VANDERDECKEN

Sun (Auckland), Volume II, Issue 524, 29 November 1928, Page 5

VANDERDECKEN

By

H. DE VERE STACPOOLE.

CHAPTER Vll.—Continued. “Go, hunt for a mop,” lie cried to the other. “I saw one down below, can’t dump this old bath tub into the harbour as she is or there’ll be trouble, b’aides 1 want exercise.” He began to set the rotten planking flying with the axe, while George fetched the mop, also a bucket, which, under the direction of the perspiring Hank, he fastened to a rope so that they could dip up water for deck swilling. The remains of the dinghy overboard, they turned to on the raffle; rope ends, dead and done blocks, old newspapers, bits of coal. “Why, look you here,” said Hank, holding up one of the blocks, “look at the size of it, why it must have belonged to a three-master as old as the a rk. That guy’s been hunting the wharves for old raffle to dump aboard her and make a litter; stick it in the sail room for evidence if he starts any law bother. Now gimme that bucket.” The swilling and swabbing of the deck began and continued till the dowels showed up in the planking. Then they rested and smoked a cigarette. It was now noon, and George, as he sat on the combing of the cabin skylight, resting and watching the Planking drying in the sun, felt uplifted. Since leaving the army he hadn’t done a hand’s turn of honest v 'ork simply because he could not find any work to do. There are a surprising number of rich people out of *ork owing to no fault of their own, unemployed men and women with big bank balances starving for employment. The war was a simple Godsend to these. Tt supplied them with a reason and an initiative. Hank had supplied George with both these things. Then, now that the decks were cleared up, the Wear Jack began to speak to him as only a ship can speak to a man. She was no longer a dirty hulk but a live thing awakening from sleep, a thing with the mobility of a bird, a sister of the sea and the wind. He had been on many a yacht and m any a steamboat as guest or passenger, but, this was the first ship he had * v er got close to. The work with the m op and bucket, the knowledge that be would soon be helping to rig her

and handle her, the sight of her now that she was cleaning up, the very smell of her, all combined to work the charm. He went below to heave the old' block into the sail room and when he came on deck again Hank was up like a cat in the rigging, hunting for rotten ratlines, a knife between his teeth. , , jt.t one o'clock Ifarintosh appeared with the sandwiches, at five o clock they knocked off. They had cleared and cleaned the deck, made an overhaul of the rigging, cleared and cleaned the cabin, and cleaned the bathroom and lavatory. ‘T’U start on the rigging to-mor-row,” said: Hank. “It’s all sound out a few ropes and ratlines —Christopher: ” "What?” , “I’ve fired the watchman and who s to look after her?” “Oh, she won’t hurt.” “Won’t hurt! Why, if you fell asleep on these wharves, they’d have your back teeth before you woke and you wouldn’t feel them pulling them, why, these hooligans, if they didn't strip her, they’d camp in her and then she’d be no more mortal use till she was boiled. No. I guess i’ll bave to stick to her.” “Stick to her!” cried George, “you mean to say, sleep here?” “Yep. What’s wrong? The old bunk bedding will do me and the nights are warm. To-morrow I’ll get a chap to look after her for a few hours in the evening while I get my dunnage aboard. Come along ashore with me while I get some grub and a tooth brush.” He slipped out of his overalls and they climbed ashore. “She won't take any harm for an hour or two by herself,” said Hank. They found a street of shops boasting a drug store. Here Hank bought his tooth brush, then he bought a German sausage, some bread, six small apples and two bottles of tonic water, also an evening paper from,a yelling newsbov. Then he remembered that he would want a candle to read the newspaper by and went into a ships chandlers to buy one, leaving George outside. George glanced at the paper, then

he spread it open hurriedly and stood reading it, heedless of the passers-by or the people who jostled him. Hank, coming out of the store with his candle, looked over George’s shoulder and this is what he read, in scare headlines across a double column ot print: — „ , , _. , Hank Fisher of the Bohemian Club Goes After the Dutchman. Joe Barrett Loses on the Deal, But Comes Up Smiling at Josh Tyrebuck and Bud Du Cane. Then came the details. The dollar tossed at the Bay Club which gave Hank two thousand dollars’ worth of goods for nothing, the loan of the Wear Jack by Tyrebuck and George du Cane's participation in the business. George felt as though all his clothes had suddenly been stripped off him there in the street. Hank whistled. Then he said: “That’s Barrett. Lord. I might have known the chap didn't toss fair: he wanted me to win, and now, look! He’s got the goods, five thousand dollars’ worth of advertising for a thousand dollars’ worth of bully beef and canned tomatoes. It won’t cost him more than that, for he's giving me the stuff at retail prices. And now it will be all over the town and all over the waterside.” “Curse him,” said George. His lips were dry. There was a jocular tone in that confounded Press notice that cast a blight on everyone concerned except Joe Barrett. Joe, though-he was the only loser of money in the business up to the present was.

in some extraordinary way, put on a pedestal as a sport, while the others ran round the plinth like figures ol fun. “It’s him aud his publicity man, Josh Seudder, that’s done it,” said Hank. “I can tell Josh’s hand in it—it’s his style/ Well, there it is, it can’t be helped. I’d reckoned to slip out quiet and come back with a brass band playing Dutchman under alles and Vanderdecken in leg irons; now the; blanket’s stripped off us clean. We’ll be laughed at from Hell to Hoboken if we don’t make good. We’re on the toboggan full speed, no use grabbing at the snow; there’s only one way out —we’ve gotta get the Dutchman.” CHAPTER VIII. —PUBLICITY. George did not go to the club that night. He went straight home and sent Farintcsh out to buy all the evening papers, and Farintosh returned with a bundle of everything from the “Evening Sun” to the “Polk Street Pikers Messenger,” and every paper had the news, under all sorts of scare headlines. Some of these headlines referred, to Fisher and some to himself, and through all the notices ran a gentle and breezy humour, and in them all, with one exception, Joe Barrett had his advertisement and walked protected from laughter as Shadrach from flame. The one exception was the “Polk Street Piker,” a free spoken organ that generally kept toward politics. The “Piker,” while allowing that Rat Trap Fisher had swelled head and

liad better stick to rodents, was frankly libellous about Barrett, said the whole thing was a fake got up by Barrett to help his sale of damaged goods then on, said a business must be pretty rocky to adopt such means, said that it was likely the whole Dutchman business was a business fake. George read this horrible libel with a chill at his heart, for he knew that Hennessy, the editor of the “Piker,” was a led captain and creature of Barrett’s. No one of any account read the “Piker,” but everyone of any account would read the abject apology of the “Piker,” sure to be published in a day or two in every newspaper in California, together with editorial comments and a full statement about the Fisher Expedition supplied by Ser.ddcr. The thing would probably reach New York and London. With Vanderdecken as engine and Barrett as driver and stoker, there was no knowing where it might not reach or how long it might not keep running, and he, George du Cane„ was tied to the tail of it. He was already in the blaze of the limelight and at that moment men in clubs, people at dinner parties, people in restaurants and people in trams, were talking of him. The fact of his wealth would give him a little place, all his own, in this show. There was only one way of escape—justification. “We’ve gotta get the Dutchman.” Hank’s words came back to him. If they did not get the Dutchman, it would be much better not to come back to San Francisco. George

had a fine feeling for Pacific coast temperament. Leaving that alone, half frozen Icelanders would see the point, and the joke of a much advertised amateur expedition such as theirs returning empty-handed. He went to bed early, but he could not sleep for a long time. It was all very well talking about getting the Dutchman, but how were they to get him? When the getting of him had been only a matter of sport, the thing seemed fairly easy; now that it was a matter of dire necessity it seemed next to impossible. A nightmare task like hunting for a lost needle in Kearney Street. He jumped out of bed, fetched an Atlas, and taking it back to bed with him, looked up the Californian coast, running his eye along from San FrancioCu to Cape San Lucas. Exploring the sea from the Channel Islands to Guadaloupe and from Guadaloupe to Tres Marias Islands. Somewhere in that vast stretch of sea, somewhere on that line of coast that ran from the Golden Gate to Capricorn, they had to find a man who most certainly did not want to be found by searchers. He went to sleep on the thought and awoke to it. Farintosh was entering the room, he was carrying a bundle of morning ; papers. I “Pull up the blind.’' said George. Propped on tbe pillows, he opened ! the first paper to hand, expecting to see his name in double leaded type. | Not a word. In all the paper not a | w r ord of him or Hank or the Dutch-* man or the expedition. The next

paper was the same and the next. The great San Francisco dailies and the little San Francisco dailies had treated the matter with the most abso lute contempt. George felt curiously flat, he even looked at the dates of the papers to make sure there was no mistake, and that Farintosh had not by some accident brought him yesterday’s Press. He had dreaded seeing his name and now he was disappointed because it was not there. Human nature is a funny thing. He rose, bathed, dressed and came; down to breakfast, but still the depression clung. He felt small and of little account; he felt weak and irritable. What was wrong with him? He had tasted Publicity, that is all. Publicity, the wine of the Barretts, ts also the wine of the pecao, i,s fascination is universal and of whatever brand it is, from the Pillory, I expect had its compensations in the old days, and to be recognised witii a bad egg or a dead cat was, at all events, to be recognised. And what a blaze up that was last night, with every paper screaming round the bon-fire —and now this frost —why, that alone was in the nature of an insult. Suddenly and in the act of pouring himself out a sc-coud cup of coffee, hi--j mind cleared and his energy returned ; “We’ve gotta get the Dutchman.” i Hank’s words had come back to him "And. by Goth we will!" said he. i He finished his breakfast, rang for the car and started for the wharves I The deck or the Wear Jack was i empty, he dropped down to the cabin

and there was Hank, surrounded with newspapers. Hank had evidently pur chased largely last night as well aa this morning. “Well,” said George lightly, “there's not a word in the morning papers, and that’s a good thing.” Hank grunted. "That's Barrett,” said he. “He's cut the news off plonk. Why, a blaze in the morning Press would have been out by to-night, as it is every gink from Pacific Avenue to Polk Street is saying, 'Why, thex-e ain’t no news about Hank.' Barrett’s being phoned to death at the present minute asking what it all means. Chapa | will be talking all day, wanting news \ of the business, and inventing lies to | fill the gaps till it’ll get about that ! the Dutchman's been caught by -to# ; Barrett atx s being exhibited at his I stores. By to-night all the 'phones will be humming with lies, and all the j South Coast papers shouting for in formation. Why, Bud, where were you born nett to know that advertising isn't printing stuff in the papers, but making men talk. One big I rumour, if you set it going bumbling away like thunder in the foot hills, is worth all the printed stuff from here I to Nome. We're fair handicapped. If 1 was advertising Diver Pills I'd be joyful, but I’m not.” “Think it will queer our pitch?” (To be continued)