The Second String. Gould Nat

time," said Job. "We're under sailing orders. Steam up, and we move out in two hours. Are the papers ready?"

      Sharp knew his man. "You received my letter?" he asked.

      "I did. That's the reason the funnel is already belching forth smoke. We're quick on the 'Golden Land,' a darned sight smarter than you are in this office."

      "I am afraid your temper is ruffled," said Sharp.

      "And so would yours be if a tadpole addressed you with the authority of a whale."

      "Who is the tadpole?"

      Job Seagrave named the offending clerk.

      "He shall be reprimanded," said Sharp.

      "Much good that will do him. Sack him."

      "He's useful."

      "Then I'm sorry for you. We have no use for things like that on the 'Golden Land.' Are the papers ready?"

      "No, of course not."

      "Then what the – is the use of dragging me up here in a hurry."

      "You are too sudden, captain. I hope you don't drive the 'Golden Land' at this rate."

      Job Seagrave smiled as he replied —

      "I'll tell you something in confidence, Mr. Sharp. I have made my will, and left a written confession behind me in safe hands. If the 'Golden Land' is submerged this trip you'll hear about it."

      "She is perfectly seaworthy, and although an old boat, is by no means a bad one."

      "Have you ever travelled in her?" asked the skipper.

      "No, oh dear no!"

      "Then try a voyage in her this time. There'll be room in the firm for another partner in a few weeks."

      Abe Sharp laughed as he replied —

      "You are in a joking humour this morning. I suppose it is the result of your good luck yesterday?"

      "And what may you be pleased to call my good luck?"

      "Sam Slack called here, and said you had gone to Lewes to back a horse."

      "Did he now? That's kind of him, giving me away like that," said Job.

      "It's no concern of mine, of course," said Sharp, "but I advise you to stick to your ship and leave horses alone."

      "What are you going to put aboard out of your winnings?" asked Job.

      "My winnings, what do you mean?" asked the astonished Sharp.

      "You backed my tip, and it came off. I think we deserve a few odds and ends in the way of luxuries after that. As a rule, mind you, I say as a rule – this voyage may prove an exception – the 'Golden Land' is not exactly a floating Hotel Cecil. Perhaps you'll assist us in the cookery department, and I may say that the wine cellar is disgracefully under-stocked."

      Abe Sharp laughed again. He, too, was in a good humour.

      "I confess I had a trifle on that horse Slack named. Only a trifle, mind you. I'll see what can be done for you; but if steam is up, and you sail in two hours, I fear it will be impossible for me to accede to your request."

      "Steam can be let off," said Job.

      "What do you require on board?" asked Sharp.

      "Most things; you can't go wrong whatever you send aboard, unless it be salt," said Job.

      "You have never complained before about the provisions."

      "Your memory is failing. I made one complaint five years ago, and said I'd let it stand good so that I need not be at the trouble of repeating myself."

      "I understand; and let me tell you, Captain Seagrave, we are perfectly satisfied with you. Our firm never forgets the men who serve us well."

      "I have been in your employ about twenty years," replied Job, "and if you have not forgotten me, I cannot say you have remembered me."

      "You have had your salary raised," said Sharp.

      "That has not hurt me. The rise was imperceptible."

      "Really, I think you deserve some consideration. I'll mention the matter to the Board."

      "We shall be half way to Australia then."

      Abe Sharp was amused. He knew very well Captain Seagrave was underpaid; but he could do very little for him on his own initiative.

      "You must sail as soon as possible. When can you leave?" he asked.

      "When I get my two passengers on board. I have to find them first."

      "That's awkward; but have you no idea where they are?"

      "The young fellow who rode Topsy Turvy yesterday I can lay hands on pretty quick, and no doubt he'll find his chum."

      Sharp was interested.

      "Is Jack Redland going out with you?"

      "Yes; I thought you knew."

      "I was not in the office when he came with Marton. His father was a well known man in the city."

      "Was he? Then the son does not take after him. He's a gentleman," said Job, who hated the city and the men in it.

      Abe Sharp winced. He said sharply —

      "I am busy now, Captain Seagrave; but I'll see about sending down to the ship."

      "And when must we sail?"

      "I'll have the papers ready for you to-morrow."

      "Very well, I may not see you again. I always feel like that when I leave London in the 'Golden Land,'" said Job, with which parting shot he stalked out of the office.

      He sent a telegram to Jack Redland to Brighton, and received a reply to the effect that he would be on board the next day.

      "That's business," said Job as he read it.

      He did not leave the ship again, and the following morning the chief officer put his head in at the door of his cabin and said —

      "It's come, sir."

      "What's come?" asked Job.

      "The consignment from the office."

      "Good lord, you don't say so. What is it?"

      "Cases. Tinned stuff and bottled stuff."

      Captain Seagrave went out to inspect.

      Piled up on the deck were over a dozen cases, and his practised eye saw at a glance they were of the right sort.

      "Any message with them?"

      "None, except that they were sent with Mr. Sharp's compliments to Captain Seagrave. How did you work it?" asked Slack.

      "I gave him a pretty lively half hour. I reckon he'll not be sorry when we are at sea. I told him I had made my will, and left a written statement behind as to the state of the 'Golden Land.'"

      Sam Slack laughed heartily.

      "How did he take it?" he asked.

      "Solemnly, he didn't care for the medicine."

      "And I got a fiver out of him. Skipper, something's going to happen. Sharp's been converted."

      "Perhaps he has; but he'll be no credit to the sect he patronises. They'll have to lock up the collection boxes pretty quick."

      The chief engineer walked solemnly round the cases as he saw them on deck.

      "Where are these from?"

      "The office."

      "Is it rat poison?"

      "No, it's a present from Sharp to the skipper."

      Mac sat down; the blow was too much for him.

      "A present from the office?" he said slowly. "You're certain it's not explosives?"

      "She'll go down soon enough without any assistance of that kind," said the chief officer.

      "Does he know about it?" and he pointed towards the captain's cabin.

      "Oh, yes; he worked the oracle