aint purple patch that was Squitty Island, very far on the horizon.

"I'm not kicking," he said at last. "Not out loud, anyway."

"No," Stubby said affectionately, "I know you're not, old man. Nor am I.
But I'm going to get action, and I have a hunch you will too. Now about
this fish business. If you think you can get them, I'll certainly go you
on that twenty per cent. proposition--up to the point where Gower boosts
me out of the game, if that is possible. We shall have to readjust our
arrangement then."

"Will you give me a contract to that effect?" MacRae asked.

"Absolutely. We'll get together at the office to-morrow and draft an
agreement."

They shook hands to bind the bargain, grinning at each other a trifle
self-consciously.

"Have you a suitable boat?" Stubby asked after a little.

"No," MacRae admitted. "But I have been looking around. I find that I
can charter one cheaper than I can build--until such time as I make
enough to build a fast, able carrier."

"I'll charter you one," Stubby offered. "That's where part of our money
is uselessly tied up, in expensive boats that never carried their weight
in salmon. I'm going to sell two fifty-footers and a seine boat. There's
one called the _Blackbird_, fast, seaworthy rig, you can have at a
nominal rate."

"All right," MacRae nodded. "By chartering I have enough cash in hand to
finance the buying. I'm going to start as soon as the bluebacks come
and run fresh fish, if I can make suitable connections."

Stubby grinned.

"I can fix that too," he said. "I happen to own some shares in the
Terminal Fish Company. The pater organized it to give Vancouver people
cheap fish, but somehow it didn't work as he intended. It's a fairly
strong concern. I'll introduce you. They'll buy your salmon, and they'll
treat you right."

"And now," Stubby rose and stretched his one good arm and the other that
was visibly twisted and scarred between wrist and elbow, above his head,
"let's go downstairs and prattle. I see a car in front, and I hear
twittering voices."

Halfway down the stairs Stubby halted and laid a hand on MacRae's arm.

"Old Horace is a two-fisted old buccaneer," he said. "And I don't go
much on Norman. But I'll say Betty Gower is some girl. What do you
think, Silent John?"

And Jack MacRae had to admit that Betty was. Oddly enough, Stubby Abbott
had merely put into words an impression to which MacRae himself was
slowly and reluctantly subscribing.