pick you up at sea in a whaleboat or a steam-launch, and bring the dollars right on board.”
It shows how much I had suffered morally during my sojourn in San Francisco, that even now when our fortunes trembled in the balance, I should have consented to become a smuggler—and (of all things) a smuggler of opium. Yet I did, and that in silence; without a protest, not without a twinge.
“And suppose,” said I, “suppose the opium is so securely hidden that I can't get hands on it?”
“Then you will stay there till that brig is kindling-wood, and stay and split that kindling-wood with your penknife,” cried Pinkerton. “The stuff is there; we know that; and it must be found. But all this is only the one string to our bow—though I tell you I've gone into it head-first, as if it was our bottom dollar. Why, the first thing I did before I'd raised a cent, and with this other notion in my head already—the first thing I did was to secure the schooner. The Nora Creina, she is, sixty-four tons—quite big enough for our purpose since the rice is spoiled, and the fastest thing of her tonnage out of San Francisco. For a bonus of two hundred, and a monthly charter of three, I have her for my own time; wages and provisions, say four hundred more: a drop in the bucket. They began firing the cargo out of her (she was part loaded) near two hours ago; and about the same time John Smith got the order for the stores. That's what I call business.”
“No doubt of that,” said I. “But the other notion?”
“Well, here it is,” said Jim. “You agree with me that Bellairs was ready to go higher?”
I saw where he was coming. “Yes—and why shouldn't he?” said I. “Is that the line?”
“That's the line, Loudon Dodd,” assented Jim. “If Bellairs and his principal have any desire to go me better, I'm their man.”
A sudden thought, a sudden fear, shot into my
