trusted Tom Cartwright.

Mrs. Cartwright did so. She was a large, dull woman, but had kept a
touch of the beauty that had marked her when she was young. She was
kind, conventional, and generally anxious to take the proper line.
Cartwright was twelve years older, and since she was a widow and had
three children when she married him, her friends declared her money
accounted for much, and a lawyer relation carefully guarded, against
Cartwright's using her fortune.

Yet, in a sense, Cartwright was not an adventurer, although his ventures
in finance and shipping were numerous. He sprang from an old Liverpool
family whose prosperity diminished when steamers replaced sailing ships.
His father had waited long before he resigned himself to the change, but
was not altogether too late, and Cartwright was now managing owner of
the Independent Freighters Line. The company's business had brought him
to Montreal, and when it was transacted he had taken Mrs. Cartwright and
her family to the hotel by the Ontario lake.

Cartwright's hair and mustache were white; his face was fleshy and red.
He was fastidious about his clothes, and his tailor cleverly hid the
bulkiness of his figure. As a rule, his look was fierce and commanding,
but now and then his small keen eyes twinkled. Although Cartwright was
clever, he was, in some respects, primitive. He had long indulged his
appetites, and wore the stamp of what is sometimes called good living.

The managing owner of the Independent Freighters needed cleverness,
since the company was small and often embarrassed for money. For the
most part, it ran its ships in opposition to the regular liners. When
the _Conference_ forced up freights Cartwright quietly canvassed the