CHAPTER XVI

For an instant the bleak eyes met Julie’s. As they shifted she caught the man’s arm. “What is Ben Cheever trying to put across, Willy?” “You’ll have to spell thet out fer yourself; I can’t say nothin’ more.” The girl thrust her hands into her pockets and looked out to sea where the slanting sun was transforming a string of cabin-topped dories on their way to the fishing grounds into golden gondolas sailing an enchanted ocean. Jim Trafford’s election might depend upon her reply to Small. Self-indulgence and sloth ha…