LITMIR.BIZ

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do it,” replied Mr. Harlan, promptly. “I’ll call her the Gladys H., after my own little daughter. That ought to bring her good luck.”

      Ned bobbed his head approvingly. It was evident the idea pleased him and removed his most serious objection to the voyage.

      “And now,” continued the agent, “it is only necessary to discuss terms.”

      These proved liberal enough, although I must say the money was no factor in deciding me to undertake the voyage. I had been quite fortunate in accumulating a fair share of worldly wealth, and a part of my own snug fortune had gone into our new Seagull, of which I was to be one-third owner.

      So it was really a desire to be doing something and an irrepressible spirit of adventure that urged me on; for, as my father said, a struggle with old ocean was always full of surprises, and when we had such frail support as the crippled Nebuchadnezar, the fight was liable to prove interesting.

      But that preposterous name was painted out the following day, and before I trod the deck for the first time the bark had been renamed the Gladys H., and was resplendent in fresh paint and new cordage. The old hulk actually looked seaworthy to a superficial observer; but Ned Britton went below and examined her seams carefully and came back shaking his head.

      “If the weather holds good and the cargo steady,” he said to me, “we may pull through; but if them big iron beams in the hold ever shifts their position, the whole hull’ll open like a sieve.”

      “Don’t whisper that, Ned,” I cautioned him. “We’ve got to take chances.”

      He was not the man to recoil at taking chances, so he kept a close mouth and in three days secured all the sailors we needed.

      They were a fairly good lot, all experienced and steady, and when I looked them over I was well pleased. One or two who were new to our parts grinned rather disrespectfully when they noted my size and youth; but I paid little attention to that. I was, in reality, a mere boy, and the only wonder is that they consented to sail under my command.

      My mate, however, looked every inch the sailor, and won their immediate respect, while my father’s ample reputation as a daring and skillful captain caused the men to be lenient in their judgment of his son.

      It was to be a long cruise, for Mr. Harlan had instructed me to skirt the coast all the way to Cape Horn, keeping well in to land so that in an emergency I could run the ship ashore and beach her. That would allow us to save the valuable cargo, even if we lost the ship, and that structural steel work was worth a lot of bother, he assured me.

      “When you get to the Cape,” said the agent, “take your time and wait for good weather to round it. There’s no hurry, and by the time you arrive there the conditions ought to be the most favorable of the year. Once in the Pacific, continue to hug the coast up to San Pedro, and then telegraph me for further instructions. Of course you know the consignment is to the contracting firm of Wright & Landers, and when you arrive they will attend to the unloading.”

      I got my things aboard and found my room very pleasant and of ample size. I took quite a library of books along, for the voyage would surely consume most of the winter. We were liberally provisioned, for the same reason, and our supplies were of excellent quality.

      My two black Islanders, Nux and Bryonia, were calmly indifferent to everything except the fact that “Mars’ Sam” was going somewhere and would take them along.

      Bry was our cook, and a mighty good one, too. With him in charge of the galley we were sure to enjoy our meals. Nux acted as steward and looked after the officers’ cabins. He was wonderfully active and a tower of strength in time of need. Both men I knew I could depend upon at all times, for they were intelligent, active, and would be faithful to the last.

      We arranged to sail with the tide on a Wednesday afternoon, the date being the nineteenth of September. On that eventful morning every preparation was reported complete, and I rowed to the shore for a final conference with the agent and a last farewell to my father.

      CHAPTER II

      I SHIP A QUEER PASSENGER

      The ship-yards were on this side of the harbor, and presented a busy scene; for besides our own beautiful Seagull, whose hull was now nearly complete and so graceful in its lines that it attracted the wondering admiration of every beholder, several other ships were then in the yards in course of construction.

      It was in one of the builders’ offices that I met my father and Mr. Harlan, and while we were talking a man came in and touched his cap to us, saying:

      “May I speak to Captain Steele?”

      He was about thirty years of age, somewhat thin and lank in appearance, and would have been considered tall had he stood erect instead of stooping at the shoulders. His face was fine and sensitive in expression and his eyes were large and gray but dreamy rather than alert. Gray eyes are usually shrewd; I do not remember ever before seeing so abstracted and visionary a look except in brown or black ones. The man’s hair was thick and long and of a light brown – nearly “sandy” – color. He dressed well but carelessly, and was evidently nervous and in a state of suppressed excitement when he accosted us. I noticed that his hands were large and toil-worn, and he clasped and unclasped them constantly as he looked from one to another of our group.

      “I am Captain Steele,” said my father.

      “Then, sir, I desire to ask a favor,” was the reply.

      “State it, my man.”

      “I want you to take me and my automobile with you on your voyage to Los Angeles.”

      Mr. Harlan laughed, and I could not repress a smile myself.

      “Then I’m not the Captain Steele you want,” said my father. “This is the one you must deal with,” pointing his finger in my direction.

      The stranger turned, but to my satisfaction seemed in no way surprised or embarrassed by being confronted with a boy.

      “It will be a great favor, sir,” he continued, earnestly. “I beg you will grant my request.”

      “An automobile!” I exclaimed.

      “Yes, sir.”

      “Your request is unusual,” I said, in order to decline gracefully, for something about the fellow was strangely appealing. “We are not a passenger ship, but a slow freighter, and we are bound for a long voyage around the Horn.”

      “Time does not greatly matter,” he murmured. “Only one thing really matters at all.”

      “And that?”

      “The expense.”

      We stared at him, somewhat perplexed.

      “Permit me to explain,” he went on, still gazing at me alone with his beseeching eyes. “I have invented an automobile – not strictly an automobile, it is true; but for want of a better name I will call it that. I have been years experimenting and building it, for it is all the work of my own hands and the child of my exclusive brain. It is now just finished – complete in every part – but I find that I have exhausted nearly every available dollar of my money. In other words, sir, my machine has bankrupted me.”

      He paused, and catching a wink from Mr. Harlan I said in an amused tone:

      “That is an old story, sir.”

      “You doubt it?”

      “No; I mean that it is quite natural.”

      “Perhaps,” he replied. “You see I had not thought of money; merely of success. But now that at last I have succeeded, I find that I have need of money. My only relative is a rich uncle living at Pasadena, California, who is so eccentric in his disposition that were I to appeal to him for money he would promptly refuse.”

      “Most rich men have that same eccentricity,” I observed.

      “But he is quite a genius commercially, and if he saw my machine I am confident he would freely furnish the money I require to erect a manufactory and

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