ing to his feet and help him to the fife-rail. Out of
the wash, Tony, the Greek, crawled on hands and knees and sank down
helplessly at the fife-rail. There was nothing suicidal now in his mood.
Struggle as he would, he could not lift himself until the mate, gripping
his oilskin at the collar, with one hand flung him through the air into
the carpenter's arms.

Next came Shorty, his face streaming blood, one arm hanging useless, his
sea-boots stripped from him. Mr. Pike pitched him into the fife-rail,
and returned for the last man. It was Henry, the training-ship boy. Him
I had seen, unstruggling, motionless, show at the surface like a drowned
man and sink again as the flood surged aft and smashed him against the
cabin. Mr. Pike, shoulder-deep, twice beaten to his knees and under by
bursting seas, caught the lad, shouldered him, and carried him away
for'ard.

An hour later, in the cabin, I encountered Mr. Pike going into breakfast.
He had changed his clothes, and he had shaved! Now how could one treat a
hero such as he save as I treated him when I remarked off-handedly that
he must have had a lively watch?

"My," he answered, equally off-handedly, "I did get a prime soaking."

That was all. He had had no time to see me at the poop-rail. It was
merely the day's work, the ship's work, the MAN'S work--all capitals, if
you please, in MAN. I was the only one aft who knew, and I knew because
I had chanced to see. Had I not been on the poop at that early hour no
one aft ever would have known those gray, storm-morning deeds of his.

"Anybody hurt?" I asked.

"Oh, some of the men got wet. But no bones broke. Henry'll be laid off
for a day. He got turned over in a sea and bashed his head. And
Shorty's got a wrenched shoulder, I think.--But, say, we got Davis into
the top bunk! The seas filled him full and he had to climb for it. He's
all awash and wet now, and you oughta seen me praying for more." He
paused and sighed. "I'm getting old, I guess. I oughta wring his neck,
but somehow I ain't got the gumption. Just the same, he'll be overside
before we get in."

"A month's wages against a pound of tobacco he won't," I challenged.

"No," said Mr. Pike slowly. "But I'll tell you what I will do. I'll bet
you a pound of tobacco even, or a month's wages even, that I'll have the
pleasure of putting a sack of coal to his feet that never will come off."

"Done," said I.

"Done," said Mr. Pike. "And now I gu