They asked as a great favor
that a telegram might be sent when----
"Oh, curse my luck!" groaned the man, quivering under the conviction
that the _Andromeda_ was lost "by the act of God" as the charter-party
puts it. The belief unnerved him. Those words have an ominous ring in
the ears of evil-doers. He could show a bold front to his fellowmen,
but he squirmed under the dread conception of a supernatural vengeance.
So, like every other malefactor, David railed against his "luck."
Little did he guess the extraordinary turn that his "luck" was about to
take.
The office boy announced a visitor, evidently not the terrible Bulmer,
since he said:
"Gennelman to see yer, sir."
"Oo is it?" growled the shipowner.
"Gennelman from the noospaper, sir."
"Can't be bothered."
"'E sez hit's most himportant, sir."
"Wot is?"
"I dunno, sir."
"Well, show 'im in. I'll soon settle 'im."
A quiet-mannered young man appeared. He ignored David's sharp, "Now,
wot can I do for you?" and drew up a chair, on which he seated himself,
uninvited.
"May I ask if you have received any private news of the _Andromeda_?"
he began.
"No."
"In that case, you must prepare yourself for a statement that may give
you a shock," said the journalist.
David creaked round in his chair.
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