the sense? Besides the chap’s genuine. You have only to look at his face....” 70 70 CHAPTER XI NIGHT NIGHT THE week before the sailing of the Wear Jack was a busy time for the Fisher Syndicate and business was not expedited owing to the fact that Candon had to be kept hidden. The red-bearded one seemed happy enough, spending most of his time in the engine room smoking cigarettes. At nights, safe with Hank in the “saloon,” his mind disclosed itself in his conversation. No, this was no wasp let in on them by Barrett or the Club boys. The mind of Candon, as revealed to Hank, was as free from crookedness as the eyes through which it looked, and on most topics from the League of Nations to Ella Wheeler Wilcox, it was sound. And it was not unlike the mind of Hank. It was self-educated and their enthusiasms, from the idea of Universal Brotherhood to the idea of the sanctity of womanhood, matched, mostly. Candon, from what one could gather, had been a rolling stone, like Hank, but he gave little away about himself and he was quite frank about it. 71 71 “I’d just as soon forget myself,” said he. “I’ve been in a good many mix-ups and I’ve missed a fortune twice through my own fault, but I’ve come through with all my teeth and no stomach worries and we’ll leave it at that.” Barrett’s stores came on board and were stowed, and Hank, through a boarding-house keeper, got his crew, four Chinamen all of the same tong, all Lees, and bossed by a gentleman rejoicing in the name of Lee Wong Juu. Champagne Charley, Hank labeled him. They came tripping on board with their chests the night before starting, vanished like shades down the foc’sle hatch and were seen no more. Hank, standing on the deck with George, heaved a sigh of contentment. “Well, that’s done,” said he. “There’s nothing more to take on board and we’re all ready for the pull out in the morning.”
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