"Huh, it's odd how things take some people. I once knew a chap,

skipper of the Flower of the Ocean, who could drink a hogshead of

beer an' be as sober as a judge except in one leg, an' that was a

wooden one."

She laughed. It was impossible to be vexed with him.

"You have met some very remarkable shipmasters, if all you say be

true," she cried.

"Sailors are queer folk, believe me. That same brig, Flower of the

Ocean, an' a pretty flower she was, too--all tar an' coal-dust, with a

perfume that would poison a rat--put into Grimsby one day, an' the

crowd went ashore. They kicked up a shindy with some bar-loungers, an'

the fur flew. When the police came, old Peg-leg, the skipper, you

know, was the only man left in the place, havin' unshipped his crutch

for the fight. 'What have you bin a-doin' of here--throwin' grapes

about?' asked the peeler, gazin' at the floor, suspicious-like.

'Grapes,' said Dot-an'-carry-one, 'them ain't grapes. Them's

eyeballs!' Another time--"

"Mr. Boyle!" shrieked Elsie, and fled.

"Huh!" he grunted. "Off before the wind when she hears a Sunday-school

yarn like that. Wonder what she 'd say if I told her about the

plum-duff with beetles for Sultanas. Girls are brought up nowadays

like orchids. They shouldn't be let loose in this wicked world."

As Elsie passed along the promenade deck she saw Courtenay, Tollemache,

and Walker deep in consultation. They were arranging a percussion fuse

of fulminating mercury. While she was watching them, Walker dropped a

broken furnace bar on top of a small package placed on an iron block.

Instantly there was a sharp report, and Joey, who was an interested

observer, jumped several feet. The men laughed, and she heard

Courtenay say: "That is the right proportion of fulminate. Now, Tollemache, I'll help

you to fix them. We do not know the moment those reptiles may choose

to attack."

So the captain did not leave the Alaculof menace altogether out of

count. Something rose in her throat, some wave of emotion which

threatened her splendid serenity. She ran rather than walked to her

cabin, flung herself on the bed, and sobbed piteously. It had to come,

this tempest of tears. When desperate odds demanded unflinching

courage, she faced them dry-eyed, with steadfast heart. But to-day, in

the bright sunshine and apparent security of the ship, sinister

death-shadows tortured her into rebellion. She did not stop to ask

herself why she wept; being a woman, she yielded to the gust, and when

it had ended, with the suddenness of a summer shower, she smiled

through the vanishing tears. Her first concern was that none should be

aware of her weakness.

"How stupid of me," she murmured. "What would the men think if they

knew I broke down in this fashion."




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