g himself on Spurling with clenched fists.

So sudden and unexpected was the onslaught that there was but one thing
for Jim to do, and he did it, expeditiously and accurately. Percy went
over backward and fell like a log. For a moment he lay motionless, then
staggered up, feeling of his face.

"What hit me?" he inquired, dazedly.

"I did--right on the point of the jaw. Sorry I had to. Feel better?"

Percy made no reply. Walking unsteadily to his bunk, he lay down. There
was no violin-playing in the cabin that night.

XI

TURN OF TIDE

At half past eight that night Camp Spurling was dark and quiet.
Everybody was asleep but Percy Whittington. He lay in his bunk, wide
awake and thinking hard, and his thoughts were far from pleasant.

His face was still sore as a result of his battle with Jabe. His jaw
ached dully from its encounter with Jim Spurling's fist. But worse than
any physical pain was the smart of his wounded pride.

Life in that cramped, tarry, fishy cabin was hard enough for a fellow
who had lived at the best hotels and had the cream of everything. This
painful wrenching of dollars out of the sea told sorely on his tender
skin and undeveloped muscles. Yet beneath the surface he had enough of
his father's stubbornness to make him stick doggedly to his lot,
disagreeable though it was, if only he could have felt that he was
receiving the consideration due to the son of John P. Whittington.

Spurling's blow was the straw that had broken the camel's back. Percy
had endured it just as long as he could. He had reached his limit.

"I hate the whole bunch," he thought, bitterly. "Everybody's down on me,
even to the dog. I won't stand it any longer. I'm going to get out
to-night."

His mind once made up, he promptly began planning. He decided to take
one of the boats and row up to Isle au Haut. It was a good ten miles to
Head Harbor, but he felt confident he could reach it long before
daybreak. Leaving the boat there, he would tramp six miles up the island
and catch the early steamer for Stonington. Beyond that his plans did
not go.

A flicker of light from the dying fire in the stove fell on the face of
the alarm-clock ticking tinnily on the shelf. It was quarter to nine.

Percy woke to the need of acting at once. At midnight Filippo would get
up to make coffee and warm the baked beans and corn-bread for Spurling
and Stevens, who were to start for the hake-grounds not far from one. By
that time h