dded.

"Yep."

Orders from the bridge of the packet boat rang out over the water. Then
Standing went on.

"I want to find Idepski aboard," he said. He was scarcely addressing his
companion. "It would be good to get Master Walter here, fifty-three
degrees north." A short, hard laugh punctuated his words. Then he turned
abruptly. "Who's running No. 10 camp?"

Just for an instant Bat withdrew his gaze from the approaching vessel.
He flashed a keen look of enquiry into the eyes of the questioner.

"Ole Porson," he said.

"I thought so. He's a good boy. He'll do."

Standing nodded. The cold significance of his tone was not lost on his
companion. Maybe Bat understood the thing that was passing in the
other's mind. At any rate he turned again to the broad-beamed tub
steaming so busily towards them.

"I see old Hardy on the bridge," Standing went on a moment later. Then
he added: "Fancy navigating the Labrador coast for forty years. No, I
couldn't do it. I wouldn't have the--guts."

Bat still remained silent. He understood. The other was talking because
it was impossible for him to refrain.

"They're standing ready to make fast," Standing said sharply. He drew a
quick breath. Then his manner changed and his words came pensively.
"Say, it's a queer life--a hell of a life. The sea folk, I mean. It's
about the worst on earth. Think of it, cooped within those timbers that
are never easy till they lie at anchor in the shelter of a harbour. I'd
just hate it. Their life? What is it? It's not life at all. Hard work,
hard food, hard times, and hard drinking--when they're ashore--most of
them. I think I can understand. They surely need something to drown the
memory of the threat they're always living under. No, they don't live.
They exist. Here, let's stand clear. They're coming right in."

* * * * *

The bustle of landing was in full swing. Even with so small a craft as
the _Lizzie_ there was commotion. Orders flew from lip to lip. Creaking
cables strained at unyielding bollards. Gangways clattered out from
deck, and ran down on to the quay with a crash. Hatches were flung open
and the steam winches rattled incessantly.

Standing and Harker were looking on from a vantage point well clear of
the work of unloading. The captain of the vessel, "Old Man" Hardy, was
with them. The seaman was beaming with that satisfaction which belongs
to the master when his vessel is safely in port.

"Oh, I gu