precisely the same situation as that to which I had been reduced,
and in which I had been only half an hour before. He lay very still;
but I was satisfied so long as I knew that he breathed. His face was
covered with blood, for the bottle had broken under the blow, and cut
his head. I directed Peter to wash his face and bathe his head in
spirits.

"Gorrificious! Things is turned right over," said he.

"They are; and, Peter, I give you the same instructions which Mr.
Whippleton gave you. Don't you let him get away," I added, as I seated
myself at the side of Marian.

"No, sir."

"I'm not drunk, Peter."

"No, sir; sober's you was the day you was born," chattered the cook.

"If you want to get back to Chicago without a hole in your head, you
will see that Mr. Whippleton don't get loose. I shall keep this pistol
beside me, and I shall not go to sleep."

"Yes, sir. I understand."

"See that you mind."

"Don't be afraid of me, Mr. Philip. I always minds the captain, whoever
he is," replied the polite cook, who, like thousands of others, was
disposed to submit to the powers that be without asking any questions.

I did not mean to depend upon him for any service, except in the cabin
and cook-room, and I was confident that the pistol would make him
obedient. Peter rubbed the head of his late master diligently, as I
told him to do, until his patient showed signs of returning animation;
but he did not come to his senses for two hours. He was thoroughly
steeped in whiskey; indeed, the yacht had the odor of a rum-shop, with
what had been drank and what had been spilled.

"How do you feel, Phil?" asked Marian, after the excitement had
partially subsided.

"Better, much better."

"Does your head ache now?"

"It does, severely, I should say, under ordinary circumstances; but I
don't mind it now, since the prospect is changed. You are a brave girl,
Marian," I added, gazing at her with admiration.

"I was terribly frightened. I was afraid Mr. Whippleton would shoot
you."

"I think he would; he did fire at me; but he was too tipsy to take
aim."

"Whiskey has been our friend, this time."

"It is more apt to be our friend when our enemies drink it than when we
drink it ourselves. That was a happy expedient of yours, to give Peter
a dram in the eyes."

"Gorrificious!" exclaimed the cook. "Twan't happy for me, miss."

"Because you were doing wrong," said Marian.

"It was a brave act of yours, my dear cousin, and I