Dodge sat
down before his desk and wiped his glasses. He looked at the dollar
bill, and then he said--quite out loud--
"Poor, poor dears!"
CHAPTER III
UP STAKES
That night, Kenelm could not sleep. He walked up and down his room in
the dark. His own head ached, and he could not think properly. The one
image which stood clearly out of the confusion was that of the
_Celestine_, raising gracious spars above the house-tops. The more he
thought of her, the more a plan grew in his tired mind. The crew of the
_Celestine_ must be paid quite well--he could send money home every week
from different ports--he could send gold and precious things from South
America. There would be one less person to feed at home; he would be
earning money instead of spending it.
He turned on his light, and quickly gathered together his hockey
sweater, his watch-cap, and an old pair of trousers. He made them into a
bundle with a few other things. Then he wrote a letter, containing many
good arguments, and pinned it on Felicia's door. He tiptoed downstairs
and out into the night. From the street he could see the faint green
light from his mother's room, where Miss McClough was sitting. He turned
and ran quickly, without stopping to think.
No one was abroad but an occasional policeman, twirling his night-stick.
On the wharves the daylight confusion was dispelled; there was no
clatter of teaming, no sound but the water fingering dank piles, and the
little noises aboard sleeping vessels.
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