the seven seas. But he had no trade; he hadn't the
money instinct; he would have to stumble upon fortune; he knew no way of
making it. And this knowledge stirred his rancor anew--the father hadn't
played fair with the son.

He gripped the deck-house rail to steady himself, for the wind and rain
caught him head-on.

Then he worked his way slowly along to the bridge. Twice a comber broke on
the quarter and dropped a ton of water, which sloshed about the deck,
drenching his feet. He climbed the ladder, rather amused at the recurrence
of an old thought--that climbing ship ladders in dirty weather was a good
deal like climbing in nightmares: one weighed thousands of pounds and had
feet of lead.

Presently he peered into the chart room, which was dark except for the
small hooded bulbs over the navigating instruments. He could see the chin
and jaws of the wheelman and the beard of old Captain Newton. From time to
time a wheel spoke came into the light.

On the chart table lay a pocket lamp, facing sternward, the light pouring
upon what looked to be a map; and over it were bent three faces, one of
which was Cunningham's. A forefinger was tracing this map.

Dennison opened the door and stepped inside.

CHAPTER XII

"How are you making out, Newton?" he asked, calmly.

"Denny? Why, God bless me, boy, I'm glad to see you! How's your dad?"

"Reading."

"That would be like him. I don't suppose if hell opened under his feet
he'd do anything except look interested. And it 'pears to me's though hell
had opened up right now!"

A chuckle came from the chart table.

"What's your idea of hell, Newton?" asked Cunningham.

"Anything you might have a hand in," was the return bolt.

"Why, you used to like me!"

"Yes, yes! But I didn't know you then. The barometer's dropping. If it was
August I'd say we were nosing into a typhoon. I always hated this yellow
muck they call a sea over here. Did you pick up that light?"

"Yes, sir," answered the wheelman. "I take it she's making
south--Hong-Kong way. There's plenty of sea room. She'll be well down
before we cross her wake."

Silence except for the rumble of the weather canvas standing up against
the furious blasts of the wind. Dennison stepped over to the chart table.

"Cunningham, I would like to have a word with you."

"Go ahead. You can have as many as you like."

"At dinner you spoke of your word."

"So I did. What about it?"

"Do you keep it?"

"Whenever