hurt any."

Harvey stretched himself in every direction, but could not report any
injuries.

"That's good," the boy said heartily. "Fix yerself an' go on deck. Dad
wants to see you. I'm his son,--Dan, they call me,--an' I'm cook's
helper an' everything else aboard that's too dirty for the men. There
ain't no boy here 'cep' me sence Otto went overboard--an' he was only a
Dutchy, an' twenty year old at that. How'd you come to fall off in a
dead flat ca'am?"

"'Twasn't a calm," said Harvey, sulkily. "It was a gale, and I was
seasick. Guess I must have rolled over the rail."

"There was a little common swell yes'day an' last night," said the boy.
"But ef thet's your notion of a gale----" He whistled. "You'll know
more 'fore you're through. Hurry! Dad's waitin'."

Like many other unfortunate young people, Harvey had never in all his
life received a direct order--never, at least, without long, and
sometimes tearful, explanations of the advantages of obedience and the
reasons for the request. Mrs. Cheyne lived in fear of breaking his
spirit, which, perhaps, was the reason that she herself walked on the
edge of nervous prostration. He could not see why he should be expected
to hurry for any man's pleasure, and said so. "Your dad can come down
here if he's so anxious to talk to me. I want him to take me to New
York right away. It'll pay him."

Dan opened his eyes as the size and beauty of this joke dawned on him.
"Say, Dad!" he shouted up the foc'sle hatch, "he says you kin slip down
an' see him ef you're anxious that way. 'Hear, Dad?"

The answer came back in the deepest voice Harvey had ever heard from a
human chest: "Quit foolin', Dan, and send him to me."

Dan sniggered, and threw Harvey his warped bicycle shoes. There was
something in the tones on the deck that made the boy dissemble his
extreme rage and console himself with the thought of gradually
unfolding the tale of his own and his father's wealth on the voyage
home. This rescue would certainly make him a hero among his friends for
life. He hoisted himself on deck up a perpendicular ladder, and
stumbled aft, over a score of obstructions, to where a small,
thick-set, clean-shaven man with gray eyebrows sat on a step that led
up to the quarter-deck. The swell had passed in the night, leaving a
long, oily sea, dotted round the horizon with the sails of a dozen
fishing-boats. Between them lay little black specks, showing where the
dories were out fishing. The sch