The Black-Funnel Boat

They were not steaming fast, and just before a projecting point shut in
the inlet the deep blast of a whistle rang across the water and the
collier's dark hull swung out from the wharf. A streak of foam, cut
sharply between her black side and the shadowed blue of the sea, marked
her load-line, and she floated high, but not as if she were empty.

"Going on somewhere else to finish, I guess," said Jake. "How much do you
reckon she has discharged?"

"Fifteen hundred tons, if she was full when she came in, and I imagine
they hadn't much room in the sheds before. I wonder where Kenwardine gets
the money, unless his friend, Richter, is rich."

"Richter has nothing to do with the business," Jake replied. "He was to
have had a share, but they couldn't come to a satisfactory agreement."

Dick looked at him sharply. "How do you know?"

"I really don't know much. Kenwardine said something about it one night
when I was at his house."

"Did somebody ask him?"

"No," said Jake, "I don't think so. The subject, so to speak, cropped up
and he offered us the information."

Then he talked of something else and soon afterwards the coast receded as
they crossed a wide bay. It was about four o'clock in the afternoon when
they reached the farthest point from land. There was no wind, and in the
foreground the sea ran in long undulations whose backs blazed with light.
Farther off, the gentle swell was smoothed out and became an oily expanse
that faded into the glitter on the horizon, but at one point the latter
was faintly blurred. A passing vessel, Dick thought, and occupied himself
with the engine, for he had not brought the fireman. Looking round some
time afterwards, he saw that the ship had got more distinct and picked up
his glasses.