Just before our train drew into Chicago, where we were to change cars and spend the best part of a day, my uncle slipped into my hand a long, fat pocket–book, saying:
“Hide that in your pocket, Sam, and button it up tight.”
“What’s your idea, Uncle Nabe?” I asked.
“Why, we’re comin’ to the wickedest city in all the world, accordin’ to the preachers; an’ if it ain’t that, it’s bad enough, in all conscience. There’s robbers an’ hold–up men by the thousands, an’ if one of ’em got hold of me I’d be busted in half a second. But none of ’em would think of holdin’ up a boy like you; so the money’s safe in your pocket, if you don’t go an’ lose it.”
“I’ll try not to do that, sir,” I returned; but all during the day the possession of the big pocket–book made me nervous and uneasy. I constantly felt of my breast to see that the money was still safe, and it is a wonder my actions did not betray to some sly thief the fact that I was concealing the combined wealth of our little party.
No attempt was made to rob us, however, either at Chicago or during the remainder of the journey to the Pacific coast, and we arrived at our destination safely and in good spirits.
Uncle Naboth seemed especially pleased to reach San Francisco again.
“This car travellin’,” he said, “is good enough for landsmen that don’t know of anything better; but I’d rather spend a month at sea than a night in one of them stuffy, dangerous cars, that are likely to run off’n the track any minute.”
Ned Britton and I accompanied Mr. Perkins to a modest but respectable lodging–house near the bay, where we secured rooms and partook of a hearty breakfast. Then we took a long walk, and I got my first sight of the famous “Golden Gate.” I was surprised at the great quantity of shipping in the bay, and as I looked over the hundreds of craft at anchor I wondered curiously which was the “Flipper,” of which I was part owner—the gallant ship whose praises Uncle Naboth had sung so persistently ever since we left Batteraft.
After luncheon we hired a small boat, and Ned Britton undertook to row us aboard the “Flipper,” which had been hidden from our view by a point of land. I own that after my uncle’s glowing descriptions of her I expected to see a most beautiful schooner, with lines even nobler than those of the grand old “Saracen,” which had been my father’s pride for so many years. So my disappointment may be imagined when we drew up to a grimy looking vessel of some six hundred tons, with discolored sails, weather–worn rigging and a glaring need of fresh paint.
Ned Britton, however, rested on his oars, studied the ship carefully, and then slowly nodded his head in approval.
“Well, what d’ye think o’ her?” asked Uncle Naboth, relapsing into one of his silent chuckles at the expression of my face.
“She looks rather dirty, sir,” I answered, honestly.
“The ‘Flipper’ ain’t quite as fresh as a lily in bloom, that’s a fact,” returned my uncle, in no ways discomfited by my remark. “She wasn’t no deebutantee when I bought her, an’ her clothes has got old, and darned and patched, bein’ as we haven’t been near to a Paris dressmaker. But I’ve sailed in her these ten years past, Sam, an’ we’re both as sound as a dollar.”
“She ought to be fast, sir,” remarked Britton, critically.
Mr. Perkins laughed—not aloud, but in his silent, distinctly humorous way.
“She is fast, my lad, w’ich is a virtue in a ship if it ain’t in a woman. And in some other ways, besides, the ‘Flipper’ ain’t to be sneezed at. As for her age, she’s too shy to tell it, but I guess it entitles her to full respect.”
We now drew alongside, and climbed upon the deck, where my uncle was greeted by a tall, lank man who appeared to my curious eyes to be a good example of a living skeleton. His clothes covered his bones like bags, and so thin and drawn was his face that his expression was one of constant pain.
“Morn’n’, Cap’n,” said Uncle Naboth, although it was afternoon.
“Morn’n’, Mr. Perkins,” returned the other, in a sad voice. “Glad to see you back.”
“Here’s my nevvy, Sam Steele, whose father were part owner but got lost in a storm awhile ago.”
“Glad to see you, sir,” said the Captain, giving my hand a melancholy shake.
“An’ here’s Ned Britton, who once sailed with Cap’n Steele,” continued my uncle. “He’ll sign with us, Cap’n Gay, and I guess you’ll find him A No. 1.”
“Glad to see you, Britton,” repeated the Captain, in his dismal voice. If the lanky Captain was as glad to see us all as his words indicated, his expression fully contradicted the fact.
Britton saluted and walked aft, where I noticed several sailors squatting upon the deck in careless attitudes. To my glance these seemed as solemn and joyless as their Captain; but I acknowledge that on this first visit everything about the ship was a disappointment to me, perhaps because I had had little experience with trading vessels and my mind was stored with recollections of the trim “Saracen.”
Below, however, was a comfortable cabin, well fitted up, and Uncle Naboth showed me a berth next to his own private room which was to be my future home. The place was little more than a closet, but I decided it would do very well.
“I thought you were the captain of the ‘Flipper,’ Uncle Naboth,” said I, when we were alone.
“No; I’m jest super–cargo,” he replied, with his usual wink. “You see, I wasn’t eddicated as a sailor, Sam, an’ never cared to learn the trade. Cap’n Gay is one o’ the best seamen that ever laid a course, so I hire him to take the ship wherever I want to go. As fer the cargo, that’s my ’special look–out, an’ it keeps me busy enough, I can tell you. I’m a nat’ral born trader, and except fer that blamed Japan trip, I ain’t much ashamed of my record.”
“Will you go to Australia again?” I asked.
“Not jest now, Sam. My next venture’s goin’ to be a bit irregular—what you might call speculative, an’ extry–hazardous. But we’ll talk that over tonight, after supper.”
After making a cursory examination of the ship Uncle Naboth received the Captain’s report of what had transpired in his absence, and then we rowed back to town again.
We strolled through the city streets for an hour, had supper, and then my uncle took me to his room, carefully closed and locked the door, and announced that he was ready to “talk business.”
“Bein’ partners,” he said, “we’ve got to consult together; but I take it you won’t feel bad, Sam, if I do most of the consultin’. I went down East to Batteraft to talk my plans with your father, but he slipped his cable an’ I’ve got to talk ’em to you. If you see I’m wrong, anywhere, jest chip in an’ stop me; but otherwise the less you say the more good we’ll get out’n this ’ere conference.”
“Very well, sir.”
“To start in with, we’ve got a ship, an’ a crew, an’ plenty o’ loose money. So what’ll we do with ’em? Our business is to trade, an’ to invest our money so we’ll make more with it. What’s the best way to do that?”
He seemed to pause for an answer, so I said: “I don’t know sir.”
“Nobody knows, of course. But we can guess, and then find out afterward if we’ve guessed right. All business is a gamble; and, if it wasn’t, most men would quit an’ go fishin’. After I got back from Japan I met a lot o’ fellows that had been to Alaska huntin’ gold. Seems like Alaska’s full of gold, an’ before long the whole country’ll be flockin’ there like sheep. All ’Frisco’s gettin’ excited about the thing, so they tell me, and if fortunes is goin’ to be made in Alaska, we may as well speak for one ourselves.”