through with Marston leading 'em--or, at
leastways, he's supposed to be leading. He hides away in the middle of
the web and lets the other spiders run and fetch. But it's Marston's
scheme, you can bet on that! What do you think?"

"I haven't thought anything about it, Captain Wass." "But how could
you help thinking, catching a word here and a word there, aboard that
yacht?"

"I never listened--I never heard anything."

"But he had them other spiders aboard--seen 'em myself through my
spy-glass when you passed us one day in June."

"I suppose they talked together aft, but my duty was forward, sir."

"It's too bad you didn't have a flea put into your ear about getting a
line on Marston's scheme, whatever it is. You could have helped the real
boys in this game!"

Mayo did not reply.

Captain Wass showed a resolve to quit pecking at the edges and make a
dab at the center of the subject. He pulled the whistle, released the
knob, and turned back to the window, setting his elbows on the casing.

"Son, you ain't in love with that pirate Marston, are you?"

"No, sir!" replied the young man, with bitterness that could not be
doubted.

"Well, how about your being in love with his daughter?" The caustic
humor in the old skipper's tones robbed the question of some of its
brutal bluntness, and Mayo was accustomed to Captain Wass's brand
of humor. The young man did not turn his head for a few moments; he
continued to look into the fog as if intent on his duty; he was trying
to get command of himself, fully aware that resentment would not work in
the case of Zoradus Wass. When Mayo did face the skipper, the latter
was discomposed in his turn, for Mayo showed his even teeth in a cordial
smile.

"Do you think I have been trying the chauffeur trick in order to catch
an heiress, sir?"

"Well, there's quite a gab-wireless operating along-coast and sailors
don't always keep their yawp closed after they have taken a man's money
to keep still," stated Captain Wass, pointedly. "I wouldn't blame you
for grabbing in. You're good-looking enough to do what others have done
in like cases."

"Thank you, sir. What's the rest of the joke?"

"I never joke," retorted the skipper, turning and pulling the
whistle-cord. _Nequasset's_ squall rose and died down in her brazen
throat. "Her name is Alma?" he prodded. "Something of a clipper. If
Marston ever makes you general manager, put me into a better job than
this, will you?"

"I will,