“My traders,” Sir Archibald interrupted, quietly, “are trading White Bay and the French Shore.”

“I know it, dad,” Archie began eagerly, “but–––”

“Will you compete with them?” Sir Archibald asked, his eyes wide open. “The Black Eagle sails north on a trading voyage in a fortnight. She’s loading now.”

“That’s all right,” said Archie, blithely. “We’re going to–––”

“Encounter harsh competition,” Sir Archibald put in, dryly. “How will you go about it?”

Archie had been fidgeting in his chair––hardly able to command his politeness.

“A cash trader!” he burst out.

“Ah!” Sir Archibald drawled, enlightened. “I see. I see-ee!”

“We’ll be the only cash trader on the coast, dad,” Archie continued; “and we’ll advertise––and carry a phonograph––and sell under the credit prices––and–––”

Sir Archibald whistled in chagrin.

“And we’ll make good,” Archie concluded.

“You little pirate!” Sir Archibald ejaculated.

By and by, his face clearing, Sir Archibald sat down at the desk again.

“How much do you want?” he asked, directly.

Archie took a grip on the arms of his chair and clenched his teeth. It took a good deal of resolution to utter the amount.

“Well, well?” Sir Archibald impatiently demanded.

“A thousand dollars,” said Archie, grimly.

Sir Archibald started.

“Two hundred and fifty dollars in cash,” Archie added, “and seven hundred and fifty in credit at the warehouse.”

“What’s the security?” Sir Archibald blandly inquired.

“Security!” Archie gasped.

“It is a customary consideration in business,” said Sir Archibald.

“Well, sir,” said Archie, by and by, his face clearing as he sat down, “I could offer you security, and good enough security, but it doesn’t seem quite fair.”

Sir Archibald asked the nature of the bond.

“I have a pony and cart, a motor boat and a sloop yacht,” Archie replied, grinning. “I ’low,” he drawled, with a sly drooping of his eyelids, “that they’re worth more than a thousand dollars. Eh, father? What do you think?”

Sir Archibald guffawed.

“The trouble is,” Archie went on, seriously, “that you gave them to me; and it doesn’t seem fair to you to offer them as security. But I tell you, dad,” he declared, “if we don’t make good in this trading cruise I’ll sell those things and do without ’em. It isn’t fair, I know––it seems pretty mean to you––it looks as if I didn’t care for what you’ve given me. But I do care; and you know I care. The trouble is that I want awfully to go trading.”

“Except mother,” said Archie. “But,” he added, hastily, “I wouldn’t––I won’t––drag a lady into this.”

Sir Archibald threw back his head and roared.

“What you laughing at, dad?” Archie asked, a little offended, if a quick flush meant anything.

“I’m sure,” his father replied, “that the lady wouldn’t mind.”

“No,” said Archie, grave with his little problem of honour; “but I wouldn’t let a lady in for a thing like that.”

“Son,” said Sir Archibald, now all at once turning very serious, “you have better security than your pony and sloop.”

Archie looked up in bewilderment.

“It is your integrity,” Sir Archibald explained, gently, “and your efficiency.”

Archie flushed with pleasure.

“These are great things to possess,” said Sir Archibald.

“Thank you, sir,” said Archie, rising in acknowledgment of this hearty compliment.

The lad was genuinely moved.

In Which the Honour of Archie Armstrong Becomes Involved, the First of September Becomes a Date of Utmost Importance, He Collides With Tom Tulk, and a Note is Made in the Book of the Future

Sir Archibald began again to tap the desk with his finger-tips. Archie strayed to the broad window and looked out upon the wharves and harbour.

“Is that the Black Eagle at the wharf?” he asked.

“The Black Eagle, sure enough!” Sir Archibald laughed. “She’s the White Bay and French Shore trader.”

“Trade enough for all,” Archie returned.

“George Rumm, master,” said Sir Archibald.

“Still?” Archie exclaimed.

The sailing reputation of Skipper George had been in question through the season. He had come within six inches of losing the Black Eagle in a small gale of the last voyage.

“Who’s clerk?” Archie asked.

No friend of Archie!

“Sharp enough, anyhow,” the boy thought.

Sir Archibald put his hands in his pockets again and began to pace the floor; his lips were pursed, his brows drawn. Archie waited anxiously at the window.

“When,” demanded Sir Archibald, pausing abruptly in his walk––“when do you propose to liquidate this debt?”

“We’ll sail the Spot Cash into St. John’s harbour, sir, on September first, or before.”

“With three hundred quintals of fish in her hold, I suppose?”

Three hundred quintals of dry fish, at four dollars, roughly, a quintal, was twelve hundred dollars.

“More than that, sir,” said Archie.

“Well, boy,” said Sir Archibald, briskly, “the security I have spoken of is all right, and–––”

“Not worth much at auction sale,” Archie interrupted, grinning.

“There’s no better security in the world,” said Sir Archibald, “than youth, integrity and capacity.”

Archie waited.

“Father,” Archie declared, his eyes shining with a little mist of delight and affection, “I’ll stand by this thing for all I’m worth!”

They shook hands upon it.

Sir Archibald presently wrote a check and scribbled a few lines on a slip of paper. The check was for two hundred and fifty dollars; it was for running expenses and emergencies that Archie needed the hard cash. The slip of paper was an order upon the warehouses and shops for credit in the sum of seven hundred and fifty dollars.

“Now,” said Sir Archibald, “it is explicitly understood between us that on or before the first of September you are to turn over to the firm of Armstrong & Company a sufficient quantity of properly cured fish to liquidate this account.”

“Yes, sir,” Archie replied, earnestly; “on or before the first day of September next.”

“You perfectly understand the terms?” Sir Archibald insisted. “You know the nature of this obligation?”

“Yes, sir.”

Archie received the two slips of paper. It must be confessed that they burned his fingers a little. It was a good deal to come into possession of all at once––a good deal of money and an awe-inspiring responsibility. Sir Archibald watched the boy’s face narrowly. He seemed to be pleased with what he found there––a little fear, a little anxiety, a great deal of determination. The veteran business man wondered if the boy would sleep as easily as usual that night. Would he wake up fresh and smiling in the morning? These were large cares to lie upon the shoulders of a lad.

“Shall I give you a––well––a receipt––or a note––or anything like that?” Archie asked.

“You are upon your honour,” said his father.

Archie scratched his head in doubt.

“Your honour,” Sir Archibald repeated, smiling.

“The first of September,” Archie laughed. “I shan’t forget that date.”

In the end he had good cause to remember it.

All this never failed to oppress Archie a little as viewed from the broad window of his father’s office.

“Look!” said Sir Archibald, moving a hand to include the shipping and storehouses.

“What do you see?” his father asked, in a way half bantering, half grave.

“Your ships and wharves, sir.”

“Some day,” said Sir Archibald, “they will be yours.”

“I wish you wouldn’t say that, dad––at least, not just in that way,” said Archie, turning away from the window. “It sort of frightens me.”

Sir Archibald laughed and clapped him on the back. “You know what I mean,” said he.

“You mean that the firm has a name,” said Archie. “You mean that the name must never be disgraced. I know what you mean.”

Sir Archibald nodded.

“I hope,” said Archie, the suspicion of a quaver in his voice and a tremble in his lower lip, “that I’ll never disgrace it.”

“Nor the name of the little firm that goes into business this day,” said Sir Archibald.

Archie’s solemn face broke into a smile of amusement and surprise. “Why, dad,” said he, “it hasn’t got a name.”

“Armstrong & Company, Junior?”

“Armstrong, Topsail, Grimm & Company,” said Archie, promptly.

“No; that’s not it at all,” said Archie. “Billy Topsail schemed this thing out. Wish luck to the firm of Topsail, Armstrong, Grimm & Company.”

“Build the firm,” said Sir Archibald, “upon hard work and fair play.”

Archie hurriedly said they would––and vanished.

“Son is growing up,” thought Sir Archibald, when the boy had gone. “Son is decidedly growing up. Well, well!” he sighed; “son is growing up and in far more trouble than he dreams of. It’s a big investment, too. However,” he thought, well pleased and cheerful again, “let him go ahead and learn his daddy’s business. And I’ll back him,” he declared, speaking aloud in his enthusiastic faith. “By Jove! I’ll back him to win!”

“Hello, Skipper George!” he cried, buoyantly. “I’ll see you on the French Shore.”

“Goin’ north?” Skipper George drawled.

“Tradin’,” said Archie.

Skipper George started. Tom Tulk scowled. “Goin’ aboard the Black Eagle?” asked Skipper George.

“Tradin’ on my own hook, Skipper George,” said Archie; “and I’m bound to cut your throat on the Shore.”

Tom Tulk and Skipper George exchanged glances as Archie darted away. There was something of relief in Skipper George’s eyes––a relieved and teasing little smile. But Tom Tulk was frankly angry.

It was written in the book of the future that Skipper George Rumm and Archie Armstrong should fall in with each other on the north coast before the summer was over.

In Which Notorious Tom Tulk o’ Twillingate and the Skipper of the “Black Eagle” Put Their Heads Together Over a Glass of Rum in the Cabin of a French Shore Trader

Add to these evil propensities a deformed body and a crimson countenance and you have the shadow of an idea of old Tom Tulk.

George Rumm and Tom Tulk boarded the Black Eagle in the rain and sought the shelter of her little cabin. The cook had made a fire for the skipper; the cabin was warm and quiet. Tom Tulk closed the door with caution and glanced up to see that the skylights were tight. Skipper George produced the bottle and glasses.

“Now, Skipper George,” said Tom Tulk, as he tipped the bottle, “’tis a mint o’ money an’ fair easy t’ make.”

“I’m not likin’ the job,” the skipper complained. “I’m not likin’ the job at all.”

“’Tis an easy one,” Tom Tulk maintained, “an’ ’tis well paid when ’tis done.”

Skipper George scowled in objection.

Skipper George laughed. “Is you thinkin’ t’ drive me by makin’ fun o’ me?” he asked.

“I’m thinkin’ nothin’,” Tom Tulk replied, “but t’ show you how it can be done. Will you listen t’ me?”

“Not me!” George Rumm declared.

Tom Tulk observed, however, that the skipper’s ears were wide open.

“Not me!” Skipper George repeated, with a loud thump on the table. “No, sir! I’ll have nothin’ t’ do with it!”

Tom Tulk fancied that the skipper’s ears were a little bit wider than before; he was not at all deceived by this show of righteousness on the part of a weak man.

“Well, well!” he sighed. “Say no more about it.”

“I’m not denyin’,” said Skipper George, “that it could be done. I’m not denyin’ that it would be easy work. But I tells you, Tom Tulk, that I’ll have nothin’ t’ do with it. I’m an honest man, Tom Tulk, an’ I’d thank you t’ remember it.”

“Many a man, if you like,” Skipper George growled; “but not me.”

“No, no,” Tom Tulk agreed, with a covert little sneer and grin; “not you.”

“’Tis a prison offense, man!”

“If you’re cotched,” Tom Tulk laughed. “An’ tell me, George Rumm, is I ever been cotched?”

“I’m not sayin’ you is.”

“No; nor never will be.”

“Now, Tom Tulk,” said he, at last, flushing angrily, “let’s have no more o’ this. I’m fair tired of it. I’ll have nothin’ t’ do with it; an’ I tells you so, once an’ for all.”

“Pass the bottle,” said Tom Tulk.

The bottle went from hand to hand.

“We’ll say no more about it,” said Tom Tulk; “but I tells you, Skipper George, that that little clerk o’ yours, Tommy Bull, is just the ticket. As for a crew, I got un handy.”

“Belay, belay!”

“Ay, ay, Skipper George,” Tom Tulk agreed; “but as for fetchin’ a cargo o’ fish into St. John’s harbour without tellin’ where it came from, if there’s any man can beat me at that, why, I’d–––”

Skipper George got up and pulled open the hatch.

Skipper George of the Black Eagle helped himself to another dram when Tom Tulk had withdrawn his great body and sly face. It was true, all that Tom Tulk had said. It was true about the clerk; he was ripe to go bad. It was true about the crew; with hands scarce, and able-bodied young fellows bound to the Sidney mines for better wages, Skipper George could ship whom he liked and Tom Tulk chose. It was true about fetching fish into St. John’s without accounting whence it came. Tom Tulk could do it; nobody would ask eccentric old Tom Tulk where he got his fish––everybody would laugh. It was true about the skipper himself; it was quite true that his reputation was none of the best as a sailing-master. But he had never lost a ship yet. They might say he had come near it, if they liked; but he had never lost a ship yet. No, sir; he had never lost a ship yet. Nor would he. He’d fetch the Black Eagle home, right enough, and show Sir Archibald Armstrong!

“Hang Tom Tulk!” thought he.

But how easy, after all, the thing would be!

The first hand put his head in the hatchway to tell Skipper George that he was to report to Sir Archibald Armstrong in the office at once. Skipper George was not quite easy about the three drams he had taken; but there was nothing for it but to appear in the office without delay. As a matter of fact Sir Archibald Armstrong detected nothing out of the way. He had something to say to Skipper George about the way to sail a schooner––about timid sailing, and reckless sailing, and feeling about in fogs, and putting out to sea, and running for harbour. When he had finished––and he spoke long and earnestly, with his blue eyes flashing, his head in the air, his teeth snapping once in a while––when Sir Archibald had finished, Skipper George was standing with his cap in his hand, his face flushed, answering, “Yes, sir,” and, “No, sir,” in a way of the meekest. When he left the office he was unpleasantly aware that he was face to face with his last chance. In this new trouble he forgot all about Tom Tulk.

He mused a long time.

“I will do better,” he determined. “I’ll show un that I can sail a schooner.”

Before he stowed away for the night, a little resentment crept into his thoughts of Sir Archibald. He had never felt this way before.

“I got t’ stop this,” he thought.

Tom Tulk was then dreaming over a glass of rum; and his dreams were pleasant dreams––concerning Skipper George of the Black Eagle.

In Which the Enterprise of Archie Armstrong Evolves Señor Fakerino, the Greatest Magician In Captivity. In Which, also, the Foolish are Importuned Not to be Fooled, Candy is Promised to Kids, Bill o’ Burnt Bay is Persuaded to Tussle With “The Lost Pirate,” and the “Spot Cash” Sets Sail

For three dismal, foggy days, Archie Armstrong was the busiest business man in St. John’s, Newfoundland. He was forever damp, splashed with mud, grimy-faced, wilted as to clothes and haggard as to manner. But make haste he must; there was not a day––not an hour––to spare: for it was now appallingly near August; and the first of September would delay for no man. When, with the advice of Sir Archibald and the help of every man-jack in the warehouses (even of the rat-eyed little Tommy Bull), the credit of Topsail, Armstrong, Grimm & Company had been exhausted to the last penny, Archie sighed in a thoroughly self-satisfied way, pulled out his new check-book and plunged into work of another sort.

“I’m a little bit bent, dad,” Archie replied, “but not yet broke.”

Sir Archibald looked concerned.

“Advertising,” Archie briefly explained.

“But,” said Sir Archibald, in protest, “nobody has ever advertised in White Bay before.”

“Somebody is just about to,” Archie laughed.

Sir Archibald was puzzled. “Wh-wh-what for?” he inquired. “What kind of advertising?”

“Handbills, dad, and concerts, and flags, and circus-lemonade.”

“Nothing more, son?” Sir Archibald mocked.

“Señor Fakerino,” Archie replied, with a smack of self-satisfaction, “the World’s Greatest Magician.”

“The same being?”

“Yours respectfully, A. Armstrong.”

Sir Archibald shrugged his shoulders. Then his eyes twinkled, his sides began to shake, and he threw back his head and burst into a roar of laughter, in which Archie and his mother––they were all at dinner––joined him.

Sir Archibald admitted the good prospect.

“Pity the poor Black Eagle!” said Archie, grinning.

Lady Armstrong finished Señor Fakerino’s gorgeously spangled crimson robe and high-peaked hat that night and Archie completed a very masterpiece of white beard. Afterwards, Archie packed his trunks. When he turned in at last, outward bound next day by the cross-country mixed train, he had the satisfaction of knowing that he had stowed the phonograph, the printing-press and type, the signal flags, the magical apparatus and Fakerino costume and the new accordion; and he knew––for he had taken pains to find out––that the stock of trading goods, which he had bought with most anxious discrimination, was packed and directed and waiting at the station, consigned to Topsail, Armstrong, Grimm & Company, General Merchants, Ruddy Cove, Newfoundland.

When the mail-boat made Ruddy Cove, Archie was landed, in overflowing spirits, with his boxes and bales and barrels and trunks and news. The following days were filled with intense activity. Topsail, Armstrong, Grimm & Company chartered the On Time in due form; and with the observance of every legal requirement she was given a new name, the Spot Cash. They swept and swabbed her, fore and aft; they gave her a line or two of gay paint; they fitted her cabin with shelves and a counter and her forecastle with additional bunks; and Bill o’ Burnt Bay went over her rigging and spars. While Jimmie Grimm, Bobby North and Bagg unpacked the stock and furnished the cabin shelves and stowed the hold, Billy Topsail and Archie turned to on the advertising.

The printing-press was set up in Mrs. Skipper William’s fish-stage. Billy Topsail––who had never seen the like––stared open-mouthed at the operation.

“We got to make ’em buy,” Archie declared.

“H-h-how?” Billy stammered.

“We got to make ’em want to,” said Archie. “They’ll trade if they want to.”

“How’s this?” Archie asked, at last.

Billy listened to the reading.

“Will that fetch ’em aboard?” Archie demanded, anxiously.

“It would my mother,” said the astonished Billy. “I’d fetch her, bet yer life!”

They laboriously set up the handbill and triumphantly struck it off:

“That’ll fetch ’em, all right!” Archie declared. “Now for the concert.”

Billy had another shock of surprise. “Th-th what?” he ejaculated.

“Me!” poor Billy exclaimed in large alarm.

“And Skipper Bill is, too,” Archie went on; “and Bagg’s going to double-shuffle, and Bobby North is going to shake that hornpipe out of his feet, and Jimmie Grimm is going to recite ‘Sailor Boy, Sailor Boy,’ and I’m going to do a trifling little stunt myself. I’m Señor Fakerino, Billy,” Archie laughed, “the Greatest Magician in Captivity. Just you wait and see. I think I’ll have a bill all to myself.”

Archie scowled and scribbled again with a result that presently made him chuckle. It appeared in the handbill (after some desperately hard work) in this guise:

It was late in the afternoon before the last handbill was off the press; and Billy Topsail then looked more like a black-face comedian than senior member of the ambitious firm of Topsail, Armstrong, Grimm & Company. Archie was no better––perspiring, ink-stained, tired in head and hands. But the boys were delighted with what they had accomplished. There were two other productions: one announcing the concert and the other an honest and quiet comparison of cash and credit prices with a fair exposition of the virtue and variety of the merchandise to be had aboard the Spot Cash.

When Bill o’ Burnt Bay, however, was shown the concert announcement and informed, much to his amazement, that it was down in the articles of agreement, as between him, master of the Spot Cash, and the firm of Topsail, Armstrong, Grimm & Company––down in black and white in the articles of agreement which he was presumed to have signed––down and no dodging it––that he was to sing “The Lost Pirate” when required––Bill o’ Burnt Bay was indignant and flatly resigned his berth.

“Eh?” Bill gasped, chagrined. “What’s that?”

“Better to have Billy sing twice,” Archie repeated indifferently.

Bill o’ Burnt Bay glared at Billy Topsail.

“Billy Topsail,” said Archie, in a way the most careless, “has the neatest little pipe on the coast.”

“I’ll have you to know,” Bill o’ Burnt Bay snorted, “that they’s many a White Bay liveyere would pay a dime t’ hear me have a tussle with ‘The Lost Pirate.’”

Archie whistled.

“Look you, Archie!” Skipper Bill demanded; “is you goin’ t’ let me sing, or isn’t you?”

“I is,” Archie laughed.

That was the end of the mutiny.

“Come on, lads!” Archie shouted, when the anchor was down and all sail stowed. “Let’s put these dodgers where they’ll do most good.”

The handbills were faithfully distributed before the punts of Coachman’s came in from the fishing grounds; and that night, to an audience that floated in punts in the quiet water, just beyond the schooner’s stern, and by the light of four torches, Topsail, Armstrong, Grimm & Company presented their first entertainment in pursuit of business, the performers operating upon a small square stage which Bill o’ Burnt Bay had rigged on the house of the cabin.

It was a famous evening.

In Which the Amazing Operations of the “Black Eagle” Promise to Ruin the Firm of Topsail, Armstrong, Grimm & Company, and Archie Armstrong Loses His Temper and Makes a Fool of Himself

Trade was brisk next day––and continued brisk for a fortnight. From Coachman’s Cove to Seal Cove, from Seal Cove to Black Arm, from Black Arm to Harbour Round and Little Harbour Deep went the Spot Cash. She entered with gay signal flags and a multitude of little Union Jacks flying; and no sooner was the anchor down than the phonograph began its musical invitation to draw near and look and buy. And there was presently candy for the children; and there were undeniable bargains for the mothers. In the evening––under a quiet starlit sky––Skipper Bill “tussled” gloriously with “The Lost Pirate,” and Bobby North shook the hornpipe out of his very toes, and Bill Topsail wistfully piped the well-loved old ballads of the coast in a tender treble; and after that Señor Fakerino created no end of mystification and applause by extracting half-dollars from the vacant air, and discovering three small chicks in an empty top-hat, and producing eggs at will from Bagg’s capacious mouth, and with a mere wave of his wand changing the blackest of ink into the very most delicious of lemonade. The folk of that remote coast were delighted. They had never been amused before; and they craved amusement––like little children.

Trade followed as a matter of course.

Trade was brisk as any heart could wish up the White Bay coast to the first harbours of the northern reaches of the French Shore; and there it came to an appalling full stop. The concerts were patronized as before; but no fish came aboard for exchange.

“I can’t bear to look the calendar in the face,” Archie complained.

The Spot Cash then lay at anchor in Englee.

“’Tis the fifth o’ August,” said Billy Topsail.

“Whew!” Archie whistled. “Sixteen days to the first of September!”

“What’s the matter, anyhow?” Skipper Bill inquired.

“Stand by, all hands!” roared the skipper.

“What’s up, skipper?” asked Archie.

“Nothin’,” replied the skipper; “that’s the trouble. But the mains’l will be up afore very long if there’s a rope’s end handy,” he added. “We’ll chase the Black Eagle.”

“Isn’t fair!” Archie complained, aboard the Spot Cash. “It’s dirty business, I tell you.”

“Let’s fire away, anyhow,” said Jimmie Grimm.

“It isn’t fair of dad,” Archie repeated, coming as near to the point of tears as a boy of his age well could. “It’s a low trick to cut a small trader’s throat like this. They can outsail us and keep ahead of us; and they’ll undersell and overbuy us wherever we go. When they’ve put us out of business, they’ll go back to the old prices. It isn’t fair of dad,” he burst out. “I tell you, it isn’t fair!”

“Lend a hand here,” said Bill. “We’ll see what they do.”

“Look at that!” said Archie, in disgust.

Both crews laughed and gave it up.

“It isn’t like your dad,” said Bill o’ Burnt Bay. “I’ll lay you alongside the Black Eagle, Archie,” he added, “an’ you can have a little yarn with Skipper George.”

This last thrust was too much for Archie’s dignity. He leaped from the deck of the Black Eagle into his own punt in a greater rage than ever.

“There’s t’ be a spell o’ rough weather,” were Skipper George’s last words.

The punt moved away.

“Skipper Bill,” said Archie, “the nearest telegraph station is at Tilt Cove. Can we make it in a night?”

“If the wind holds,” the skipper answered.

“Then we’ll try,” said Archie.

Next morning––and dirty weather was promised for the day––the Spot Cash dropped anchor in the shelter of the cliff at Tilt Cove and Billy Topsail pulled Archie ashore. It was in Archie’s heart to accuse his father’s firm of harsh dealing with a small competitor; but he resolved to do no more than ask the price of fish. The answer would be significant of all that the lad wished to know; and if the great firm of Armstrong & Company had determined to put obstacles in the way of Topsail, Armstrong, Grimm & Company, even to the point of ruin, there was no help for Topsail, Armstrong, Grimm & Company. Archie would ask no quarter.

“Make haste!” Skipper Bill called from the deck of the Spot Cash. “I’ve no love for this harbour in a gale o’ wind.”

“Much as I can,” Archie shouted back.

The boy sent this telegram:

There was now nothing to do but wait. Sir Archibald would be in his little office overlooking his wharves and shipping. It would not be long. And the reply presently came:

But Armstrong & Company could not manage to communicate with the Black Eagle direct, it seemed. Armstrong & Company might, however, communicate with the Spot Cash, now at Tilt Cove and possibly bound north. Doubtless by favour of the clerk of the Spot Cash Armstrong & Company would be able to speak orders in the ear of Skipper George Rumm.

“Judd!” Sir Archibald roared.

The pale little clerk appeared on the bound.

“Rush this,” said Sir Archibald.

The message read: