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Page 15
"Well, I shall hear all about it from her father," he concluded.
And all in good time he did.
CHAPTER IV
PIRATES AND PRIVATE SECRETARIES
It was a little station made gloomy by a single light. Once in so
often a fast train stopped, if properly flagged. Fitzgerald, feeling
wholly unromantic, now that he had arrived, dropped his hand-bag on the
damp platform and took his bearings. It was after sundown. The sea,
but a few yards away, was a murmuring, heaving blackness, save where
here and there a wave broke. The wind was chill, and there was the
hint of a storm coming down from the northeast.
"Any hotel in this place?" he asked of the ticket agent, the telegraph
operator, and the baggageman, who was pushing a crate of vegetables off
a truck.
"Swan's Hotel; only one."
"Do people sleep and eat there?"
"If they have good digestions."
"Much obliged."
"Whisky's no good, either."
"Thanks again. This doesn't look much like a summer resort."
"Nobody ever said it was. I beg your pardon, but would you mind taking
an end of this darned crate?"
"Not at all." Fitzgerald was beginning to enjoy himself. "Where do
you want it?"
"In here," indicating the baggage-room. "Thanks. Now, if there's
anything I can do to help you in return, let her go."
"Is there a house hereabouts called the top o' the hill?"
"Come over here," said the agent. "See that hill back there, quarter
of a mile above the village; those three lights? Well, that's it.
They usually have a carriage down here when they're expecting any one."
"Who owns it?"
"Old Admiral Killigrew. Didn't you know it?"
"Oh, Admiral Killigrew; yes, of course. I'm not a guest. Just going
up there on business. Worth about ten millions, isn't he?"
"That and more. There's his yacht in the harbor. Oh, he could burn up
the village, pay the insurance, and not even knock down the quality of
his cigars. He's the best old chap out. None of your red-faced,
yo-hoing, growling seadogs; just a kindly, generous old sailor, with
only one bee in his bonnet."
"What sort of bee?"
"Pirates!" in a ghostly whisper.
"Pirates? Oh, say, now!" with a protest.
"Straight as a die. He's got the finest library on piracy in the
world, everything from _The Pirates of Penzance_ to _The Life of
Morgan_."
"But there's no pirate afloat these days."
"Not on the high seas, no. It's just the old man's pastime. Every so
often, he coals up the yacht, which is a seventeen-knotter, and goes
off to the South Seas, hunting for treasures."
"By George!" Fitzgerald whistled softly. "Has he ever found any?"
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