on such bad terms
but what they can shut an eye to some of his performances. Besides it
was his ship in the first instance," concluded Jim with a grin.

"A pirate don't have any title, anyhow," remarked the engineer.

"Maybe he does in San Francisco," remarked Jim with great simplicity.

At this Jim's chief engineer laughed heartily.

"That would be true doctrine enough for my native town of New York," he
said.

"Well, howsumever, Captain Broome don't need any title. He keeps what he
has and takes what he hasn't."

"You are an epigrammatist, Jim," said Berwick, smiling.

"Won't I ever outgrow it?" asked Jim anxiously.

"No, you will get worse as you become older," declared his friend.

"Gee, that's a bad outlook. Well, where there is life there is hope,"
replied Jim; "no use nosing this trail along, we have got the general
direction and we want to get to the beach just as soon as we can so as
to head those fellows off."

The two of them then started on a brisk trot and in a short time they
heard the roar of the surf on the sand. But about a quarter of a mile
from the beach they came to a halt, for a high fence barred their way.

"Hello, what does this mean?" inquired Jim with interest.

"It means we have come on someone's private estate," remarked the
engineer, "and judging from the sharpness of these iron spikes, they are
not at home to ordinary folks like us."

"I can just make out the house," remarked Jim, "and it looks like a big
one."

There was the indistinct loom of the house through the fog; it appeared
to be made of brick, with white trimmings and a huge chimney in the
center clad with ivy. This was a good many years ago, and no remnant of
this place remains to-day, for fire and earthquake wrought the ruin of
this mansion, long before the catastrophe of 1906.

"Let's walk around this estate before it gets completely dark," said
Jim, "which will be pretty soon now."

"You don't suppose that those two misguided pirates live here, do you?"
questioned the engineer.

"Hardly," admitted Jim, "but they might be hiding in the yard."

"It would be tough work getting over," said the engineer, "especially
with what is coming from the direction of the house." Jim looked and
pulled his friend down behind the parapet of stone in which the iron
fence was set.

"Perhaps it won't see us," said Jim in a low voice. But they were a wee
bit too late to escape detection. Between the shrubbery there came at a