lled up a chair opposite. "Very cold and
slippery outside," he remarked. "I nearly came down on the floating
bridge, and looked in for a drink. A jar shakes a man who carries
weight."

"What were you doing on the floating bridge?" Cartwright asked.

"I went to the stage to meet some Canadian friends on board the
_Nepigon_. They'd a bad voyage; thick mist down the St. Lawrence, and
they lost a day cruising about among the floes in the Gulf. What about
your little boat?"

"I understand she's coming down river."

"Hasn't she started rather late?"

"If I'd sent her sooner, the _Conference_ would have knocked me out,"
Cartwright rejoined. "I'd have got nothing but low-rated stuff the
liners didn't want. One must run some risks."

The other nodded. "That is so, when shareholders must be satisfied.
Well, I expect I'm lucky because my partner's a good sort. When you
needn't bother about other folk's greediness, you can take a cautious
line. Now I come to think of it, I heard some of your people grumbling.
I hope your boat will get across all right."

He got up and Cartwright pondered. If outsiders knew his shareholders
were dissatisfied, things were worse than he had thought and he might
expect trouble at the next meeting. Then he looked at his watch, but his
chair was deep and when he tried to get up his leg hurt. He sank back
again. Gavin knew where to find him if a reply from St. Johns arrived.

By and by his office boy, carrying a cable company's envelope, came in,
and Cartwright's hand shook when he opened the message. It stated that
an easterly gale and snowstorm raged about the Newfoundland coast and
the thermometer was very low. The gale would drive the drift ice up the
Gulf and pack the floes. Things looked bad. Cartwright felt he ought to
get about and make some plans to meet the threatened blow, but he did
not see what he could do.

He sat still. The other customers had gone, and all was quiet but for
the faint rumble of traffic and soothing throb of an electric fan.
Cartwright mused about _Oreana_ and pictured Davies sheltering behind
the wind-screens on his bridge and trying to pierce the snow, and the
look-out man half frozen in the spray that leaped about the forecastle.
_Oreana_ was a wet boat when she was loaded deep. Now and then, perhaps,
a buoy loomed in the tossing flakes. One tried to read the number and
see the color. Then the steering-engine rattled as the rudder was pulled
across and _Oreana_