was on the boat-deck below the bridge. One reached it by a ladder, and nobody was about. Wolf turned on the electric light and gave Kit a cigarette.

"I haven't told you much about your cargo for this run, but I had some grounds for not doing so."

"The cargo's ready to put on board," said Kit.

"Not all," Wolf replied meaningly. "Yusuf, my agent in Morocco, will supply or tell you where to get the rest. You will carry out his orders, unless, of course, you resolve to turn down the job."

"Then, we are to carry goods the Spaniards would not allow us to land?"

Wolf smiled. "Now you, perhaps, see why I gave the feast. My guests, so to speak, have given my venture the government's sanction. In Spain it pays to have official friends, and a tactful present carries weight. The officers are not as fastidious as yours——"

He stopped and Kit wondered whether he had said yours unconsciously. Kit had thought Wolf claimed to be English, but there was a hint of a sneer in his voice.

"What are we to carry?" he asked.

"Cartridges! If you don't like the job, I think I can get another man."

Kit imagined all traffic with native Africans in breach-loading guns and ammunition was forbidden. Moreover, it was obvious the Spanish government would not approve Wolf's supplying the Berber tribes with cartridges. This, however, was the government's business, and Kit was young. Romantic smuggling had some charm; but he hesitated.

"Why do the Berbers want the cartridges?" he asked.

Wolf shrugged. "I don't know their plans. They're a turbulent, independent lot, and sometimes quarrel with their neighbours who are supposed to belong to France. I expect they have a dispute with another tribe in the back country about an oasis, or perhaps the control of a caravan road. Anyhow, I'm sending a small quantity of ammunition, because I want to keep a good customer. Well, I won't persuade you. Are you going?"

"I'll risk it," said Kit, rather doubtfully. "Does the captain know?"

"Of course," said Wolf, smiling. "Don Erminio's not scrupulous and sees a chance of earning something besides his pay. All the same, he understands that while he is navigator you are my representative. But I mustn't leave the others long."

He went off and Kit smoked a fresh cigarette. The adventure had some charm, but he was not altogether satisfied. He had, however, agreed to go, and presently he banished his doubts.

CHAPTER V
WOLF'S OFFER

"Sure thing! Reckon it's instinctive. I like straightforward folks. Wolf's a mystery man."

Austin looked up and laughed. "He's coming."

Wolf crossed the flags, and when he stopped by the bougainvillea his face was red. He was fat and his thin, black alpaca jacket looked very tight.

"Sun's fierce. Will you take a drink?" said Jefferson, and clapping his hands for a servant, ordered Cerveza.

As a rule, in hot countries, cautious white men do not drink much beer, but Wolf drained his glass of pale yellow liquor with obvious satisfaction.

"The Glasgow stuff is good," he said. "In fact, for British lager, it's very nearly right."

"Where d'you reckon to get it exactly right? Chicago or Munich?" Jefferson inquired.

Wolf laughed. "It's good at both cities. At Munich there's a garten. But I'm not going to bore you by talking about lager."

Betty's typewriter stopped. The light in the patio was strong and to sit in her dark office and study the group outside was like watching a play on an illuminated stage. The curtains at the arch narrowed her view, and the figures of the actors, sharply distinct, occupied the opening. Betty's sense of the dramatic was keen, and she had remarked that Wolf sat down where a beam shone over his shoulder. Then when Jefferson talked about Chicago and Munich she thought he tried to study Wolf's face, but could not. Wolf had hesitated for a moment before he admitted that he knew the cities. Betty rested her face in her hand and resolved to watch. For one thing, Wolf was Kit's employer.

"Trade is slack," Wolf resumed. "The Spanish merchants see they can't ship much produce and are cutting their orders. I don't know if you feel the slump, but my African speculation promises well. The trouble is, I can't finance it properly, and if you would like to come in——"

"Pancho Brown is old-fashioned and not keen about new undertakings," Austin replied cautiously. "Do you expect to get larger lots of sheep?"

"It's possible, but I thought about buying camels. I reckon I can get them for a low price, paid in trade goods, and I expect you know what they are worth just now."

Austin pondered. The single-humped camel is used in the Canaries, particularly in the dry Eastern islands, and the animals cost much. All the same, Austin knew his partner doubted.

"Where do your customers get the camels?" Jefferson asked.

"I frankly don't know. The Berbers are not the people to give you their confidence. It's possible they steal the camels. Anyhow, they state they can get them."

"Well, if you are short of money, we might perhaps supply the goods you want and take the camels at a price agreed."

"I can get credit for the trade-goods and sell the camels to Spanish buyers as soon as they arrive. In fact, I see no particular advantage in your plan."

"Then, what is your proposition?"

"Something like this: I want you to join me in the speculation and take your share of the profit and the risk. There is some risk. The business is going to be bigger than I thought, and my capital is not large. I want partners who will help me seize all the chances that come along and will back me if I get up against an obstacle."

Austin lighted a cigarette and Betty imagined he weighed the plan, but Jefferson did not. Wolf drank some beer and when he put down his glass Betty thought the glance he gave the others was keen. He looked cunning, and she thought if she were Austin she would let his offer go. After a few moments Jefferson looked up.

"Harry and I will talk about it and send you a note. Will you take another drink?"

Wolf drained his glass and went off. When he had gone Jefferson turned to Austin and smiled.

"I reckon nothing's doing!"

"Then why did you promise to talk about it?"

"I am talking about it," Jefferson rejoined. "I didn't want Wolf to imagine I'd resolved to turn down his proposition."

"After all, I don't think he meant to cheat us."

"Not in a sense. He knows you're not a fool and Don Pancho's very keen."

"Then what does he want?" Austin asked.

"I don't know; I'm curious. Anyhow, he doesn't want me, although if you and Don Pancho joined, he reckoned I'd come in. I'm not a British merchant; I'm an American."

"But what has this to do with it?"

"I allow I don't altogether see. Anyhow, Wolf's a German." Austin looked puzzled and Jefferson smiled. "You don't get me yet? The fellow has cultivated out his accent and claims he's English. That's important, because he got his English in the United States and doesn't claim he's American. When I talked about Chicago and Munich I made an experiment."

"He admitted he knew the cities."

"That is so. He saw I was on his track and he mustn't bluff. If I'd met Wolf in the United States, I mightn't have been prejudiced, but I met him at Grand Canary, starting a trade with Spanish Africa. I reckon the Spaniards are sore about Morocco. At the grab-game, France and Britain scooped the pool; Germany and Spain got stung. Anyhow, I've no use for taking a part in world politics, and when Musgrave has gone a voyage or two in Mossamedes I'll try to get him off the ship."

"I wonder whether you know Jacinta sent him on board?"

Jefferson smiled. "Does Jacinta trust Wolf? Talk to her about the deal, and if she approves I'll come in."

"Very well," said Austin, and they started for the town.

When Jefferson returned to his office a clerk brought in a note. "From Don Enrique, sir."

Jefferson opened the envelope and laughed, for the note ran: "Nothing doing in camels. Jacinta does not approve."

"Sometimes a woman's judgment is sound, Miss Jordan," he remarked. "Mrs. Austin doesn't know all I know, but she gets where I get, and I think she got there first."

"It is strange," Betty said quietly.

"One doesn't know when you're amused and when you're not," Jefferson rejoined. "However, I want you to send Wolf a note."

"Dear Mr. Wolf?" Betty suggested.

"I reckon dear sir will meet the bill," said Jefferson dryly. "Then let's see, 'In reference to our conversation this morning, after careful consideration, we regret we cannot see our way to entertain your proposition.' Pretty good office English?"

"There are three 'tions," Betty observed.

"Proposition's all right," said Jefferson thoughtfully. "Fix the others as you like. You know the sort of thing."

He went up the outside stair and found Mrs. Jefferson on the balcony.

"If Musgrave's not a philanderer, he's mighty dull," he said. "I'd like you to have seen Miss Jordan just now. A model clerk, very cool and business-like, manner exactly right. All the same, before I got started she saw where I was going and I guess she smiled."

"It's very possible," Mrs. Jefferson agreed. "Well, perhaps it's lucky I'm not jealous!"

"You're not jealous, but if I've got an eye for fine and pretty things, you're accountable. Once on a time I reckoned a big sailing ship, close-hauled on the wind with all she'd carry set, was beautiful; I hadn't seen you talking to our guests across the fruit and flowers. Now I'm thankful for all beauty; things men made like sailing ships, and pretty girls. Betty in white by the bougainvillea, Olivia on the veranda in her black and gold. This old world is charming since you opened my eyes."

"For a business man, you're sometimes extravagant," Mrs. Jefferson replied. "All the same, you are a dear."

Jefferson turned and looked over the balcony. A young man who wore spotless white flannel and a red silk belt crossed the flags. He stopped abruptly when Jefferson shouted: "Hello!"

"We thought if you were going to haul up Cayman for scraping, you'd like to know our tug is off the slip," the other remarked.

"Thanks!" said Jefferson dryly. "You needn't bother Miss Jordan about it. Cayman's gone to Palma."

The young man recrossed the flags and Jefferson laughed. "His last brain wave was to see if Cayman would take coal across for ballast and he could keep us some hefty lumps. Yesterday two banana men blew in with a fool proposition about my sending fruit to Africa, and before they were through, Walters from the cold store arrived. Looks as if I'd got to put up barbed wire."

"Oh, well," said Mrs. Jefferson, "I don't suppose a sailing ship is their standard of beauty. Besides, the big sailing ships are gone."

Betty, studying some figures in the office, heard Jefferson stop the coaling clerk and smiled. Young men from the coal wharfs and fruit stores arrived rather often when they thought her employer was not about, and if she was not occupied she sometimes let them talk. For the most part they were a careless, good-humoured lot and she liked their cheerfulness, but this was all. When she refused Kit at Liverpool she was resolved he must get his chance; now it looked as if she had got hers she was not moved.

She contrasted him with the others. They frankly amused her, and sometimes Kit was dull. Yet she sensed in his soberness something fine that did not mark the rest. They joked and did not bother; Kit bothered much. Betty liked his tight-mouthed, thoughtful look. His habit was to weigh things, but when he was satisfied he went stubbornly ahead. Betty wondered whether he was satisfied about Olivia. Then, with something of an effort, she resumed her calculations.

CHAPTER VI
BETTY CARRIES A MESSAGE

Jefferson pulled out his watch. "Thanks, I'll send the thing on board. I'm going up town. Will you come along?"

"I'll stop in your cool office for a few minutes," Olivia replied, and Jefferson turned to Betty.

"Felix will be around soon. Send him off with the packet. I expect Musgrave will be at the Commandancia. You have about half an hour."

He went off and Olivia lighted a cigarette. She threw the match on the floor, and although people smoke in Spanish offices Betty was annoyed. She wondered whether Miss Brown's carelessness was studied, but after a few moments Olivia gave her a thoughtful look.

"I understand Kit Musgrave is an old friend of yours."

"He is my friend," said Betty.

"Then I expect you know he's satisfied with his post. All the same, he ought to give it up."

Betty said nothing. She thought she saw why Miss Brown had brought the packet, but did not see where she led. Besides, she was conscious of a subtle antagonism. The girl was not the type whose friendship was good for Kit. In the meantime, Olivia occupied herself with her cigarette. She had meant to make an experiment and satisfy her curiosity, for Kit had not come to the veranda much since his return and she had missed him when he was away.

"He ought to go back to the correillo," she resumed. "However, I expect you know he's obstinate."

"Sometimes he's firm," said Betty, quietly, although quietness was hard.

She did know Kit was obstinate, but to allow Miss Brown to talk about it was another thing. Besides, she was bothered about the other's object for stating Kit ought to go back.

"Oh, well, it's really not important," Olivia replied as if she were bored. "I thought perhaps you might persuade Kit to rejoin the Campeador." She paused and smiled carelessly. "I can't, I admit I tried."

"Why do you want Mr. Musgrave to leave his ship? I understand your sister got him the post."

Olivia was embarrassed, although her embarrassment was not obvious. She had begun by wanting to baffle Mrs. Austin, whose object for sending Kit on board Mossamedes was plain. This, however, was some time since, and now she did not know what she did want. She would not acknowledge Kit her lover, but she liked to know he was about. All the same, her efforts to separate him from Wolf were to some extent unselfish.

"I don't want Kit to leave the Mossamedes; I think it better for him to do so," she rejoined. "It's possible my sister did get him the post. Jacinta does things like that, but sometimes her plans do not work as she hoped."

"Then, when Mrs. Austin sent Kit to Africa she had a plan?"

Olivia looked up sharply and threw her cigarette on the floor. She had not found out much and did not mean to argue with Jefferson's clerk.

"We don't get forward, and I can't stop," she said. "I'll tell you all I know. I think my sister doubts Wolf; Jefferson frankly distrusts him. He was talking to Harry on the veranda and I was in the room behind. It was plain they were puzzled about Wolf. Jefferson said the fellow was playing a crooked game, and Kit ought to quit. Anyhow, he ought to know his boss's African scheme was a cover for something else, and he was going to use the French captain. Wolf meant to give Revillon a part in the plot."

Olivia got up. "That's all, but I rather agree with Jefferson."

"If you think Mr. Musgrave ought to be warned, why didn't you warn him?"

"For one thing, I imagined you were his friend," Olivia rejoined with a careless smile. "To write a note is sometimes awkward, the steamer sails very soon, and it's obvious I can't go on board and ask for the sobrecargo. Well, you are Jefferson's clerk and have the packet of samples. You can go—if you like!"

The curtain swung back, and for a minute or two Betty pondered. Her curiosity was excited, and she wondered much how far Olivia's interest in Kit went; that it went some distance was plain. Betty felt a keen antagonism for the fashionable and rather scornful girl. Yet to some extent the other's object was good; Betty thought Kit ought to be warned about his employer. All the same, Miss Brown's statement that Betty could warn him was hardly accurate. Spanish conventions were strict and Betty knew the gossip that marked the English circle. If she went on board the steamer, people would talk and Mrs. Jefferson would be annoyed. But Felix, Jefferson's boatman, did not arrive, and Betty looked at her watch. Something must be risked and perhaps she might meet Kit outside the Commandancia office. Picking up the packet, she got her hat.

A tartana waited for passengers at the end of the street, and she got down at the Catalina mole. Mossamedes' windlass rattled, and her cable was coming in, but a boat with the African house-flag painted on the bow lay against the wall, and Betty knew Kit had not gone on board. For all that, she did not see him, and the steamer's anchor would soon be up. If he did not come in a minute or two, she would have no time for talk. Then he ran out of the office, pushing some papers into his pocket, and stopped.

"Hallo!" he said. "You are kind to see me off."

"I didn't come to see you off. At least, that wasn't all," Betty replied.

"Oh, well," Kit said, laughing, "you're generally frank. I'd rather have liked to think you did want to see me off. Anyhow, I'm glad you have arrived."

Betty gave him the packet and he noted the address.

"All right, I'll land it at Saffi. I wish you had come sooner. They've broken the anchor out."

She went across the mole with him and stopped at the top of the steps. He looked keen, alert and handsome. His white clothes were well made, his thin figure was athletic, and Betty liked his smile. She felt rewarded; Kit was glad she had come. The trouble was, she could not send him off like that.

"There's another thing," she said. "Jefferson thinks you ought not to stop on board Mossamedes. He declares Wolf is not to be trusted."

"Ah!" said Kit, rather sharply. "But how do you know?"

Betty braced herself. She must be honest, although it was plain honesty might cost her something.

"Miss Brown came to the office half an hour since and brought the packet. She heard Jefferson talk to Austin about Wolf, and thought you ought to be warned."

"She came to the office!" Kit exclaimed, and Betty saw his satisfaction. "Well, she's very kind. But she sent a message?"

"Wolf is plotting something in Africa. His business isn't what it looks. Captain Revillon has some part in it."

Kit laughed. "Miss Brown meant well, you mean well, but you don't understand. Wolf is cheating the French captain. He'd an object for asking him to the feast. In fact, I see his plan."

"I don't think Miss Brown was cheated," Betty urged.

Mossamedes' whistle shrieked, foam splashed about her stern and she began to forge ahead. Kit shouted to the men in the boat and Betty gave him her hand.

"Don't bother about the thing," he said. "Perhaps Wolf is rather tricky, but I know him and I won't get hurt. Anyhow, Miss Brown was kind to let me know, and you're a good sort to carry the message."

"Still, you'll use some caution, Kit," said Betty, but he waved his hand and ran down the steps.

Mossamedes circled slowly and forged by the end of the mole, her white deck-houses shining in the sun. Kit's boat vanished round her stern, smoke rolled from her funnel, and with a white wave breaking at her bows she steamed out of the harbour. For a time Betty watched the ship and her thoughts were moody.

She had refused Kit at Liverpool because both were poor. Tired, as she was, of badly-rewarded labour, she might have been satisfied to occupy her self with frugal housekeeping, had she not seen that for Kit to marry meant bondage for him. A married clerk with Kit's pay durst run no risks, he must stick to his job, indulge his employers and wait for them to offer him better wages. She might have promised to marry Kit and let him go to try his luck; but she knew girls whose lovers had gone away. One had come back another man, and Betty imagined he saw the girl he dutifully married was not the girl he had thought. The others had not come back at all.

It was not that Betty doubted Kit. He was staunch and did all he engaged to do, but he was young. Betty imagined his was a boy's romance and she did not want him to return for her because he thought he ought. Besides, he had some talent and might make his mark abroad. If he did so, she was not going to embarrass him. In fact, she, so to speak, resolved that Kit must have his chance.

Now he was obviously attracted by Miss Brown, and Betty knew Olivia was not the girl for him. Moreover, she was persuaded Olivia saw his drawbacks. Kit was poor, his infatuation was ridiculous, and to find it out would hurt, but Kit would find out. Betty frowned because she could not help.

By and by she noted that Mossamedes' masts and funnel were getting indistinct. The ship's hull had melted to a dark streak, seen for a moment when she plunged across a roller's crest, and Betty got up. She had stopped longer than she ought and must hurry back to the office. As she went along the mole she remembered that she had been willing to risk something in order to warn Kit, and he had laughed. Sometimes one's fine resolutions were rewarded like that. Perhaps the thing was amusing, but her smile was dreary.

At the office she found Jefferson reading a newspaper.

"I see you haven't begun the English letters," he remarked. "Did Olivia stop long?"

Betty said the boatman had not arrived, and she had taken the packet to the mole.

"Well, I wanted the thing to go across. I reckon you gave it to Musgrave?"

"I did so," said Betty and noted Jefferson's twinkle. All the same, she thought his taking out his watch was unconscious.

"Perhaps you had better go ahead with the letters," he said.

Betty started her typewriter, but her thoughts were not fixed on what she wrote. She pondered about Wolf and was vaguely disturbed. Kit had laughed at Olivia's warning, but sometimes Kit was confident and rash. After all, it was possible Miss Brown was justified. Then Betty glanced at a letter she took from the machine and tore the sheet across. Jefferson was not fastidious, but he liked his customers to know what he meant. She could think about Wolf and Kit again, and in the meantime must concentrate on her proper duty. Olivia Brown could indulge her romantic imagination when she liked, but Betty was a merchant's clerk.

CHAPTER VII
SHIPPING CAMELS

When the grain was on board Kit went one evening to the agent's house. Yusuf was old and yellow-skinned. His beard was thin and his long hair greasy with scented oil, but he had a touch of dignity. Kit went through a little dark shop to his office and sat on a low, flat-topped couch. An iron chest stood against the opposite wall, and an open lamp hung by chains from the roof. A door with a horseshoe arch and a leather curtain led to the house; the door to the shop was strong and iron-bound. One very narrow window pierced the wall. The Jews have long traded in Morocco, but they know the risk, and Kit generally found it a relief to finish his business and get back to the harbour. Yusuf transacted Wolf's business in the evening, and when Kit arrived the copper lamp was lighted.

Yusuf gave him a little cup of black coffee and a cigarette with a strange, bitter taste. Then he talked about the grain, and presently took a long roll of paper and some documents from the chest.

"This voyage we will give you camels," he said in good Castilian. "You will get them where you got the sheep. Since you will not come back, I will give you the bills of lading for the captain to sign."

"The rule is to sign the bills of lading when the goods are shipped," Kit remarked.

"In this country English rules do not go. A trader must run some risks and you will need proper documents for the Spanish officers."

Kit agreed. Wolf had told him he must trust Yusuf, but he did not, although he was willing to carry out his orders. There was something secretive about the old fellow; one felt strange plans were made in his small dark shop. In fact, Kit would have trusted nobody in the town. The people were a strange, silent lot; the Moors stamped by an inscrutable reserve. The Jews and half-breed Christians looked furtive and afraid. To hear the negroes' noisy talk was a relief, but all was quiet after dark.

"I understand you have some other cargo for us," he remarked.

"That is so. When you go back to your boat you will find the boxes are on board."

Kit thought it strange. His boat lay alongside the little mole, where people could see goods carried down, and since Yusuf had got the cartridges Kit wondered why he had not smuggled them off overland. To use a steamer like Mossamedes to carry a few boxes along the coast was a strange plan; but then the business was all strange.

"Where must we land the goods?" he asked.

"I will show you," said Yusuf, and when he unrolled the long paper Kit saw with some surprise it was a good chart of the African coast.

"You will anchor here and signal," he said, marking a spot. "When you see smoke among the sandhills send off your boat. Afterwards you will steam back to the anchorage you know and wait for the camels."

"But we may wait for some time," Kit objected, noting the distance between the spots.

"I think not. A messenger will be sent and a good camel travels fast," Yusuf replied, and Kit, picking up the chart, started for the harbour.

The night was not dark and when he jumped on board his boat he noted a row of small boxes stowed in the bottom.

"But this stuff is heavy!" said old Miguel, striking a cardboard match.

Kit told him to put out the match, but was relieved to see the boxes were not numerous. Then they had, so to speak, been put on board openly, and Kit felt that after all he need not bother Don Ramon about the thing.

"We will go. Push off," he said.

The men pulled down the harbour. A smooth swell rolled in and two or three anchor lights tossed and swung. By and by engines throbbed in the dark, and Kit saw moving beams of red and green. The French gunboat had arrived the day before, and her launch was coming off from the mole. For a minute or two Kit was disturbed, but the launch steamed by and vanished in the dark. Kit steered for Mossamedes' lights and when he got on board went to the captain's room. Don Erminio, wearing his old English clothes, fronted Macallister in greasy dungarees, and between them some bottles and glasses balanced the swing-table. Kit put down the bills of lading and remarked that he had agreed the captain would sign the documents.

"But of course," said Don Erminio, "when I sign for Señor Wolf, I will sign all you ask. When I sign for me, it is another thing. Then, if I am not cautious, somebody gets my dollars."

"Where are we going?" Macallister asked.

Kit spread out the chart and indicated the spot Yusuf had marked on the curve of a bay. It looked as if landing would not be hard, but although the chart did not give the political frontiers, he imagined the bay was outside the Spanish belt.

"I expect the coast is French. It's awkward; particularly since we carry cartridges."

"Senegal's French," said Macallister. "The rest is nobody's; the strongest tribe uses the ground it wants. Man, they're amusing fellows at the foreign offices. Do they think they can parcel out Africa wi' a gold fountain pen?"

"Sometimes the French foreign office uses the foreign legion."

"Must I teach ye geography? The legion leeves in Algeria, and that's t'ither side the country o' Kaid Maclean."

"It is not important," Don Erminio remarked. "All politicians are animals, and if the Moors shoot somebody with the cartridges, it is not my affair. I will catch fish for baccalao and then my señora will not want much money."

Kit put away the chart and went on deck. He rather envied Don Erminio's philosophical carelessness. The captain did not bother; if he could catch fish and shoot rabbits, he was satisfied. Kit was not like that. His job was to keep things going smoothly, but things did not go smoothly when one left them alone. He was accountable to Wolf and the owners of the ship, and began to see his duties might clash. Walking up and down the boat-deck, he frowned when he heard the clink of glasses and Don Erminio's laugh. Then Macallister began to sing, and Kit went off impatiently to his room.

At daybreak they hove anchor and steamed South along the coast, until one morning a dark line on the port bow indicated land. Then they turned a quarter circle, the line got faint, as if it ran back to the East, and after they took soundings Mossamedes steamed into a wide, shallow bay. Some time after she brought up a plume of smoke blew across the sandhills, a boat was swung out and Kit and the interpreter went ashore. Nothing romantic marked the landing of the cartridges. A few big, dark-skinned men came down the beach, took the boxes from the sailors and vanished in the sand. The boat pulled off and Kit began to think smuggling in Africa was strangely flat.

Then Mossamedes, stopping now and then to use the lead, steamed North dead-slow. They saw no ships, although at times a trail of smoke stained the blue horizon. Liners bound for Cape Town kept deep water, and the captains of the Guinea boats hauled off until they made Cape Verde. The stream of traffic flowed along, but did not touch the forbidding coast.

At length Don Erminio headed cautiously for the beach and Mossamedes dropped anchor in the pool among the sands. For two or three days the captain and Kit went fishing and then, when the smoke signal wavered about the mouth of the wady, Kit went ashore with Miguel in the big cargo launch. In a sense, perhaps, the job was not his, but he felt his responsibility. The camels were his employer's, and he must see them got on board.

The morning was hot, the sea luminous green, streaked by dazzling lines of foam. Sandhills and stony hummocks floated like a mirage in quivering, reflected light. Farther off, dust storms tossed in spirals and dissolved. Now and then the wind got light for a few minutes and Kit felt he could not breathe, but there was no break in the steady beat of the white surge on the beach.

When the rollers began to curl Miguel threw out an anchor, and the boat drove in stern-foremost until the rope brought her up. This was possible because the headland broke the sea, but Kit thought the launch would soon be swamped if the wind backed farther North. The interpreter jumped overboard, and by and by men in fluttering blue and white clothes drove the camels from the wady. When the animals reached the beach all the crew but Miguel went overboard, and the hardest work Kit had known began. The camels knelt while the head-ropes were fixed, but some stretched their long necks and tried to seize his arm with their yellow teeth. They grunted and made savage noises, and when they were driven to the water obstinately stopped.

The single-humped camel can swim, but will not, unless it is forced, and to break the big animal's firm resolve is not easy. Moreover, the launch leaped and plunged and must be hauled off when a large roller came in like a glittering wall. Spray blew about; sometimes the men were knee-deep, and sometimes buried to the shoulders, in angry foam. Now and then Kit was knocked down and washed up the beach among the legs of a floundering camel. In the background, the group of Moors sat on the beach and watched; their dark skins and harshly-coloured clothes distinct in the strong light.

When Miguel was satisfied he could take no more, they hauled off the boat and tied the camels by the short head-ropes along her gunwale. Then the anchor was got up and they began to row, but although they pulled the long oars double-banked, did not make much progress. It looked as if the camels, supported by their halters, were satisfied to be towed. The animals floated awkwardly and their bodies were a heavy drag.

To drive the boat ahead was exhausting labour in the burning sun, and by and by Kit relieved a man whose efforts got slack. His clothes had dried stiff, his hair was full of sand, and the salt had crystallised on his burned skin. At length they stopped abreast of the steamer's gangway and somebody threw a rope. Mossamedes rolled, lifting a long belt of rusty side out of the foam. Sometimes she was high above the boat, and sometimes she sank until the water splashed about the open iron doors. A man, seizing a boathook, stood ready to fend-off the launch; the others got canvas bands under the camels. Then a long derrick swung out and a band was hooked to a wire rope.

"Ahora! Llevadlo!" shouted Miguel and a winch began to rattle.

The rope tightened with a jerk, a camel rose from the water, and for a few moments swung wildly to and fro. The animal looked ridiculous, with its outstretched neck and paddling legs. Then Mossamedes steadied and one heard running wire; the camel sank and vanished and the rope came down again. When all were on board, Miguel started for the beach with a fresh crew, and Kit went to see the animals fastened up and fed. The mate was accountable for their stowing, but camels were worth much at Grand Canary, and Kit imagined his employer's interest was his. Sometimes when he thought about his efforts afterwards, he smiled.

He was occupied until the launch returned and he went ashore again. The tide had risen and the surf was worse, but they got another load. The launch came back half-swamped with the men exhausted and a broken oar, and on her next voyage the crew kept her off the beach until the tide fell. While she rolled and plunged at anchor Kit lay in her bottom and watched the angry combers crash upon the beach.

They brought off the last few animals in the dark and Kit washed away the sand and salt. Three or four dark bruises marked his skin, his hands were blistered and he limped because a camel had stepped upon his foot. All the same, when he put on soft clean clothes he was satisfied. Mossamedes would go to sea at daybreak and it was something to know the job was done.