he frown and smile disappeared and his
expression became one of grim determination. His lips closed, his eyes
puckered, and his stride lengthened. His heels struck the oilcloth with
sharp, quick thumps. If one of his former shipmates, a foremast hand
on the schooner Bluebird, could have seen him then, that foremast hand
would have interpreted his behavior as a forerunner of trouble. He
would have known that the "old man" was making up his mind to a definite
course of action and that, having made it up, he would keep to that
course so long as he could see or breathe.

And that interpretation would have been correct. Captain Dan was
desperate. He had made up his mind to fight, to "put his foot down" at
last. Serena's ill health, Gertrude's conduct, the aggravating insolence
of Cousin Percy, all these had helped to spur him to this pitch. And
now came Azuba's open rebellion and her declaration that his command
amounted to nothing, that he was not the "boss." It was true, that was
the humiliating fact which stung. He was not the boss; he was not even
cabin boy, and he knew it. But, to be openly told so, and by his cook,
was a little too much. The worm will turn--at least we are told that it
will--and Daniel Dott was turning.

He jerked his hands from his pockets and opened his mouth.

"Azuba!" he roared. "You, Zuba, come here!"

Azuba did not answer. She was in her room at the top of the house and,
of course, did not hear the shout. Before the captain could repeat it
someone knocked at the back door.

The knock was no hesitating, irresolute tap. It was an emphatic, solid
thump. Daniel heard it, but, in his present state of mind, was in no
mood to heed.

"Zuba!" he repeated. "Zuba Ginn, are you comin' here or shall I come
after you? ZUBA!"

The back door was merely latched, not locked. Now it was thrown open, a
heavy step sounded in the entry and a voice, a man's voice, said, in
a shout almost as loud as the captain's, "Yes, Zuba; that's what I was
cal'latin' to say, myself. Who--why, hello, Cap'n Dan! How are you?"

Daniel turned. A man had entered the kitchen, a big man, wearing a cloth
cap, and carrying in one hand a lumpy oilcloth valise. He tossed the
valise to the floor, grinned, and extended a hand.

"Well, Cap'n Dan," he observed, "you look as natural as life. _I_ must
have changed, I cal'late. Don't you know me?"

The captain's eyes were opening wider and wider. "Labe!" he exclaimed;
"Laban Ginn! Where i