“Yes.”
“Why did you say what you did about John Graham?
What did the other man mean when he said he should
be hung?”
There was an intense directness in her question which
for a moment astonished him. She had withdrawn
her fingers from his arm, and her slim figure seemed
possessed of a sudden throbbing suspense as she waited
for an answer. They had turned a little, so that
in the light of the moon the almost flowerlike whiteness
of her face was clear to him. With her smooth,
shining hair, the pallor of her face under its lustrous
darkness, and the clearness of her eyes she held Alan
speechless for a moment, while his brain struggled
to seize upon and understand the something about her
which made him interested in spite of himself.
Then he smiled and there was a sudden glitter in his
eyes.
“Did you ever see a dog fight?” he asked.
She hesitated, as if trying to remember, and shuddered
slightly. “Once.”
“What happened?”
“It was my dog—a little dog.
His throat was torn—”
He nodded. “Exactly. And that is just
what John Graham is doing to Alaska, Miss Standish.
He’s the dog—a monster. Imagine
a man with a colossal financial power behind him,
setting out to strip the wealth from a new land and
enslave it to his own desires and political ambitions.
That is what John Graham is doing from his money-throne
down there in the States. It’s the financial
support he represents, curse him! Money—and
a man without conscience. A man who would starve
thousands or millions to achieve his ends. A man
who, in every sense of the word, is a murderer—”
The sharpness of her cry stopped him. If possible,
her face had gone whiter, and he saw her hands clutched
suddenly at her breast. And the look in her eyes
brought the old, cynical twist back to his lips.
“There, I’ve hurt your puritanism again,
Miss Standish,” he said, bowing a little.
“In order to appeal to your finer sensibilities
I suppose I must apologize for swearing and calling
another man a murderer. Well, I do. And
now—if you care to stroll about the ship—”
From a respectful distance the three young engineers
watched Alan and Mary Standish as they walked forward.
“A corking pretty girl,” said one of them,
drawing a deep breath. “I never saw such
hair and eyes—”
“I’m at the same table with them,”
interrupted another. “I’m second on
her left, and she hasn’t spoken three words to
me. And that fellow she is with is like an icicle
out of Labrador.”
And Mary Standish was saying: “Do you know,
Mr. Holt, I envy those young engineers. I wish
I were a man.”
“I wish you were,” agreed Alan amiably.
Whereupon Mary Standish’s pretty mouth lost
its softness for an instant. But Alan did not
observe this. He was enjoying his cigar and the
sweet air.
