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Any other lodgers?" "No, sir. There was a bunch of 'em left this morning got work on the Crow's Nest." Anderson made his way to the little "shack," Ginnell's house of the first year, now used as a kind of general receptacle for tools, rubbish and stores. He looked in. On a heap of straw in the corner lay a huddled figure, a kind of human rag.
George Anderson, Ginnell's Boarding House, Laggan, Alberta, had, strangely enough, been found in McEwen's pocket. Could Mr. Anderson throw any light upon the matter? Anderson stood up as the coroner handed him the envelope. He took it, looked at it, and slowly put it down on the table before him.
Not a sign of a wreck was to be seen, though Ginnell's glasses were powerful enough to show up every detail from the rock fissures to the roosting gulls. Gloom fell upon the party, with the exception of Harman. "It'll be on the other side if it's there at all," said he.
Ginnell's outhouse, could he ever have dreamed it possible that Elizabeth Merton should marry him? Yes! He thought, trembling from head to foot, of that expression in her eyes he had seen that very afternoon. Again and again he had checked his feeling by the harsh reminder of her social advantages. But, at this moment of crisis, the man in him stood up, confident and rebellious.
McEwen rose with difficulty, groaning as he put his right foot to the ground. Anderson then perceived that the right foot and ankle were wrapped round with a bloodstained rag, and was told that the night before their owner had stumbled over a jug in Mrs. Ginnell's kitchen, breaking the jug and inflicting some deep cuts on his own foot and ankle.
As long as their little privileges were regarded, as long as opium bubbled in the evening pipe, and pork, rice and potatoes were served out, one white skipper was the same as another to them. The overhaul of the stores took half an hour and was fairly satisfactory, and, when they came, on deck, Blood, telling Charlie to take Ginnell's place as lookout, called the latter down into the cabin.
The fight, that had made Blood master of the Heart of Ireland and Ginnell's revolver, had occurred in the cabin and out of sight of the coolies, but even had it been conducted in full view of them, it is doubtful whether they would have shown any feeling or lifted a hand in the matter.
Ginnell," said Anderson, standing in the doorway, "a man called McEwen; and that he wants to see me on some business or other." Mrs. Ginnell's countenance darkened. "We have an old man here, Mr. Anderson, as answers to that name, but you'll get no business out of him and I don't believe he have any business with any decent crater.
Ginnell's garrulity, and longing for the whole thing to end. He had a letter to write to Ottawa before post-time. When the verdicts had been given, the doctor and he walked away from the court together. The necessary formalities were carried through, a coffin ordered, and provision made for the burial of Robert Anderson.
Ginnell's arm fell. Harman, forgetting everything, turned, dashed into the cabin behind him, climbed on the upper bunk, and stuck his head through the port-hole. Then he dashed back into the saloon. "It's the Port of Amsterdam," cried Harman, "It's the salvage ship, she's there droppin' her anchor; we're done, we're dished and we foolin' like this and they crawlin' up on us."
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