had
shifted the lump in his cheek.

"Of course he doesn't mean it, Mr. McGaw."

"Then why isn't he giving us elbow-room on the outside of that buoy,
sir?"

"I can't swing and cross his bows now. If he should hit us we'd be the
ones held for the accident."

Again Mayo gave the obstinate steamer a single whistle-blast.

"If he cross-signals me again I'll report him," he informed the mate.
"Pay close attention, Mr. McGaw, and you, too, Billy. We may have to go
before the inspectors."

But the big chap ahead of them did not deign to reply. He kept on
straight at the whistler.

"Compliments of Mr. Marston!" called the secretary from the bridge
ladder. "What steamer is that?"

"_Conorno_ of the Bee line, sir," stated Captain Mayo over his shoulder.
Then he ripped out a good, hearty, deep-water oath. According to
appearances, incredible as the situation seemed, the _Conorno_ proposed
to drive the yacht inside the whistler.

Mayo ran to the wheel and yanked the bell-pull furiously. There were
four quick clangs in the engine-room, and in a moment the _Olenia_ began
to quiver in all her fabric. Going full speed ahead, Mayo had called
for full speed astern. Then he sounded three whistles, signaling as the
rules of the road provide. The yacht's twin screws churned a yeasty riot
under her counter, and while she was laboring thus in her own wallow,
trembling like some living thing in the extremity of terror, the big
steamer swept past. Froth from the creamy surges at her bows flicked
spray contemptuously upon Julius Marston and his guests on the
_Olenia_'s quarter-deck. Men grinned down upon them from the high
windows of the steamer's pilot-house.

A jeering voice boomed through a megaphone: "Keep out of the way of the
Bee line! Take the hint!"

An officer pointed his finger at Marston's house flag, snapping from
the yacht's main truck. The blue fish-tail with its letter "M" had
revealed the yacht's identity to searching glasses.

"Better make it black! Skull and cross-bones!" volunteered the megaphone
operator.

On she went down the sea and the _Olenia_ tossed in the turbulent wake
of the kicking screws.

Then, for the first time, Captain Mayo heard the sound of Julius
Marston's voice. The magnate stood up, shook his fist at his staring
captain, and yelled, "What in damnation do you think you are doing?"

It was amazing, insulting, and, under the circumstances as Mayo knew
them, an unjust query. The master of t