Captain Marmaduke presented me to the two men, while his hand still rested on my shoulder.

‘Brother,’ he said, ‘this is Master Ralph Crowninshield, of whom you have often heard from Lancelot.’

‘Aye,’ said the old man, looking at me without any salutation. ‘Aye, I have heard of him from Lancelot.’

Captain Marmaduke now turned towards the other man, who had never taken his eyes off me since I entered the room.

‘Cornelys Jensen, here is Master Ralph Crowninshield, your shipmate that is to be.’

Cornelys Jensen came across the room in a couple of swinging strides and held out his hand to me. Something in his carriage reminded me of certain play-actors who had come to the town once. This man carried himself like a stage king. We clasped hands, and he spoke.

‘Salutation, shipmate.’

Then we unclasped, and he returned to his post by the fireplace with the same exaggeration of action as before.

The old man broke a short silence. ‘Well, Marmaduke, why have you brought this boy here?’

The Captain motioned me to a seat, which I took, and sat back himself in his former place.

‘Because the boy is going with me, and I thought that you might have something to say to him before he went.’

‘Something to say to him?’

The old man repeated the words like a sneer, then he faced on me again and addressed me with an unmoving face.

‘Yes, I have something to say to you. Young man, you are going on a fool’s errand.’

Captain Marmaduke laughed a little at this, but I could see that he was not pleased.

‘Come, brother, don’t say that,’ he said.

‘But I do say it,’ the old gentleman repeated. ‘A fool’s errand it is, and a fool’s errand it will be called; and it shall not be said of Nathaniel Amber that he saw his brother make a fool of himself without telling him his mind.’

‘I can always trust you for that, Nathaniel,’ said the Captain gravely. The old man went on without heeding the interruption.

‘A fool’s errand I call it, and shall always call it. What a plague! can a man find moneys and a tall ship and stout fellows, and set them to no better use than to found a Fool’s Paradise with them at the heel of the world? Ships were made for traffic and shipmen for trade, and not for such whimsies.’

The Captain frowned, but he said nothing, and tapped the toes of his crossed boots with his malacca. But Cornelys Jensen, advancing forward, put in his word.

‘Saving your presence, Master Nathaniel,’ he said, ‘but is not this a most honourable and commendable enterprise? What better thing could a gallant gentleman do than to found such a brotherhood of honest hearts and honest hands as Captain Marmaduke here proposes?’

The frown faded from the Captain’s face, and a pleased flush deepened its warm colour. It is a curious thing that men of his kidney—men with an unerring eye for a good man—have often a poor eye for a rogue. It amazed me to see my Captain so pleased at the praisings of Cornelys Jensen. But I was to find out later that he was the easiest man in the world to deceive.

‘Spoken like a man, Cornelys; spoken like a true man,’ he said.

‘I must ever speak my mind,’ said Cornelys Jensen. ‘I may be a rough sea-fellow, but if I have a thing to say I must needs spit it out, whether it please or pain. And I say roundly here, in your honour’s presence, that I think this to be a noble venture, and that I have never, since first I saw salt water, prepared for any cruise with so much pleasure.’

Which was indeed true, but not as he intended my Captain to take it, and as my Captain did take it.

‘Well,’ grumbled Nathaniel, ‘you are a pair of fools, both of you,’ and as he spoke he glanced from one to the other with those little shrewd eyes of his, looking at my Captain first and then at Cornelys.

Young as I was, and fresh to the reading of the faces of crafty men, I thought that the look in his eyes—for his face changed not at all—was very different when they rested on the brown face of Cornelys Jensen than when they looked on the florid visage of my good patron. He glanced with contempt upon his kinsman, but I did not see contempt in the gaze he fixed upon Cornelys, who returned his gaze with a steady, unabashed stare.

‘Yes,’ the old man went on, ‘you are a pair of fools, and a fool and his money is a pithy proverb, and true enough of one of you. But it is well sometimes to treat a fool according to his folly, and so, if you are really determined upon this adventure——’

He paused, and looked again at the Captain and again at Cornelys Jensen.

Cornelys Jensen remained perfectly unmoved. The Captain’s face grew a shade redder.

‘I am,’ he said shortly.

‘Very well, then,’ said the old gentleman; ‘as you are my brother, I must needs humour you. You shall have the moneys you need——’

‘Now that’s talking,’ interrupted the Captain.

‘Although I know it is a foolhardy thing for me to do.’

‘You get good enough security, it seems to me,’ said the Captain, a thought gruffly.

‘Maybe I do,’ said Nathaniel, ‘and maybe I do not. Maybe I have a fancy for my fine guineas, and do not care to part with them, however good the security may be.’

‘Lord, how you chop and change!’ said the Captain. ‘Act like a plain man, brother. Will you or will you not?’

‘I have said that I will,’ said Nathaniel slowly.

I could see that for some reason it amused him to irritate his brother by his reluctance and by his slow speech. The ancient knave knew it for the surest way to spur him to the enterprise.

‘When can I have the money?’ asked the Captain.

‘Not to-day,’ said Nathaniel slowly, ‘nor yet to-morrow.’

‘Why not to-morrow? It would serve me well to-morrow.’

‘Very well,’ said Nathaniel with a sigh; ‘to-morrow it shall be, though you do jostle me vilely.’

‘Man alive! I want to be off to sea,’ said the Captain.

‘The sooner we are off the better,’ interpolated Jensen; and once again I noted that Nathaniel shot a swift glance at him through his half-closed lids.

‘You are bustling fellows, you that follow the sea life,’ said Nathaniel. ‘Well, it shall be to-morrow, and I will have all the papers made ready and the money in fat bags, and you will have nothing to do but to sign the one and to pocket the other. And now I must be jogging.’

The Captain made no show of staying him. Nathaniel moved towards the door slowly, weighing up upon his crutched stick.

‘Farewell, Marmaduke!’ he said. He took the Captain’s hand, but soon parted with it.

Then he looked at me.

‘Good-day, young fellow,’ he said. ‘Do not forget that I told you you went on a fool’s errand.’

I drew aside to make way for him, and he left the room without a look or a word for Cornelys Jensen. In another minute I saw him through the window hobbling along the street.

He looked malignant enough, but I did not know then how malignant a thing he was. I was ever a weak wretch at figures and business and finance, but it was made plain to me later that Master Nathaniel had so handled Master Marmaduke in this matter of the lending of moneys, that if by any chance anything grave were to happen to Master Marmaduke and to the lad Lancelot and the lass Marjorie all that belonged to Captain Marmaduke would swell the wealth of his brother. And here were Captain Marmaduke and Lancelot and Marjorie all going to sea together and going in company of Cornelys Jensen. And I know now that Master Nathaniel knew Cornelys Jensen very well. But I did not know it then or dream it as I turned from the window and looked at the handsome rascal, who seemed agog to be going.

‘Shall you need me longer, Captain?’ Jensen asked. ‘There is much to do which should be doing.’

‘Nay,’ said the Captain, ‘you are free, for me. I know that there is much to do, and I know that you are the man to do it. But I shall see you in the evening.’

Jensen saluted the Captain, nodded to me, and strode out of the room. Then the Captain sat me down and talked for some twenty minutes of his plan and his hope. If I did not understand much, I felt that I was a fortunate fellow to be in such a glorious enterprise. I wish I had been more mindful of all that he said, but my mind was ever somewhat of a sieve for long speeches, and the dear gentleman spoke at length.

Presently he consulted his watch.

‘The coach should be in soon,’ he said. ‘Let us go forth and await it.’

We went out of the Dolphin together into the hall, and there we came to a halt, for he had thought upon some new point in his undertaking, and he began to hold forth to me upon that.

I can see the whole place now—the dark oak walls, the dark oak stairs, and my Captain’s blue coat and scarlet face making a brave bit of colour in the sombre place. The Noble Rose is gone long since, but that hall lives in my memory for a thing that just then happened.