considering the surroundings, provoked great hilarity.

"Give way all! Here comes a cop!" warned a jeering voice.

"He's walking on the water," explained another.

"The man must be a fool," declared Captain Mayo. "If he'd go below and
shut up, they'd get tired and leave in a few minutes."

However, Captain Candage seemed to believe that retreat would be greatly
to his discredit. He continued to hang over the rail, discharging as
complete a line of deep-water oaths as ever passed the quivering lips of
a mariner. Therefore the playful yachtsmen were highly entertained and
stayed to bait him still further. Every little while they sang the Polly
song with fresh gusto, while the enraged skipper fairly danced to it in
his mad rage and flung his arms about like a crazy orchestra leader.

Mr. Speed came rowing in his dory, putting out all his strength,
splashing his oars. "My Gawd! Cap'n Mayo," he gasped, "I heard 'em
hollering 'Oh, Polly!' and I was 'feard she was afire. What's the
trouble?"

"You'd better get on board, sir, and induce Captain Candage to go below
and keep still. He is fast making a complete idiot of himself."

"I hain't got no influence over him. I ask and implore you to step on
board and soothe him down, sir. You can do it. He'll listen to a Mayo."

"I'd better not try. It's no job for a stranger, Mr. Speed."

"He'll be heaving that whole deckload of shingles at 'em next!"

"Get his daughter to coax him."

"He won't listen to her when he's that fussed up!"

"I'm sorry! Give way men!"

His rowers dropped their oars into the water and pulled away with
evident reluctance.

"Better stay and see it out," advised Captain Duncan.

"I don't care much for your show," stated Mayo, curtly.

The cabin curtains were drawn on the _Olenia_, and he felt especially
shut away from human companionship. He went forward and paced up and
down the deck, turning over his troubled affairs in his mind, but making
poor shift in his efforts to set anything in its right place.

There were no indications that the serenading yachtsmen were becoming
tired of their method of killing time during a fog-bound evening. They
had secured banjos and mandolins, and were singing the Polly song with
better effect and greater relish. And continually the hoarse voice of
the _Polly's_ master roared forth malediction, twisted into new forms of
profanity.

But Captain Mayo, pacing under the damp gleam of the riding-light, paid
but lit