“It wasn’t anything, Mr. Brewster,” said young Conroy. “I saw a chance to drop the big nigger, and then it was up to me to get her out of the water.”
“You took a big risk, Conroy, but you made good with it. If it had not been for you, my boy, they might have got away with Miss Gray.”
“Don’t mention it, Mr. Brewster, it was nothing to do,” protested Conroy in confusion. “I’d do anything in the world for you and for her.”
“What is the adage about casting your bread upon the water and getting it back again?” asked “Rip” Van Winkle of Joe Bragdon as they jubilantly followed the procession below.
There was no more sleep on board that night. In fact the sun was not long in showing itself after the rescuers returned to the vessel. The daring attempt of Mohammed’s emissaries was discussed without restraint, and every sailor had a story to tell of the pursuit and rescue. The event furnished conversational food for days and days among both the seamen and the passengers. Dan DeMille blamed himself relentlessly for sleeping through it all and moped for hours because he had lost a magnificent chance to “do something.” The next morning he proposed to hunt for the sheik, and offered to lead an assault in person. An investigation was made and government officials tried to call Mohammed to account, but he had fled to the desert and the search was fruitless.
Brewster refused to accept a share of the glory of Peggy’s rescue, pushing Conroy forward as the real hero. But the sailor insisted that he could not have succeeded without help—that he was completely exhausted when Monty came to the rescue. Peggy found it hard to thank him gently while her heart was so dangerously near the riot point, and her words of gratitude sounded pitifully weak and insufficient.
“It would have been the same had anybody else gone to her rescue,” he mused dejectedly. “She cares for me with the devotion of a sister and that’s all. Peggy, Peggy,” he moaned, “if you could only love me, I’d—I’d—oh, well, there’s no use thinking about it! She will love someone else, of course, and—and be happy, too. If she’d appear only one-tenth as grateful to me as to Conroy I’d be satisfied. He had the luck to be first, that’s all, but God knows I tried to do it.”
Mrs. Dan DeMille was keen enough to see how the land lay, and she at once tried to set matters straight. She was far too clever to push her campaign ruthlessly, but laid her foundations and then built cunningly and securely with the most substantial material that came to hand from day to day. Her subjects were taking themselves too deeply to heart to appreciate interference on the part of an outsider, and Mrs. Dan was wise in the whims of love.
Peggy was not herself for several days after her experience, and the whole party felt a distinct relief when the yacht finally left the harbor and steamed off to the west. A cablegram that came the day before may have had something to do with Brewster’s depression, but he was not the sort to confess it. It was from Swearengen Jones, of Butte, Montana, and there was something sinister in the laconic admonition. It read:
“Brewster, U.S. Consulate, Alexandria.
“Have a good time while good times last.
His brain was almost bursting with the hopes and fears and uncertainties that crowded it far beyond its ordinary capacity. It had come to the point, it seemed to him, when the brains of a dozen men at least were required to operate the affairs that were surging into his alone. The mere fact that the end of his year was less than two months off, and that there was more or less uncertainty as to the character of the end, was sufficient cause for worry, but the new trouble was infinitely harder to endure. When he sat down to think over his financial enterprises his mind treacherously wandered off to Peggy Gray, and then everything was hopeless. He recalled the courage and confidence that had carried him to Barbara Drew with a declaration of love—to the stunning, worldly Barbara—and smiled bitterly when he saw how basely the two allies were deserting him in this hour of love for Peggy Gray. For some reason he had felt sure of Barbara; for another reason he saw no chance with Peggy. She was not the same sort—she was different. She was—well, she was Peggy.
Occasionally his reflections assumed the importance of calculations. His cruise was sure to cost $200,000, a princely sum, but not enough. Swearengen Jones and his cablegram did not awe him to a great extent. The spending of the million had become a mania with him now and he had no regard for consequences. His one desire, aside from Peggy, was to increase the cost of the cruise. They were leaving Gibraltar when a new idea came into his troubled head.
He decided to change his plans and sail for the North Cape, thereby adding more than $30,000 to his credit.
XXVI
Mutiny
Monty was on deck when the inspiration seized him, and he lost no time in telling his guests, who were at breakfast. Although he had misgivings about their opinion of the scheme, he was not prepared for the ominous silence that followed his announcement.
“Are you in earnest, Mr. Brewster?” asked Captain Perry, who was the first of the company to recover from the surprise.
“Of course I am. I chartered this boat for four months with the privilege of another month. I can see no reason to prevent us from prolonging the trip.” Monty’s manner was full of self-assurance as he
