dge. He was certain he had never seen anything so inspiring as
Virginia Howland standing braced square to the wind, her trim blue
skirt winding and unwinding; her cap in her hand; the wind tossing her
heavy hair in myriads of glowing pennons, which beat on the
blush-surged cheeks, alternately hiding and disclosing the sparkle of
the deep gray eyes or the flash of perfect teeth from between parted
lips.

It was a picture upon which he permitted himself to ponder but an
instant, however, for the wind was shifting again from the northeast,
growling ominously, and the yacht, humping along at a ridiculous speed
of six knots, made the situation less satisfactory than it had been.
He spoke to Terry over his shoulder.

"As you see," he said, "we're running into some new sort of hell," and
he glanced impatiently at the potential riot ahead. "Have these men
keep the course and look out for things, will you? I'm going down to
the engine-room for a few minutes."

"Very well, sir," said the young officer.

Dan found old Jim Arthur, the chief, swearing softly as he moved about
his engines with a long-spouted oil can.

"It is beginning to breeze again," said Dan. "I'm the new Captain and
I came down to tell you I don't think much of your machinery, and to
ask if the shaft will hold out."

"The shaft'll hold," said the engineer. Then he paused and looked at
Dan in supreme disgust. "Engines!" he snorted. "I've been holdin' 'em
together with my fingers since we left San Domingo. Cap'n, they'd been
fine for a Swiss cuckoo clock. Why, they're only held together by gilt
paint and polish. See how old Howland's had 'em painted--like a
bedizened old maid! I do believe he's got 'em perfumed. Well, they
may hold--"

Dan, who had been glancing about the engine-room, interrupted the
engineer's pessimistic outburst.

"What are your force pumps going for?" he asked.

"Well, it ain't fur to water no flowers," said Arthur, beckoning Dan to
the shaft tunnel, where a foot and a half of frothy water was rolling
to and fro, slushing against the stuffing box, laving the engine-room
bulkhead.

Leaking! Dan's first impulse was to drop his hands then and there and
let the yacht sink or do what she would for all he cared. He had
fought out his fight with a better craft than this and had lost her.
He did not yield to this; in truth, before he could think of yielding
there came a second impulse--to relieve his mind of several hundred