Sam Steele's Adventures in Panama

“Not that, sir; I am not impertinent, believe me. But I enquired about Captain Steele and was told that he is a good man and kind. So, that I might lose no time if I obtained your consent, I had the machine loaded on the flat-boat.”

Mr. Harlan laughed outright. Acting upon a sudden impulse I turned to him and said:

“May I decide as I please in this matter?”

“Of course, Sam,” he replied. “It is your affair, not mine.”

I looked at the stranger again. He was actually trembling with anxious uncertainty.

“Very well,” I announced, “I will take you.”

“For the two hundred dollars?”

“No; I’ll carry you for nothing. You may need that extra money at your journey’s end.”

He took out his handkerchief and wiped his brow, upon which beads of perspiration were standing.

“Thank you, sir,” he said, simply.

“But I must warn you of one thing. The bark is not in what we call A-1 condition. If she happens to go to the bottom instead of San Pedro I won’t be responsible for your precious machine.”

“Very well, sir. I will take as many chances as you do.”

“May I ask your name?”

“Moit, sir; Duncan Moit.”

“Scotch?”

“By ancestry, Captain. American by birth.”

“All right; make haste and get your traps aboard as soon as possible.”

“I will. Thank you, Captain Steele.”

He put on his cap and walked hurriedly away, and when he had gone both Mr. Harlan and my father rallied me on account of my queer “passenger.”

“He looks to me like a crank, Sam,” said the agent. “But it’s your fireworks, not mine.”

“Whatever induced you to take him?” Captain Steele enquired, wonderingly.

“The bare fact that he was so anxious to go,” I replied. “He may be a crank on the automobile question, and certainly it is laughable to think of shipping a machine to Los Angeles on a freighter, around the Horn; but the poor fellow seemed to be a gentleman, and he’s hard up. It appeared to me no more than a Christian act to help him out of his trouble.”

“You may be helping him into trouble, if that confounded cargo of yours takes a notion to shift,” observed my father, with a shake of his grizzled head.

“But it’s not going to shift, sir,” I declared, firmly. “I’m looking for good luck on this voyage, and the chances are I’ll find it.”

The agent slapped me on the shoulder approvingly.

“That’s the way to talk!” he cried. “I’m morally certain, Sam, that you’ll land that cargo at San Pedro in safety. I’m banking on you, anyhow, young man.”

I thanked him for his confidence, and having bade a last good-bye to my father and my employer I walked away with good courage and made toward my boat, which was waiting for me.

Uncle Naboth was waiting, too, for I found his chubby form squatting on the gunwale.

Uncle Naboth’s other name was Mr. Perkins, and he was an important member of the firm of “Steele, Perkins & Steele,” being my dead mother’s only brother and my own staunch friend. I had thought my uncle in New York until now, and had written him a letter of farewell to his address in that city that very morning.

But here he was, smiling serenely at me as I approached.

“What’s this foolishness I hear, Sam?” he demanded, when I had shaken his hand warmly.

“I’m off on a trip around the Horn,” said I, “to carry a cargo of building steel to the Pacific coast in that crippled old bark, yonder.”

His sharp eye followed mine and rested on the ship.

“Anything in it, my lad?”

“Not much except adventure, Uncle. But it will keep me from growing musty until Spring comes and the Seagull is ready for launching. I’m dead tired of loafing around.”

He began to chuckle and cough and choke, but finally controlled himself sufficiently to gasp:

“So’m I, Sam!”

“You?”

“Tired as blazes. New York’s a frost, Sam. Nothin’ doin’ there that’s worth mentionin’. All smug-faced men an’ painted-faced women. No sassiety, more policemen than there is sailors, hair-cuts thirty-five cents an’ two five-cent drinks fer a quarter. I feel like Alladin an’ the Forty Thieves – me bein’ Alladin.”

“But, Uncle, it wasn’t Aladdin that the Forty – ”

“Never mind that. Got a spare bunk aboard, Sam?”

I laughed; but there was no use in being surprised at anything Uncle Naboth did.

“I’ve got a whole empty cabin – second mate’s.”

“All right. When do we sail?”

“Three o’clock, Uncle Naboth – sharp.”

“Very good.”

He turned and ambled away toward the town, and, rather thoughtfully, I entered my boat and was rowed out to the Gladys H.

CHAPTER III

THE MOIT CONVERTIBLE AUTOMOBILE

The flat-boat came alongside within the hour. On it was a big object covered with soiled canvas and tied ’round and ’round with cords like a package from the grocer. Beside it stood Moit, motionless until the barge made fast and Ned Britton – who at my request had ordered the windlass made ready – had the tackle lowered to hoist it aboard.