On the promenade outside he met Sloan, the wireless
operator, on his way to Captain Henshaw’s cabin
with a slip of paper in his hand. Sloan winked
at him broadly.
“The good news has come, sir,” he grinned.
“Take a look at this!”
And McTee eagerly read the typewritten slip.
Beatrice is rallying. Doctors have decided
effusion of blood was not hemorrhage. Opinion
now very hopeful.
“Will that bring the old boy around for a while?”
asked Sloan.
“He’ll slip you a twenty on the strength
of that and give you a drink as well,” said
McTee.
They reached the cabin and entered together to find
that White Henshaw lay on the couch in the corner.
His physical strength was apparently exhausted, and
one long, lean arm dangled to the floor. At sight
of the dreaded wireless operator with the message
in his hand, his yellow face turned from yellow to
pale ivory. He rose and supported himself with
one hand against the wall, scowling as if he dared
them to notice his weakness.
“Good news!” called Sloan cheerily, and
extended the paper.
The captain snatched the paper, his eyes were positively
wolfish while he devoured the message.
“Sloan—good lad,” he stammered.
“Stay by your instrument every minute, my boy.
Before night we’ll have word that she’s
past all danger.”
Sloan touched his cap and withdrew.
“Good news!” said McTee amiably.
“I’m mighty glad to hear it, captain.”
The old man fell back into a chair, holding the precious
piece of paper with its written lie in both trembling
hands.
“Good news,” he croaked. “Aye,
McTee. You were right, lad! Those damned
doctors don’t know their business. They’re
making the case out bad so they’ll get more
credit for the cure. See how they’re fooling
with me— and me with my heart on fire in
the middle of the sea!”
His eyes wandered strangely in the midst of his exultation.
“That would be a strange death, eh, McTee—to
burn in the middle of the sea with a ship full of
gold?”
The Scotchman shuddered.
“Forget that, man. You’re not going
to burn at sea. You’re going to reach port
with all your gold and you’re going to stand
beside Beatrice and say—”
Henshaw broke in: “And say, ’Beatrice,
I’ve come to make you happy. We’ll
leave this country where the fogs are so thick and
the sun never shines, and we’ll go south, far
south, where there’s summer all the year.’
That’s what I’ll say!”
“Right,” nodded McTee. “If
her lungs are weak, that’s the place to take
her.”
Henshaw jerked erect in his chair. “Weak
lungs? Who said she had weak lungs? McTee,
you’re a fool! A little cold on the chest,
that’s all that’s the matter with the
girl! The doctors have made the sickness—
they and their rotten medicines! And now they’re
making sport out of White Henshaw. I’ll
skin them alive, I will!”
