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Page 45
"Fake pride," rebuked the girl.
"I suppose it is."
"Your father had none. Long after the smash he'd hunt me up for a
week's fishing. Isn't she a beauty?" pointing to the yacht.
"She is," the young man agreed, with his admiration leveled at the
lovely profile of the girl.
"Let me see," began the admiral; "there will be Mr. and Mrs. Coldfield,
first-class sailors, both of them. What's the name of that singer who
is with them?"
"Hildegarde von Mitter."
"Of the Royal Opera in Munich?" asked Fitzgerald.
"Yes. Have you met her? Isn't she lovely?"
"I have only heard of her."
"And Arthur Cathewe," concluded the admiral.
"Cathewe? That will be fine," Fitzgerald agreed aloud. But in his
heart he swore he would never forgive Arthur for this trick. And he
knew all the time! "He's the best friend I have. A great hunter, with
a reputation which reaches from the Carpathians to the Himalayas, from
Abyssinia to the Congo."
"He is charming and amusing. Only, he is very shy."
At four that afternoon Captain Flanagan presented his respects. The
admiral was fond of the old fellow, a friendship formed in the blur of
battle-smoke. He had often been criticized for officering his yacht
with such a gruff, rather illiterate man, when gentlemen were to be had
for the asking. But Flanagan was a splendid seaman, and the admiral
would not have exchanged him for the smartest English naval-reserve
afloat. There was never a bend in Flanagan's back; royalty and
commonalty were all the same to him. And those who came to criticize
generally remained to admire; for Flanagan was the kind of sailor fast
disappearing from the waters, a man who had learned his seamanship
before the mast.
"Captain, how long will it take us to reach Funchal in the Madieras?"
"Well, Commodore, give us a decent sea an' we can make 'er in fourteen
days. But I thought we wus goin' t' th' Banks, sir?"
"Changed my plans. We'll put out in twelve days. Everything
shipshape?"
"Up to the buntin', sir, and down to her keel. I sh'd say about
six-hundred tons; an' mebbe twelve days instead of fourteen. An'
what'll be our course after Madeery, sir?"
"Ajaccio, Corsica."
"Yessir."
If the admiral had said the Antarctic, Flanagan would never have batted
an eye.
"You have spoken the crew?"
"Yessir; deep-sea men, too, sir. Halloran 'll have th' injins as us'l,
sir. Shall I run 'er up t' N' York fer provisions? I got your list."
"Triple the order. I'll take care of the wine and tobacco."
"All right, sir."
"That will be all. Have a cigar."
"Thank you, sir. What's the trouble?" extending a pudgy hand toward
the chimney.
"I'll tell you all about that later. Send up that man Donovan again."
It occurred to the admiral that it would not be a bad plan to cover Mr.
Donovan's palm. They had forgotten all about him. He had overheard.
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