That was Saturday evening. The crew of the Johnnie had been told just after the race by the skipper that he would not need them again until Monday. Scattering on that, some going to Boston, they could not be got together again until Monday morning, and it was not until Monday noon that we got away.

We fitted out as though for a Cape Shore seining trip, and that’s what we were to do in case we missed the Flamingo or could not persuade her skipper or Maurice himself that he ought to leave her and come back on the Johnnie Duncan. It was Clancy who had the matter in charge. Indeed, it was only Clancy who knew what it was really all about.

We had a good run-off before a stiff westerly that gradually hauled to the north, and Tuesday night late saw us in Halifax Harbor. It was too late to do anything that night, but Clancy went ashore to find out what he could. Before sunrise he was back with word to break out the anchor and put to sea. He had word of the Flamingo.

“That girl of Dave’s––it seems she’s moved to Canso with her folks, and Dave’s gone there. He’s probably there before this––maybe left again. She’s an old plug, the Flamingo, but she ought’ve made Canso before this. He only stayed a few hours here and left Monday.”

It was bang, bang, bang all the way to Canso, with Clancy swearing at Withrow and the Flamingo and Dave Warner and the girl in the case––one after the other and sometimes all together. “Blast Withrow and that crazy fool Dave Warner, too. And why in the devil couldn’t her folks stayed in Gloucester––or in Halifax, at least. They ought’ve put a few sticks of dynamite in her and blown her to pieces ages ago. She’s forty years old if she’s a day––her old planks rotten. They won’t keep her afloat over-night if they’re out in this. Why d’y’s’pose people leave a good lively little city like Halifax to go to a place like Canso? Why?”

Andie Howe happened to be within hearing, and “Maybe the rent’s cheaper,” suggested Andie.

“Maybe it is––and maybe if you don’t talk sense I’ll heave you over the rail some fine day. Better give her a grain more fore-sheet. Man, but it’s a wicked night.”

We made Canso after the worst day and night we had had in the Johnnie Duncan since she was 291 launched. Outside Canso Harbor it looked bad. We didn’t think the skipper would try to enter the harbor that black night, but he did. “Got to go in and get news,” said Clancy, and in we went. It was as black as could be––squalls sweeping down––and Canso is not the easiest harbor in the world to make at night.

I went ashore with Clancy to hear what the young woman might have to say. We found her in a place run by her father, a sort of lodging house and “pub,” with herself serving behind the bar––a bold-looking young woman, not over-neat––and yet attractive in her way––good figure, regular features, and good color. “There, Joe, if you brought a girl like that home your mother would probably die of a broken heart, but there’s the kind that a foolish man like Dave Warner would sell his soul for.” Then Clancy explained while we were waiting for her to see us privately, “I don’t know if she’ll remember me, but I met her two or three times in Gloucester.”

When she came in she recognized Clancy right away. “How do you do, Captain Clancy?”

“How do you do, Miss Luce? My friend, Mr. Buckley. Now what we’ve come for––but first, suppose we have a little something by way of sociability. A little fizzy stuff, say, and some good cigars, Miss Luce.”

She brought the wine and the cigars. Clancy pulled the cork, filled both glasses, pushed one glass toward the young woman and drew one to himself.

“But, Captain, your friend hasn’t any.”

“My friend,” said Clancy, “doesn’t drink. The last thing the doctor said to him before we came away was, ‘Don’t touch a drop of liquor or your life will pay the forfeit.’ You see, Miss Luce, he’s been a dissipated youth––drink––and having been dissipated and coming of delicate people, it’s affected his health.”

“You don’t tell me? I’m sure he doesn’t look it.”

“No, he don’t––that’s a fact. But so it is.”

“Stomach?” she asked me.

“No––heart,” answered Clancy for me. “What they call an aneurism. You know what an aneurism is, of course?”

“Yes-yes––oh, yes–––”

“Of course. Well, he’s got one of them.”

“That’s too bad. So he only smokes instead?”

“That’s all. Here, Joe, smoke up.”

“My, I always thought smoking was bad for the heart.”

“It is––for everything except aneurisms. Smoking’s the death of aneurisms. Have another cigar, Joe. And Miss Luce, shall we exchange a health?”

“But I never drank anything in all my life.”

“Of course not. But you will now, won’t you? Consider the occasion and I’m sure you won’t let me drink alone. And I’ve come so far to see you, too––only of course not––Well, here’s to your good health, and may you live long and–––”

The rest of it was smothered in the gurgle. And nobody would ever think to see the way she put down hers that Miss Luce had never had a drink of wine before.

“And now, Miss Luce, may I ask how long it has been since your friend Dave Warner left–––”

“Oh-h––Dave Warner? He’s no friend of mine.”

“Isn’t he? Well, he’s no particular friend of mine, either. But a friend of mine––of both of us, Joe here, too––is with Dave––Maurice Blake. Any word of him?”

“Oh, yes. A good-looking fellow, nice eyes and hair and nice manners. I do like to see refined manners in people. Now if it was him–––”

“If it was him, you wouldn’t have told him to go to sea and the devil take him–––”

“I’d have you know, Captain Clancy, I don’t swear.”

“Swear? You, Miss Luce? Dear me, whatever made you think I thought that? But let’s 294 have another taste of wine. But of course you didn’t encourage Dave to stay ashore here?”

“Him?––I guess not. When he said he didn’t care if he never came back, I told him I was sure I didn’t––and out he went.”

“O woman, gentle woman,” murmured Clancy in his glass, “especially real ladies. But Dave never did know how to talk to a lady.”

“I should say he didn’t.”

“No, not Dave. And so his money gone he’s–––”

“Money? Why, he never had any money.”

“Well, that’s bad. Not even enough to open a bottle of wine to drink a lady’s health?”

“Bottle of wine? No, nor a thimbleful of tuppenny ale.”

“That was bad, Miss Luce. Dave ought’ve come better heeled–––

And which way did he say he was going?”

“He didn’t say and I didn’t ask, though one of the men with him said something about going to the Grand Banks.”

“Grand Banks, eh? That’s comforting––it isn’t more than a couple of days’ sail from here to the nearest edge of it, and twenty-odd thousand or more square miles of shoal water to hunt over 295 after you get there. Had they taken their bait aboard, did you hear, Miss Luce?”

“Yes, they had. That was yesterday afternoon late. His vessel was leaking then, I heard him say to that nice-looking man––Maurice Blake his name, did you say? A nice name Maurice, isn’t it? Well, he said to Maurice going out the door, ‘Well, we’ll put out and I callate––I don’t know how she’ll get out but out we’ll go to-night.’ ‘The sooner you go the better it will suit me,’ Blake said, and they went off together.”

“And how was Mr. Blake?”

“How do you mean? How did he act? My, I never saw such a man. Wouldn’t open his head all night––wouldn’t drink, but just sat and smoked like your friend there. Anything the matter with him?”

“With Maurice? Oh, in the way of aneurisms? Not that I know of. Oh, yes, he has heart-trouble too, come to think. But I must be getting back to the vessel.”

“So soon?”

“Yes, we’ve got to go to sea. I’m like Dave Warner in that I’m going to sea too.”

“But nobody’s driving you away.” She had her eyes on Clancy’s face then.

He didn’t look up––only stared into his glass.

She was silent for a full minute. Clancy said 296 nothing. “Nobody’s driving you away,” she said again.

At that Clancy looked at her. “There’s no telling,” he said at first, and then hastily, “Oh, no––of course nobody’s driving me to sea.”

“Then what’s your hurry?”

I got up and went to the door then. I heard the sound of a scraping chair and then of Clancy standing up. A moment’s quiet and then it was: “No, dear, I can’t stay––nobody’s driving me away, I know that. I’m sure you wouldn’t––not with your heart. And you’ve a good heart if you’d only give it a chance. But I can’t stay.”

“And why not? You won’t, you mean. Well, I never thought you were that kind of a man.”

“No? Well, don’t go to giving me any moral rating. Don’t go to over-rating me––or maybe you’d call it under-rating. But you see, it’s my friend that’s calling.”

“And you’re going out in this gale?”

“Gale. I’d go if it was a hundred gales. Good-by––and take care of yourself, dear.”

“And will you come back if you don’t find him?”

“Lord, Lord, how can I say? Can anybody say who’s coming back and who isn’t?”

He went by me and out the door. She looked after him, but he never turned––only plunged out of the house and into the street and I right after him.