Pacific Blue.

Star (Christchurch), Issue 18586, 11 October 1928, Page 5

Pacific Blue.

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A STORY OF SUNNY SEAS AND ISLAND ADVENTURES.

By

CARLTON DAWE

' Author of “The Knightsbridge Affair,” “The Glare," “ Desperate Love," etc. [COPYRIGHT.] iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiniiiiiiiiiiiiiniiiiimiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiHiiHiiiiiiiiiiiiiii

CHAPTER IV, SAILING ORDERS. Early the next morning Doris Harworth, accompanied by Ronnie . Haddington, came aboard. The story which thrs young man had told of Trenton had aroused in her a feeling of, more than curiosity. It intrigued her in a way she little realised. If it were really true, and Ronnie had not been mistaken. what had brought this man down so low ? She knew all about coasting schooners and the derelicts who manned them. Memories of the days when she had sailed with her father were still vivid. Rough times, rough men, but careless, big-hearted fellows Who had always made a . pet of h Gr - They had been happy times, wild as they were. It had almost broken her heart when her father put her . on the mail steamer at Fremantle. are &oing to your mother’s people, he had said, “but not to be dependent on them. So stick up for your? self and let me know if anything happens. Remember, you’re independent of everybody; that’s the first thing, ihe next is that I believe they’re good P®°P| e ;they must be since they are of the same blood as j'our motherland they 11 do what’s right and begt for 3 r ou. I want you to grow up like your mother. Do that, my dear, and you won’t go fax wrong.”, . Ages ago it seemed since that partinS,. an< f now she was going to see him again. Ten years is a long time in of the young. Yet the memory of him had never blurred. A big square man with a brindled beard and fierce grey eyes, whose big voice could be heard above the loudest gale that ever blew. T o her a kind of superman born to command. She had se°n him in all humours, in the most trying of circumstances ; holding a mutinous crew in check, roaring fierce imprecations. But he had always been kind and gentle to her, always affectionate. “You grow more like your mother every day,” he would tell her. This knowledge made her supremely happy and afforded him a sort of proud, regretful consolation. Then came the long years of schooling, with an occasional letter from him. Once he wrote of coming to Melbourne to see her, but he never came. She thought that her relations, good as they were to her, did not altogether approve of him. They were staid and eminently respectable pro l , fessional people to whom the life led by pearlers on the northern coast seemed only one degree removed from piracy. She was -not sure that they did not regard him as a sea-adventurer of the most unscrupulous type, and took great pains to convince them of their error. But they never could understand how her mother had been content to go a-voyaging with him. It was utterly beyond their preconceived notions of what was right and proper. But to Doris it was all quite natural, and became more easily understood with the years. They loved each other, and sailing those beautiful subtropical seas with the man one loved was not quite what these good city folks imagined. She herself often dreamt of those days and nights among the islands. She knew that the salt of the sea was in her blood, that it called to her and would call to the end of time. Here she sometimes stifled for a breath of it. To feel again the spindrift whip her cheeks, the heave of the vessel beneath her as she rose to the crest of a wave, the beat of the furious tropical downpour when the world seemed to dissolve in rain—all these things stirred the blood and the imagination to .a superlative degree. She knew she was a daughter of the sea. Then after a long, long silence—more than a year it must have been—came a letter from the far Pacific. He had left the pearling grounds for. good, bought this far Tongan island of Tapu, and would send for her to come and I see him when he had settled down and made everything comfortable. But it was a long wait before the order came, and now she was in Fiji, the greater part of the journey accomplished. Captain Calpin, smiling broadly, cheroot in mouth, greeted them. Both she and her companion looked round for the-mate, and saw him busy with his men in the forward part of the vessel, but he did not come near, and a certain delicacy prevented them from looking too closely in his direction. Meanwhile the captain and his visitors went below. She saw the bowl of fresh flowers on the table, but made no comment, though she xvondered, not wholly associating Calpin with such forethought. “By Geroge. how I wish I was going,” said the young man, looking hard at her. The captain grinned. It was always the same old story. Doris pretended not to hear. “ When do you think of sailing, captain?” she asked. “ I await your orders, miss.” “ Mine?” “ Why, yes. We’re ready to put to sea as soon as you give the word.” She thought a moment. ’* To-morrow —will that do?” “ Very nicely. I have a little business ashore this eve —afternoon. That will give me time to see it through.” “ Shall we say after lunch?” “ After lunch is- the time for me,” said the captain cheerily. That would give him ample time to recover from his last jaunt ashore. Reaching deck, they saw that the mate was still forward. Haddington shot a meaning glance at her, but did not receive the anticipated smile. As the launch steamed away, the captain called to Trenton, who came towards him, one eye on the receding vessel. “ Sail to-mqrrow, Jim, after luncfi. Skipper’s orders. Great Scott!” “ Why Great Scott?” “ Think of that girl at Tapu—an’ old Tom. Well, no business of ours. Our job is to get her across. But why couldn’t the old fool leave her where she was? Ten years—she was a kiddy then. Thinks of ; him as she. knew him up north. Well, well, nope of my business. Must run ashore now for clearance. S’long.” “S’long,” said the mate. Doris told Blanche Newbury that Captain Calpin had decided to sail ox 7 the morrow, which news was . received with many expressions of regret, and aj further questioning regarding the mate.

Did Ronnie Haddington see him, and was he quite sure that he had not been mistaken in the man? Upon Doris’s explanation of the mate’s remaining forward, Blanche reiterated the belief that the young man had been mistaken. How could the erstwhile Colonel Trenton come down so lpw? The suggestion was absurd. It must be a case of mistaken identity. If it were not. it spoke ill for the man who had so far forgotten himself. Ronnie Haddington dined with the Newburys again that night, and was greatly disconsolate over the impending calamity. This girl to come and so suddenly to go was like the coming and going of hope. He devoured her with hungry eyes; he had no thought but for her, and later he seized the first opportunity to tell her so. But she only shook her head. Ronnie was a nice boy, handsome, intelligent, and the best of company, but he left her cold. She simply had not thought of him like that. He toid her she had no heart. Perhaps he was right; she didn’t know, and didn’t seem to care much. But of course she was frightfully sorry if he should.really feel like that Very beautiful she looked there in I the moonlight, slimly beautiful and I spiritual. The white light of the moon | silvered her fair hair, giving it an alI most unnatural lustre; the moonlight in her eyes darkened them mysteriously. “ You’re the most beautiful creature on earth,” he said. “ Please. Mr Haddington ** “ Ronnie. Doris.” “ Perhaps, when we know each other better.” “Is that a promise?” he asked eagerly. “No.” “ I shall regard it as such. How long are you going to stay in the Tongas?” . “ I don’t know.” “ Doris ! ” He caught her hand, which she instantly withdrew. “All the same,” he said, “ I’m going to wait for you. There never was a girl like you, and there'll never be another ” “ Please don’t think of nic like that,” she said. “ Why not?” “ It might hurt us both.” “ I could almost wish to hurt you,” he said fiercely. And then in a jealous tone, “Is there anyone behind—-in Melbourne ? ” “I do not think you have the right to ask that question.” “A r man has every right when his happiness is at stake.” But the apparent assumption of such a rigfit was not pleasing Indeed he almost suggested the presumptuous, which was fatal. Regret was fast turning to annoyance when the voice of Blanche Newbury called to them from the verandah. “You are not Doris?” he whispered. “Of course not.” Blanche quizzed them rather clpsely, and when Haddington had gone fotind much to say in his favour. He was a good fellow, and she was sure he would make a good husband. A girl might do worse than give him a serious. thought or two. It was the elder woman’s privilege to counsel youth, but in this instance youth was not interested apd rather plainly showed it, much to the disapproval of experience. (To be Continued).