  What of Johnny and his precious cargo? As the days passed and land, the shore of his native land, was sighted, the face of the Unwilling Guest once more took on a shrewd, calculating expression of a business man whose financial interests are vast. Already, in his mind, he was entering his office, was sitting at his desk, dictating letters, pushing buttons, issuing orders, calculating profits; he was sitting in financial conferences with other rich and successful men. Little wonder that his chest began to bulge as he strolled the deck. They were not a day out from New York when Johnny Thompson decided to find out a few things. In spite of himself he had been worried beyond endurance with the thought that after all they had gone through they might be defeated in the end, that the powerful organization which was the Fruit Company would make it impossible to sell their fruit, perhaps even to land it. “It is all right about the bananas,” he said to Madge. “I can sell them direct to the pushcart men. Like to do it, too,” he chuckled. “Be great to go down in the Ghetto and see the grinning faces of dirty little urchins as they devour cheap bananas.” “Grapefruit is different.” His brow wrinkled. “Grapefruit must be sold to commission men. That’s where they may have us. Commission men may fear the Fruit Company too much to buy from us.” “I’ll get off a wireless or two,” he told himself. As he emerged from the wireless room a deep frown was on his brow. His worst fears had been confirmed. Barney Tower, an old trusted friend, had wired him that without the permission of the Fruit Company’s President the Commission men would not dare purchase his cargo. Johnny smiled a little grimly at thought of that very man, the President, who held all the power, being his Unwilling Guest. “It’s a queer situation,” he told himself. “By the aid of Providence we saved his life. And yet, I would not dare ask him to lift the ban on our cargo. I don’t believe it would be any use. The interests of his precious Fruit Company must be preserved at all costs. That’s how he thinks of it, at any rate.” He sat down to think. Two minutes later he sprang to his feet. “We might do it!” He raced away in search of Kennedy. “Kennedy,” he said, “you are a Britisher. Do you know anyone in Canada?” “Why yes, I ought to. Yes, yes, I do. The harbor master in Toronto is an old war pal of mine.” “The harbor master. What luck! Kennedy, will the fruit keep an extra day?” “Yes, Johnny, easily. Been cool air all the way. Storm brought it.” “Then we’re safe. We’re headed for Canada right now. Nothing can stop us. We’ll sell our cargo there, and no one to bother us.” “But how about him, your Unwilling Guest?” “We won’t charge him anything extra,” Johnny chuckled. “He’ll get a lot of good out of the trip, find the sea breeze up there quite bracing.” He was away on the double quick to notify the captain on the bridge. Johnny was not the only one to note the sudden swing of the ship as she entered on her new course. The Unwilling Guest saw it and came storming down the deck. “What does this mean?” he demanded angrily. “Changing course again? Another storm coming. Running again!” His tone was deeply scornful. “A day late, and running from a cloudless sky!” “Not running. Just going somewhere,” said Johnny quietly. “Just going on our way. Going to Canada.” “Canada! You said New York.” “Changed our plans.” “And how about my plans? Your plans!” The man’s face was red. He stuttered in his rage. “Your plans! Your business! Floating a walnut shell in a teapot!” “Pretty good old shell,” said Johnny, glancing up and down the deck. “This ship!” said the magnate. “Slow and clumsy. A very derelict! The Arion now, she’s docked long since. If I had made Belize in time—” “Wait,” said Johnny. A new, compelling light was in his eye. “You wait. Come this way. I’ll show you where you would have been.” Scarcely knowing why he did it, the rich man followed the boy to the captain’s cabin where the ship’s log was kept. Turning back the pages, Johnny found the record of that terrible night of storm. There, pasted in, was the wireless man’s record. “Read that,” Johnny’s voice was solemn. As the man read, his face took on a deadly pallor. “My God!” he murmured. “Can that be true?” “All quite true,” said Johnny huskily. “Had you not been becalmed out there in the Caribbean Sea, had you made Belize on time to catch the Arion, your Executive Council would now be in session. They would be electing a man to fill your place.” “They may be doing that now. Who knows that I am safe?” “We do. No one else.” The rich man shot out of the cabin and away to the wireless cabin. “Don’t know that I should have kept it from him so long,” Johnny thought. “But a shock now and then does us all good. It takes considerable of a shock to register with such a man.” That the shock had indeed registered, he guessed rightly enough as he saw the short, stout man, a half hour later, pacing the deck. With hands behind his back and head bent far forward, he appeared deep in thought. Suddenly something seemed to come over him. His head snapped up. He spun around, then walked straight to the side of Johnny Thompson. “Why did you change your plans? Why are you headed for Canada?” he asked. “You should know the reason.” “Afraid of the Fruit Company’s embargo? You need not be. I am the Fruit Company. I—why, I’ll buy the cargo, buy it just as it stands right here in the Atlantic.” “You mean it?” Johnny’s face was a study. “Bring your papers to my cabin, and I’ll show you, young man—” A strange thing happened. The voice of the master business man, the head of a great corporation, broke and for a moment he could not speak. “Young man,” he began again, “I’ve been a fool.” “I’ll go tell the captain to alter his course,” said Johnny. “There’s one other favor I wish to ask.” Johnny was seated in the Unwilling Guest’s cabin. Perhaps by this time he might have been called a “willing guest.” “What is that, Johnny?” “It’s like this,” said Johnny. “I hope I can make you understand. It must be wonderful to develop a business on a large scale, to see it grow and grow and grow, as you have been able to do. To add one ship after another, one plantation, one narrow-gauge railroad after another until the ships are a fleet, railroads a system and the plantations a little world all their own. I’ve dreamed of living such a life myself. It’s a grand and glorious dream. “But sometimes,” his tone was slow and thoughtful, “it’s hard on the little fellow. Sometimes the great promoter, dreaming his great dream, forgets the little fellow, the man with a few acres of bananas, a few cocoanuts or grapefruit trees. “The elephant enjoys himself as he goes thrashing his way through the jungle. But what of the small creatures he tramples beneath his feet? What about the butterflies he crushes with his swinging trunk? The butterflies appear to enjoy life as they flit in the sunshine. What of them?” “Young man,” said the magnate rather sharply, “come down to brass tacks. What is it you are talking about?” “Well then, specifically,” Johnny smiled broadly, “there is a fine old man named Kennedy who has a niece quite as fine. They live in a Central American jungle. Every Carib loves them because they love the Caribs. “Until you signed this agreement they were very poor. The grapefruit aboard this ship is theirs.” “Not our Kennedy.” “Our Kennedy.” “Kennedy,” the rich man mused. “That name sounds familiar. Can it be that a Spaniard name Diaz tried to purchase his grapefruit orchard for me?” “Could be, and is true!” exclaimed Johnny, “That was the wily Spaniard’s game, preying upon Kennedy’s poverty. Planning to make a large profit off land he hoped to buy from a needy man for a song.” “Why did Kennedy not tell me?” the rich man demanded. “Too modest, perhaps. And perhaps—you will pardon me—perhaps he thought it would do no good. “Now,” Johnny continued, “you are the Fruit Company. You said that yourself. And the Fruit Company refused to market Kennedy’s grapefruit because one year he sold to an independent market. That’s why they are poor.” “And now?” There was a strange look on the man’s face. “Now I want you to sign a contract to handle their fruit, a five year contract.” “Make it ten!” exclaimed the rich man, springing to his feet. “Have the purser write it up and bring it to me at once. I’ll sign it.” “And by the way,” he said as Johnny prepared to go, “have Captain Jorgensen come down when he finds time. This is a pretty good old ship, a mighty good one. I want her in my service. Give his owners a two years’ contract. Or, I’ll buy her straight out. She’s the ship that saved my life. Along with two stubborn old men and a boy, she did it. You don’t meet a combination like that every day.” The Unwilling Guest put out a hand to grip the boy’s own. |
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