Blow the Man Down by Holman Day (read the beginning after the end novel .TXT) 📖

word to you. If this is a love-letter, it's a big one. Seems to be all paper! I have hefted it and felt of it consid'able."
He held it away from Mayo's eager reach and investigated still more with prodding fingers.
"Hope she isn't sending back your love-letters, son. But by the look she had on her face when she was talking about you to me I didn't reckon she was doing that. Well, here's comfort for you!" He placed the packet in Mayo's hands.
The parcel was sealed with three neat patches of wax, and on each blob was imprinted the letters "A M" in a monogram. Mayo turned the packet over and over.
"If you want me to step out, not feeling as confidential toward me as you used to, I'll do it," proffered Captain Wass, after a polite wait.
"I'm not going to open this thing--not yet," declared the young man. "That's for reasons of my own--quite private ones, sir."
"But I'd just as soon step out."
"No, sir. Your being here has nothing whatever to do with the matter." He buttoned the packet into his coat pocket. He had little respect for Fletcher Fogg's delicacy in any question of procedure; the promoter's animus in the matter of those papers was clear. Nevertheless, the agent had crystallized in bitter words an idea which was deterring Mayo: would he take advantage of a girl's rash betrayal of her father? Somehow those seals with her monogram made sacred precincts of the inside of the packet; he touched them and withdrew his hand as if he were intruding at the door which was closed upon family privacy.
"I suppose you'd rather keep your mind wholly on straight business, seeing what a bad position you're in," suggested Captain Wass. "Very well, we'll put love-letters away and talk about something that's sensible. It's too bad there isn't some tool we could have to pry open that Vose line sell-out. The stockholders got cold feet and slid out from under Vose after the _Montana_ was laid up."
"What has been done with her?"
"Nothing, up to now. Cashed in with the underwriters and are probably using the money to play checkers with on Wall Street. Maybe they're using her for a horrible example till they scare the rest of the independents into the combination."
"Have the underwriters sold?"
"Yes. She has been bid in--probably by some tinder-strapper of the big pirates. It's a wonder they let you get hold of this one."
"They thought she was spoken for. When they found that she wasn't, they sent Burkett out here to blow her up."
Captain Wass was not astonished by that information.
"Probably! All the talk which has been circulated says that you were junking her. I didn't have any idea you were trying to save her."
"We have been blocked by some busy talkers," admitted the young man.
"It's too bad the other folks can't do some talking and have the facts to back 'em up, son. Do you know what could be done if that syndicate could be busted? The old Vose crowd would probably hitch up with the Bee line folks. The Bee-liners are discouraged, but they haven't let go their charter. You wouldn't have to worry, then, about getting your money to finish this job, and you'd have a blamed quick market for this steamer as soon as she was off this reef."
The bulging packet seemed to press against Mayo's ribs, insistently hinting at its power to help.
"I am going back and have a talk with old man Vose about this steamer," said Captain Wass. "Now, son, a last word. I don't want to pry into any delicate matters. But I sort of smell a rat in those papers in your pocket. When she took 'em out of her muff all I could smell was violet. Do you think you've got anything about you that would help me--help us--help yourself?"
"No, sir; only what you see for yourself in this steamer's possibilities."
"Very well; then I'll do the best I can. But confound this girl business when it's mixed into man's matters!" It was heartfelt echo of Mr. Fogg's sentiments.
Captain Wass departed on his chartered motor-boat, after eating some of the boiled fish and potatoes which made up the humble fare of the workers on Razee.
Mayo based no hopes on the promised intervention of the old skipper. He had been so thoroughly discouraged by all the callous interests on shore that he felt sure his project was generally considered a failure. When he was on shore himself the whole thing seemed to be more or less a dream. {*}
* When the steamer _Carolyn_ was wrecked on Metinic Rock a
few years ago a venturesome young man, without money or
experience in salvaging, managed to raise a few thousand
dollars, bought the steamer for $1,000 from a frightened
junk concern, and after many months of toil, during which he
was mocked at by experienced men, managed to float her. She
was sold recently for $180,000, and is now carrying cargoes
to Europe.
They were reduced to extremities on board the _Conomo_. There was no more coal for the lighter's engine, equipment was disabled, parts were needed for worn machinery, Smut-nosed Dolph was pounding Hungryman's tattoo on the bottom of the flour-barrel, trying to knock out enough dust for another batch of biscuit.
Mayo had kept his promise and had not confided to Captain Candage the source of the loan which had enabled them to do what they had done. After a few days of desperate consideration Mayo sailed on the _Ethel and May_ for Maquoit.
He avoided the eyes of the villagers as much as was possible; he landed far down the beach from the house which was the refuge for the folks from Hue and Cry. In his own heart he knew the reason for this slinking approach: he did not want Polly Candage to see him in this plight. Her trust had been so absolute! Her confidence in him so supreme! In his mental distress he was not thinking of his rags or his physical unsightliness. He went straight to the store of Deacon Rowley and his looks startled that gentleman into some rather unscriptural ejaculations.
However, Deacon Rowley promptly recovered his presence of mind when Mayo solicited an additional loan. The refusal was sharp and conclusive.
"But you may as well follow your hand in the thing," insisted Mayo. "That's why I have come to you. I hated to come, sir. I have tried all other means. You can see how I have worked!" He spread his tortured hands. "Come out and see for yourself!"
"I don't like the water."
"But you can see that we are going to succeed if we get more money. You have five thousand in the project; you can't afford to drop where you are."
"I know what I can afford to do. I have always said, from the first, that you'd never make a go of it."
At this statement Mayo displayed true amazement.
"But, confound it all, you lent us money! What do you mean by crawfishing in this way?"
Deacon Rowley was visibly embarrassed; he had dropped to this vitally interested party a damaging admission of his real sentiments.
"I mean that I ain't going to dump any more money in, now that you ain't making good! I might have believed you the first time you came. I reckon I must have. But you can't fool me again. No use to coax! Not another cent."
"Aren't you worried about how you're going to get back what you have already lent?" demanded Mayo, with exasperation.
"The Lord will provide," declared Deacon Rowley, devoutly.
The young man stared at this amazing creditor, worked his jaws a few moments wordlessly, found no speech adequate, and stamped out of the store. He no longer dreaded to meet Polly Candage. He felt that he needed to see her. He was seeking the comfort of sanity in that shore world of incomprehensible lunacy; he had had experience with Polly Candage's soothing calmness.
She came out from her little school and controlled her emotions with difficulty when she saw his piteous condition.
"Let's walk where I can feel the comfort of green grass under my feet," he pleaded; "that may seem real! Nothing else does!"
By her matter-of-fact acceptance of him and his appearance and his mood she calmed him as they walked along.
"And even Rowley," he added, after his blunt confession of failure, "he has just turned me down. He won't follow his five thousand with another cent. The old rascal deserves to be cheated if we fail. He is telling me that he always believed we would never make good in the job. Is he crazy, or am I?"
"Make all allowances for Deacon Rowley," she pleaded. "Keep away from him. He is not a consoling man. But there must be some way for you, Boyd. Let us think! You have been keeping too close to the thing--to your work--and there are other places besides Limeport."
"There's New York--and there's a way," he growled.
"You must try every chance; it means so much to you!"
"Is that your advice?"
"Certainly, Boyd!"
He stopped and pulled the sealed packet from his coat. In the stress of his despair and resentment he was brutal rather than considerate.
"There are papers in there with which I can club Julius Marston until he squeals. I haven't seen them, but I know well enough what they are. I can scare him into giving back all he has taken away from me. I can make him give back a lot to other folks. And from those other folks I can get money to finish our work on the _Conomo_. Look at the monogram on that seal, Polly!" He pointed grimy finger and held the packet close.
"From--Miss Marston?" she asked, tremulously.
"Yes, Polly."
"And she is helping you?"
"I suppose she is trying to."
"Well, it's what a girl should do when she loves a man," she returned. But she did not look at him and her lips were white.
"And you think I ought to use her help?"
"Yes." She evidently realized that her tone was a mere quaver of assent, for she repeated the word more firmly.
"But these papers are not hers, Polly. She stole them--or somebody stole them for her--from her own father," he went on, relentlessly.
"She must love you very much, Boyd."
They turned away from each other and gazed in opposite directions. He was wondering, as he had through many agonized hours, just what motive was influencing Alma Marston in those later days. With all his soul he wanted to question Polly Candage--to get the light of her woman's instinct on his troubled affairs; but the nature of the secret he was hiding put effective stopper on his tongue.
"Under those circumstances, no matter what kind of a sacrifice she has made for you, you ought to accept it, Boyd."
"I want to accept it; every impulse in me says to go in and grab. Polly, hell-fire is blazing inside of me. I want to tear them down--the whole of them. I do! You needn't jump! But if I use those papers which that girl has stolen from her father I'll be a dirty whelp. You know it, and I know it! Suppose you should tell me some secret about your own father so I could use it to cheat him out of his share of our partnership? You might mean all right, but after I had used it you would