Burned Bridges

He nodded and went on. Thompson, holding fast, getting his first

uncomfortable experience of the roll and recovery of a ship in a beam

sea, made his way out on the after deck. Holding on the rail he peered

over the troubled water that was running in the open mouth of Dixon

Entrance, beyond which lay the vast breadth of the Pacific, an unbroken

stretch to the coast of Japan.

Again Chance was playing the deuce with his calculations. For a few

minutes he felt uncommonly irritated. He had not started for San

Francisco. He did not want to go to San Francisco. Still--what was the

odds? San Francisco was as good as any other town. He shrugged his

shoulders, and feeling his way to a coiled hawser sat down in the bight

of it to contend with the first, faint touch of seasickness.