William MacLeod Raine

“ Without any compunction Frona stole from the cabin of her father the keys to the room in which Hilary was locked. Watching her opportunity, she slipped down the companionway to the hold and let herself into the prison of her defender.
“You, Miss Sigmund!” exclaimed Hilary.
In the darkness she felt herself flushing with joy at the glad note in his voice.
“Yes. I've come to free you. Father is ashore and Mr. Blair is asleep. We're in the harbor.”
The messages of love are carried swifter than words. The first thing that Hilary did when he was free was to take her in his arms. ”

“ When they need a bit of roughing I'm the man to do it,” he answered sulkily.
“I'm quite sure you are, Mr. Blair.” She looked directly at him with cool steadiness. “And, as I said before, when I need your help I'll be sure to send for you.”
Frona turned her back pointedly on him and gave Hilary directions how to wash the feet of socks. Blair stood in the background glowering in sullen anger. After a minute he moved away. Presently they heard his raucous voice flinging oaths at the head of the first sailor he saw. ”

“ Barefooted, he swabbed the forward deck one day under the direction of Frona, who took charge of him with a calm impersonal disregard of his feelings that stung.
“You've got the poorest idea of how to go to work,” she told him with candid contempt. “Lots of good that A.B. from Harvard has done you. I'm going to help Mr. Blair give you a postgraduate course free, Mr. Hilary.” ”

“ He would show Frona Sigmund whether he was a softy or not.
“Since you've got to have it, take that, Bully Blair.” Hilary lashed out straight from the shoulder with his left and sent the mate reeling back against the ship's rail.
The man hung there dazed for an instant, then charged again. The other sidestepped, but his right and afterward his left caught Blair flush as he went past. Hilary had always been a good boxer, but inside of five minutes he knew that a month before the mast had given him the stamina of a fighter, too. ”

“ In her pose and bearing were the elemental vigor of the sea, the buoyant strength of a young race just coming to its place in the sun. Her hair was of a lustrous copper, thick and wavy. It fell in two thick ropes across the shoulders to the waist. ”

“ Both Frona Sigmund and the mate were due to receive the surprise of their lives when they discovered that the filthily clothed roustabout they had hazed was after all the owner of the line.
With the arrival of Blair on the scene Frona's attitude toward the washerman sensibly changed. She had been scornful of his work and rather sharp in criticism. But evidently she felt quite able to handle him without any help from the mate.
“You're so kind, Mr. Blair,” the girl told him smoothly. “If I think he needs to be hit over the head with a handspike I'll send for you.” ”

“ The bucket was a tight fit and it was some moments before Blair could free his head from the enveloping helmet. In that interval the eyes of Frona met those of Hilary. She did not need to ask him whether he had done it on purpose.
“Sorry, sir. Accidents will happen,” explained Hilary as the mate flung the bucket into the scuppers.
Blair took the steps three at a time. Hilary was standing at the top of the stairway. The mate struck at him as he came up. The young man flung out a forearm in defence. It caught the officer under the chin and lifted him backward to the deck below. ”

“ He must know I can't interfere in his favor for personal reasons. If he's any kind of a man he won't expect it.”
Frona looked down at her father coldly.
“All right, dad. But I tell you now that I'm on his side. I'm a passenger on your old ship. I don't have to obey your stupid rules of the sea—and I'm not going to do it, either.”
“Then I'll have to put you in irons, too,” he laughed.
The Santa Clara steamed into the harbor of Valparaiso next day and Captain Sigmund went ashore. Blair, in charge of the ship, was making up lost sleep in his cabin. ”

“ It was the custom on board the Santa Clara for the ship's boy to do the washing of the captain's cabin. Soon after leaving San Pedro the boy sprained his ankle badly. Frona washed her own things and then sent for Hilary.
“Have you ever washed clothes, Mr. Hilary?” she asked.
“No, ma'am. And my name is Butts,” he corrected.
“Very well, Butts. Mr. Blair says you're not much of a seaman and he can spare you. So I'm going to teach you a new trade. Take those clothes out of the boiler and put them in that tub. Rub them clean on the washboard. Not that way, stupid. Hold your hands like this. ”