“Well, you won’t miss it any more.  Now help me put these things back in the safe and we’ll go home.  Yes, home!  Tomorrow morning—­this morning, I mean—­we’ll talk and I’ll tell you some of my plans.  Oh, yes!  I have plans and I am in hopes they may do great things for Hamilton and Company.  But no more talk tonight.  Remember, the skipper is back on board!”

So to the house they went and to bed, the Captain and Mr. Hamilton under protest.

CHAPTER XX

Neither Mary nor the Captain nor Mr. Hamilton slept much of the few hours until daylight, and Captain Shadrach, who was devoured with curiosity concerning the plans, would have asked particulars before breakfast, but Mary would not listen to questions.  It was not until breakfast was over and they were back in the store that she consented to discuss the subject.

The safe was reopened and the books and papers spread out upon the desk.  Mary took up one of the sheets of paper; it was covered with rows of figures in her handwriting.

“Now,” she said, “it seems to me that the first thing is to find out exactly where we stand.  When I say ‘we,’” she added, with a nod of great importance, “I mean ‘we,’ because, as I told you last night, I am a silent partner in the business now.”

“Don’t seem to be so terrible much silence,” observed Shadrach dryly.

“Hush!  Another remark of that kind and I shall set you to sweeping out, Uncle Shad.  Now, Uncle Zoeth, according to the books this is what we owe.”

She read from the paper in her hand.

“That is the total, Uncle Zoeth, isn’t it?” she asked.  Zoeth groaned and admitted that he cal’lated it was nigh enough.

“Yes.  But this,” holding up another sheet of paper, “is what is owed us, and it is almost as much as the other.”

It was Shadrach’s turn to groan. “’Tis if we could get a-hold of it,” he muttered.  “The heft of the gang on that list ain’t got a cent and the bulk of the rest of ’em wouldn’t have if they paid what they owed.”

Mary nodded determinedly.

“There are some that can pay,” she said.  “Jeremiah Clifford, for instance.  According to the books he owes us over a hundred and ten dollars and part of the account is three years old.  Mr. Clifford owns property.  He can’t be a poor man.”

The Captain sniffed.  “His wife owns the property,” he said.  “Every stick’s in her name.  Jerry Clifford’s got enough, but he loves it too well to let go of it.  Mean!  Why, say!  In the old days, when fishin’ schooners used to run from South Harniss here, Jerry he was owner and skipper of a little hooker and Solon Black went one v’yage with him.  There was another fo’mast hand besides Jerry and Solon aboard and Solon swears that all the hearty provision Jerry put on board for a four-day trip was two sticks of smoked herrin’.  For two days, so Solon vows, they ate the herrin’ and the other two they chewed the sticks.  That may be stretchin’ it a mite, but anyhow it goes to show that Jerry Clifford don’t shed money same as a cat does its hair.”