At the end of ten days the yacht had progressed but two hundred miles and Monty was beginning to plan the rest of his existence on a capital of $100,000. He had given up all hope of the Sedgwick legacy and was trying to be resigned to his fate, when a tramp steamer was suddenly sighted. Brewster ordered the man on watch to fly a flag of distress. Then he reported to the captain and told what he had done. With a bound the captain rushed on deck and tore the flag from the sailor’s hand.
“That was my order,” said Monty, nettled at the captain’s manner.
“You want them to get a line on us and claim salvage, do you?”
“What do you mean?”
“If they get a line on us in response to that flag they will claim the entire value of the ship as salvage. You want to spend another $200,000 on this boat?”
“I didn’t understand,” said Monty, sheepishly. “But for God’s sake fix it up somehow. Can’t they tow us? I’ll pay for it.”
Communication was slow, but after an apparently endless amount of signaling, the captain finally announced that the freight steamer was bound for Southampton and would tow the Flitter to that point for a price.
“Back to Southampton!” groaned Monty. “That means months before we get back to New York.”
“He says he can get us to Southampton in ten days,” interrupted the captain.
“I can do it, I can do it,” he cried, to the consternation of his guests, who wondered if his mind were affected. “If he’ll land us in Southampton by the 27th, I’ll pay him up to one hundred thousand dollars.”
XXIX
The Prodigal’s Return
After what seemed an age to Monty, the Flitter, in tow of the freighter Glencoe, arrived at Southampton. The captain of the freight boat was a thrifty Scotchman whose ship was traveling with a light cargo, and he was not, therefore, averse to taking on a tow. But the thought of salvage had caused him to ask a high price for the service and Monty, after a futile attempt at bargaining, had agreed. The price was fifty thousand dollars, and the young man believed more than ever that everything was ruled by a wise Providence, which had not deserted him. His guests were heartsick when they heard the figure, but were as happy as Monty at the prospect of reaching land again.
The Glencoe made several stops before Southampton was finally reached on the 28th of August, but when the English coast was sighted everyone was too eager to go ashore to begrudge the extra day. Dan DeMille asked the entire party to become his guests for a week’s shooting trip in Scotland, but Monty vetoed the plan in the most decided manner.
“We sail for New York on the fastest boat,” said Monty, and hurried off to learn the sailings and book his party. The first boat was to sail on the 30th and he could only secure accommodations for twelve of his guests. The rest were obliged to follow a week later. This was readily agreed to and Bragdon was left to see to the necessary repairs on the Flitter and arrange for her homeward voyage. Monty gave Bragdon fifteen thousand dollars for the purpose and extracted a solemn promise that the entire amount would be used.
“But it won’t cost half of this,” protested Bragdon.
“You will have to give these people a good time during the week and—well—you have promised that I shall never see another penny of it. Some day you’ll know why I do this,” and Monty felt easier when his friend agreed to abide by his wishes.
He discharged the Flitter’s crew, with five months’ pay and the reward promised on the night of Peggy’s rescue, which was productive of touching emotions. Captain Perry and his officers never forgot the farewell of the prodigal, nor could they hide the regret that marked their weather-beaten faces.
Plans to dispose of his household goods and the balance of his cash in the short time that would be left after he arrived in New York occupied Monty’s attention, and most men would have given up the scheme as hopeless. But he did not despair. He was still game, and he prepared for the final plunge with grim determination.
“There should have been a clause in Jones’s conditions about ‘weather permitting,’ ” he said to himself. “A shipwrecked mariner should not be expected to spend a million dollars.”
The division of the party for the two sailings was tactfully arranged by Mrs. Dan DeMille. The Valentines chaperoned the “second table” as “Subway” Smith called those who were to take the later boat, and she herself looked after the first lot. Peggy Gray and Monty Brewster were in the DeMille party. The three days in England were marked by unparalleled extravagance on Monty’s part. One of the local hotels was subsidized for a week, although the party only stayed for luncheon, and the Cecil in London was a gainer by several thousand dollars for the brief stop there. It was a careworn little band that took Monty’s special train for Southampton and embarked two days later. The “rest cure” that followed was welcome to all of them and Brewster was especially glad that his race was almost run.
Swiftly and steadily the liner cut down the leagues that separated her from New York. Fair weather and fair cheer marked her course, and the soft, balmy nights were like seasons of fairyland. Monty was cherishing in his heart the hope inspired by Peggy’s action on the night of the storm. Somehow it brought a small ray of light to his clouded understanding and he found joy in keeping the flame alive religiously if somewhat doubtfully. His eyes followed her constantly, searching for the encouragement that the very blindness of love had hidden from him, forever tormenting himself with fears and hopes and fears again. Her happiness
