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Huddling close to the cavern tunnel he waited for the figure of the man behind him to emerge. When Mascola reached the end of the tunnel he felt himself grasped roughly by the arm and twisted to the rocks. Bandrist recovered his wits quickly when he recognized the Italian. "Quiet," he whispered. "You were a long time coming. There may be men on the beach already. Where is your boat?"
"He's workin' for the Lang girl now," put in another. Boris snarled and, flinging his tormentors away from him, made his way to the bar, jabbering excitedly in Russian to Pete Ankovitch. Blagg moved nearer. "What's he sayin', Pete?" he asked. Ankovitch laughed. "He say everybody go to hell," he interpreted. "He say he show Mascola he ain't 'fraid of no woman."
And don't you suppose in fishing with a man like Bill Lang, a person learns something? Doesn't that more than make up for the handicap of being a woman?" The young man waited for a chance to put in a word but none came. Becoming angrier each minute, she hurried on: "There isn't a man in Legonia but you who would have said that. Not even Mascola. He hates me only because I do know my business.
"That's just what I want them to do," he answered. "One of the benefits of reconnoitering is to get an idea of just what you're going into. If Mascola had taken a good look, he wouldn't have come that way." Convoyed by his fishing fleet, Mascola came steadily on.
They would strike him full on the beam. Cut his boats in two. Mascola shrieked out an order to put about and face the enemy. His captains sprang to their respective wheels and battled desperately among themselves for steerage way. Then came the crash. Skirting the mass of snapping grinding hulls, Gregory shot through with the Richard and came among the fishing-boats.
I came down this morning to take you out for a trial. Then if there's anything you want changed we can fix it up before we turn her over to you to beat Mascola. If you can spare the time I'll take you back with me to Port Angeles. That will give you a good chance to see her perform in rough water as it's blowing up nasty off the breakwater." Gregory's face cleared.
The glow was purely physical, superinduced by the rapidly disappearing contents of the slim-nosed bottle which stood at his elbow. The good humor was due to other causes. As he re-filled his glass, Mascola smiled. It hadn't been such a bad day at that. He'd showed somebody something about albacore fishing. And he'd show them a lot more before he got through.
One of his fishing captains was cruising round last night when I left the set." "But if you had your nets out first," Gregory began. A low laugh from the girl interrupted him. "You don't know how Mascola does business," she said. "Listen, I'll tell you. Did you ever notice them throw garbage overboard from the deck of a steamer and see one lone gull flying in her wake?
"You've got to have a whole lot more than ideas when you start out to beat Mascola." Gregory felt his patience oozing from him at her words. It was bad enough to lose an order from a firm he hoped to get in strong with, without the girl rubbing it in. "You haven't done anything yet but find fault," he said. "You have been at this game a lot longer than I have. Maybe you have something to suggest."
The man's carelessness and seeming irreverence on that never-to-be-forgotten day might not have been intentional. He must not allow his prejudice to interfere with his judgment. That was not business. He resolved to hear what the man had to say. "What do you want?" he asked bluntly. Mascola walked unbidden to a chair and seated himself before replying: "You will want fish before long, Mr. Gregory.
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