, I know that as well as you, and no one would be
pleaseder to pocket L300. But the old _M'poso's_ a mailboat, and because
she's got about a quarter of a hundredweight of badly spelt letters on
board, she can't do that sort of salvage work if there's no life-saving
thrown in as an extra reason. Besides, we're behind time as it is, with
smelling round for so much cargo, and though I shall draw my two and
a-half per cent, on that, I shall have it all to pay away again, and
more to boot, in fines for being late. No, I tell you it isn't all sheer
profit and delight in being skipper on one of those West African coast
boats. And there's another thing: the Chief was telling me only this
morning that they've figured it very close on the coal. We only have
what'll take us to Liverpool ourselves, without trying to pull a yawing,
heavy, towing thing like that on behind us."

Strake drummed at the white rail of the bridge. He was a very young man,
and he was very keen on getting the chance of distinguishing himself;
and here, on the warm, windless swells abeam, the chance seemed to sit
beckoning him. "I've been thinking, sir, if you can lend me half a dozen
men, I could take her in somewhere myself."

"I'm as likely to lend you half a dozen angels. Look at the deck hands;
look at the sickly trip this has been. We've had to put some of them on
double tricks at the wheel already, and as for getting any painting
done, or having the ship cleaned up a bit, why, I can see we shall go
into Liverpool as dirty as a Geordie collier. Besides, Mr. Strake, I
believe I've told you once or twice already that you're not much use
yourself, but anyway you're the best that's left, and I'm having to
stand watch and watch with you as it is. If the mate gets out of his
bed between here and home, it'll be to go over the side, and the second
mate's nearly as bad with that nasty blackwater fever only just off him;
and there you are. Mr. Strake, if you have a penn'oth of brains stowed
away anywhere, I wish to whiskers you'd show 'em sometimes."

"Old man's mad at losing a nice lump of salvage," thought Strake.
"Natural, I guess." So he said quietly: "Ay, ay, sir," and walked away
to the other end of the bridge.

Captain Image followed him half-way, but stopped irresolutely with his
hand on the engine-room telegraph. On the fore main deck below him his
old friend, Captain Owen Kettle, was leaning on the rail, staring
wistfully at the derelict.

"Poor be