over
the rail as she went by--she was that close. And I sings out to her,
'Won't you leave us your name so I can thank you next time we meet?'
but Lord, not a word out of him. He kept on to Boston, I suppose, and
we kept on to Gloucester, and here I am."

"And the Colleen, Tom--she's all right?"

"Right, man? Watch her to-morrow. Barring that forem'st being too
light--but whoever looked for a breeze like this?--two days and three
nights now and blowing harder all the time. But never mind, she'll
make great going of it to-morrow. Divil take it, but we'll all make
great going of it. Tommie, dear, what's in the bowl? Milk? Man, but
don't be telling me things like that--and the one thing the doctors
warn me against is heart-trouble. Ah, milk-punch--that's better, man.
A wee droppeen. Look at it--the color of the tip of a comber in twelve
fathom of water and a cross-tide. Well, here's to every mother's son
of us that's going to race to-morrow. May ye all win if the Colleen
don't--all but you, Sam Hollis. But where's he gone--into the other
room? Well, if he was here 'twould be the same. He's got a vessel
that can sail. Let him sail her to-morrow and win, if it's in her--or
in him. But a thousand dollars--and outside my house and vessel, Lord
knows, it's all the money I've got in the world--beyond my house and
vessel--a thousand dollars the Colleen beats the Withrow. Hello,
there--what d'y'say, Sam Hollis--the Colleen and the Withrow--a
thousand dollars, boat for boat. But where the divil is he? Gone? Are
you sure? Gone! But a queer time to leave a party--just when it's
getting to be real sociable."

"Never mind the betting now, Tom," spoke up Wesley Marrs. "Let the
owners have that to themselves. And according to accounts some of them
are having it. Fred Withrow and old Duncan are ready to go broke over
the race to-morrow. Whichever loses, he'll remember this race, I'm
thinking. Here's hoping it won't be Duncan. So to the devil with the
betting, Tom. Some of us have bet all we could afford--some of us more
than we could afford, I callate. Let's have a song instead, Tom."

"Anything to please you, Wesley," and O'Donnell began to sing. He
started off first with his

"Oh, seiners all and trawlers all,"

but Alec McNeill and Patsie Oddie interrupted. "Oh, give us the other
one, Tom--the Newf'undland and Cape Shore Men."

"Ha!" laughed O'Donnell, "it's the mention of your own you want--you
and Patsie there. Well, it'