‘But—’
‘Howsomenever, skipper, seeing you’re here. I’ll no’ see you stuck. We’ll take twenty tons off you at the bargain price.’
‘But— Twenty tons! But dammit, Mr. MacWhirrie – begging your pardon – I’ll never get off the beach with it if that’s all you’re for taking.’
‘Of course, skipper, I’m nae mariner. I’ve a big enough fight back and forward here without the necessity of solving your problems.’
‘Ah, but Mr. MacWhirrie, sir: twenty tons is clean out o’ the question. I’ve ninety tons in the hold if I’ve a ton. Look at the way she’s settled down. A neep tide wouldn’t float me off.’
‘N’aye … Well, had I the accommodation, captain, and, mair importantly, had I the money to lay out on such a stock, I wouldn’t see you waiting for a tide to float you off. But prices havena been what they should the year, skipper, and I just havena the money to spare.’
‘But lime’s an investment, Mr. MacWhirrie, and although I’ve my orders regarding the price, I think you’ll agree it’s a cheap price – it’ll never be cheaper.’
‘Maybe you’re right, captain – I wouldna say but maybe you are. But it’ll need to be a lot cheaper before I could afford to put it on my land. But we’re wasting time, captain. I’ll send the carts down for that twenty ton. You’ll manage after dinner, Tom?’
‘Just as you say, Mr. MacWhirrie.’
‘For Godsake, Mr. MacWhirrie! I’ll need to empty the hold before dark comes on. There might be a storm before night – we’re lost if that happens.’
The master was desperate. He was holding his anger down by a mighty effort of self-control. He knew Craigdaroch. It mattered little to him whether The Dolphin had her ribs cracked in with a storm.
The truth was Craigdaroch didn’t care. Indeed such a spectacle would have amused him greatly. Both the owner, Symington, and the skipper were at his mercy – and he wanted the lime for next to nothing.
A sour distaste for the whole mean bargaining turned in the stomach of the grieve. He had no admiration for the part Craigdaroch was playing. He stood rigid and somewhat withdrawn and fixed his eyes on the grey heaving of the sea. There was a storm brewing – and the Lord help The Dolphin when it broke.
Craigdaroch took a turn up the beach. He had as highly developed weather sense as the skipper or his grieve. There was just the chance that the storm would break before the cargo could be unloaded and he would lose his opportunity of buying well below the market price. At the same time it would never do to appear anxious or the skipper would hold to his price.
Still, Craigdaroch was a man who had taken many a risk and his judicious and cautious gambling had never failed him before. He turned his step briskly towards the cart-track leading from the beach.
‘Mr. MacWhirrie?’
Craigdaroch never halted his step and his grieve, making long strides, followed him.
For a moment the skipper hesitated. His greatest desire was to choke the life out of the farmer. But for a wife and large family he would have satisfied it. He had tremendous responsibilities and he had shares in The Dolphin. He would lose his commission on the cargo. But better that than losing all.
The skipper made a desperate run after the farmer.
‘Mr. MacWhirrie … name your price.’
MacWhirrie named it without a tremor.
A contorted look passed over the skipper’s face and the grieve shifted uneasily and kicked his foot into the soft earth of the wheel-rut.
The skipper held out his hand. Craigdaroch took it, a thin cruel smile on his lips. The bargain was sealed.
‘I’ll send the carts down right away, skipper. You can have your dram now or after.’
‘After will be early enough,’ replied the skipper and turned away.
‘You see now, Tom,’ said Craigdaroch, on their way back to the farm, ‘you see how a profitable bit bargain can be driven when a man can keep his wits about him. I’ll have saved £10–£15 on the deal.’
Tom Gibson nodded. He did not trust himself to speak for his palate was bitter. He saw nothing to admire about Craigdaroch’s conduct. His sympathy was all with the skipper. But he too, like the skipper, had a wife and family: and Craigdaroch was his master. Nevertheless, after the lapse of a decent interval he allowed himself a remark.
‘Just the same, Mr. MacWhirrie, we’d better hurry the unloading or I’m afraid …’
‘Aye …’
‘There’s a storm coming up, Mr. MacWhirrie.’
‘You noticed that, eh?’
The grieve did not reply.
‘Aye … you see things too, Tom. I misdoubt but you would be thinking more of the skipper’s problems than mine, Tom?’
‘Mr. MacWhirrie well knows—’
‘Don’t fash yourself, Tom. Your feelings are a credit to you. But I’ve to make the money to pay the wages – and the rent and taxes. And I’ve allowed for a fair profit in my price. Put your fears at rest: they’ll no die of starvation.’
‘That’s just hardly fair, Mr. MacWhirrie. There’s no’ a better farmer in the Rhinns than yourself-or a more just. Your interests have aye been mine.’
‘Man, can ye no’ take a bit banter in the spirit it’s given. Don’t forget I’d be a puir louse if I hadn’t my feelings for that puir devil of a skipper. But feelings don’t put salt in the kail, Tom. That’s something you must never forget.’
Craigdaroch’s manner hardened as he entered the courtyard.
‘You’ll see the men yoked smartly after dinner, Tom? And I’m depending on you to see that you get the cargo home safe.’
‘Mr. MacWhirrie can lippen on me.’
Craigdaroch nodded and turned towards the farmhouse.
Tom Gibson was in a black temper when he sat down to his dinner of potatoes and braxy. He chewed the rotten mutton with a savage stubbornness. Jean, his eldest daughter, sat cowed at the table for she Knew as well as her mother when he was angry.
Mrs. Gibson said nothing. He would speak in his own good time or not at all.
It had been the grieve’s intention not to speak but towards the end of the meal he took a large drink of sour milk. He had dulled the edge of his hunger and the displeasure was wearing off. His ear timed itself to the sough of the wind. He looked directly at his wife.
‘There’s a storm in it, Aggie?’
‘There is, Tom … is it the lime boat?’
