CHAPTER XXII
THE MAN WHO THOUGHT SLOW
AS the old fisherman had said, Varge had no difficulty in finding Varley's wharf. He passed by the large storehouse that faced it on the shore, though he heard a number of men moving within, and went out along the wharf toward where, at the extreme end, a schooner was moored—her rail, with the high tide, riding well above the string-piece.
Across the boat's stern Varge read her name: Mary K. Jones of Gloucester. She was a black-hulled little craft of perhaps seventy tons. To Varge, she appeared very dirty and in great confusion, except for the pile of nested dories that fitted neatly into one another just abaft the mainmast. Barrels were about the decks and the hold was open. She smelt very strongly of fish.
Varge walked her length, inspecting her curiously and with interest. He had seen no one about her, but now as he stood near the bow a woolly head and a coal-black face appeared suddenly from the forecastle hatchway.
"Is Captain Sully here?" Varge asked.
The negro regarded him for a moment with an amiable grin.
"I done reckon youall means Jonah," he responded. "Yassir, dat's what I done reckon—an' dar he am now comin' along de w'arf wrastlin' wif a barr'l bigger 'n he is."
Varge looked in the direction indicated. A short, very small man, whiskered, dressed in trousers and
211
