to Quebec.
Allowing for cautious navigation, Davies ought to be near Rimouski at
the mouth of the river, and his passing would, no doubt, soon be
telegraphed from the signal station. Cartwright admitted that to get the
message would be some relief.

By and by his bookkeeper came in.

"Direct cablegram from Davies, sir."

Cartwright took the form and frowned. The message was not from Rimouski
and ran: "Delayed Peter; passing Quebec."

"Awkward, sir," Gavin remarked sympathetically.

"Very awkward," said Cartwright. "Davies needed all the time he's lost.
It will be a near thing if he gets out."

He picked up the weather chart and got no comfort. "Cable Malcolm at St.
Johns. You'll find questions in the code-book about ice and wind."

Gavin withdrew and Cartwright grappled with disturbing thoughts. He had
counted on _Oreana's_ earning a good sum, and had engaged a paying cargo
for her when she got back. In fact, the two good runs ought to have made
the disappointing balance sheet he must shortly submit to the
shareholders look a little better. All the same, there was no use in
meeting trouble. Davies had passed Quebec, and if he made good progress
in the next twenty-four hours, one might begin to hope.

Below Quebec there were awkward spots where steamers used buoyed
channels, and if these were blocked by ice Davies must risk crossing the
shoals. If he got across, the water was deep and he need only bother
about the floes until he came to the Gulf. Since Belle Isle Strait was
frozen, Davies would go South of Anticosti and out by the Cabot passage,
but the Gulf was often dark with snow and fog, and one met the old
Greenland ice. Well, much depended on the weather, and Cartwright went
to get his lunch.

The restaurant under a big building was warm, and for a time Cartwright
occupied his favorite corner of the smoking-room. His tips were
generous, and so long as he was punctual the waitress allowed nobody to
use his chair. The noise of the traffic in the street was softened to a
faint rumble, the electric light was cleverly shaded, and his big chair
was easy. He got drowsy, but frowned when he began to nod. The trouble
was, he was often dull when he ought to be keen. His doctor talked about
the advantages of moderation, but when one got old one's pleasures were
few and Cartwright liked a good meal. At the luncheon room they did one
well, and he was not going to use self-denial yet.

By and by a merchant he knew pu