"All loaded by noon, sir," he said.
Newmark looked up in surprise.
"Well, why do you tell me?" he inquired.
"I want your orders."
"My orders? Why?"
"This is a bad time of year," explained Captain Floyd, "and the
storm signal's up. All the signs are right for a blow."
Newmark whirled in his chair.
"A blow!" he cried. "What of it? You don't come in every time it
blows, do you?"
"You don't know the lakes, sir, at this time of year," insisted
Captain Floyd.
"Are you afraid?" sneered Newmark.
Captain Floyd's countenance burned a dark red.
"I only want your orders," was all he said. "I thought we might
wait to see."
"Then go," snapped Newmark. "That lumber must get to the market.
You heard Mr. Orde's orders to sail as soon as you were loaded."
Captain Floyd nodded curtly and went out without further comment.
Newmark arose and looked out of the window. The sun shone as
balmily soft as ever. English sparrows twittered and fought
outside. The warm smell of pine shingles rose from the street.
Only close down to the horizon lurked cold, flat, greasy-looking
clouds; and in the direction of the Government flag-pole he caught
the flash of red from the lazily floating signal.
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