There's naught upon the stern, there's naught upon the lee,

Blow high, blow low, and so sailed we.

But there's a lofty ship to windward,

And she's sailing fast and free,

Sailing down along the coast of the high Barbaree.

--Ancient Shanty

The skipper of the Olenia found himself dabbling in guesses and

wonderment more than is good for a man who is expected to obey without

asking the reason why.

That cruise seemed to be a series of spasmodic alternations between

leisurely loafing and hustling haste.

There were days when he was ordered to amble along at half speed

offshore. Then for hours together Julius Marston and his two especial

and close companions, men of affairs, plainly, men of his kind, bunched

themselves close together in their hammock chairs under the poop awning

and talked interminably. Alma Marston and her young friends, chaperoned

by an amiable aunt--so Captain Mayo understood her status in the

party--remained considerately away from the earnest group of three.

Arthur Beveridge attached himself to the young folks.

From the bridge the captain caught glimpses of all this shipboard

routine. The yacht's saunterings offshore seemed a part of the summer

vacation.

But the occasional hurryings into harbors, the conferences below with

men who came and went with more or less attempt at secrecy, did not fit

with the vacation side of the cruise.

These conferences were often followed by orders to the captain to thread

inner reaches of the coast and to visit unfrequented harbors.

Captain Mayo had been prepared for these trips, although he had not been

informed of the reason. It was his first season on the yacht Olenia.

The shipping broker who had hired him had been searching in his

inquiries as to Mayo's knowledge of the byways of the coast. The young

man who had captained fishermen and coasters ever since he was seventeen

years old had found it easy to convince the shipping broker, and the

shipping broker had sent him on board the yacht without the formality of

an interview with the owner.

Mayo was informed curtly that there was no need of an interview. He was

told that Julius Marston never bothered with details.

When Julius Marston had come on board with his party he merely nodded

grim acknowledgment of the salute of his yacht's master, who stood at

the gangway, cap in hand.

The owner had never shown any interest in the management of the yacht;

he had remained abaft the main gangway; he had never called the captain

into conference regarding any movements of the Olenia.

Captain Mayo, pacing the bridge in the forenoon watch, trying to grasp

the full measure of his fortune after troubled dreams of his master's

daughter, recollected that he had never heard the sound of Julius

Marston's voice. So far as personal contact was concerned, the yacht's

skipper was evidently as much a matter of indifference to the owner as

the yacht's funnel.




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