Brandon of the Engineers

"The British plan has advantages," said Stuyvesant. "You know what you're

doing when you deal with them."

"That's so. We know, for example, when this boat will arrive at any

particular place and when she'll sail; while you can reckon on a French

liner's being three or four days late and on the probability of a

Spaniard's not turning up at all. But whether you have revolutions, wars,

or tidal waves, the Britisher sails on schedule."

"There's some risk in that just now," Stuyvesant observed.

Bethune turned to Jake. "You had better come. The card states there'll be

music, and the agent will hire Vallejo's band, which is pretty good.

Guitars, mandolins, and fiddles on the poop, and señoritas in gauzy

dresses flitting through graceful dances in the after well! The

entertainment ought to appeal to your artistic taste."

"I'm going," Jake replied.

"So am I," said Dick.

Jake grinned. "That's rather sudden, isn't it? However, you may be needed

to look after Bethune."

An evening or two later, they boarded the launch at the town mole. The

sea was smooth and glimmered with phosphorescence in the shadow of the

land, for the moon had not risen far above the mountains. Outside the

harbor mouth, the liner's long, black hull cut against the dusky blue,

the flowing curve of her sheer picked out by a row of lights. Over this

rose three white tiers of passenger decks, pierced by innumerable bright

points, with larger lights in constellations outside, while masts and

funnels ran up, faintly indicated, into the gloom above. She scarcely

moved to the lift of the languid swell, but as the undulations passed

there was a pale-green shimmer about her waterline that magnified the

height to her topmost deck. She looked unsubstantial, rather like a

floating fairy palace than a ship, and as the noisy launch drew nearer

Jake gave his imagination rein.

"She was made, just right, by magic; a ship of dreams," he said. "Look

how she glimmers, splashed with cadmium radiance, on velvety blue; and

her formlessness outside the lights wraps her in mystery. Yet you get a

hint of swiftness."

"You know she has power and speed," Bethune interrupted.

"No," said Jake firmly, "it's not a matter of knowledge; she appeals to

your imagination. You feel that airy fabric must travel like the wind."

Then he turned to Dick, who was steering. "There's a boat ahead with a

freight of señoritas in white and orange gossamer; they know something

about grace of line in this country. Are you going to rush past them,

like a dull barbarian, in this kicking, snorting launch?"

"I'll make for the other side of the ship, if you like."

"You needn't go so far," Jake answered with a chuckle. "But you might

muzzle your rackety engine."