d Trunnell.

"Well, I don't suppose a dark night is any worse than a bright one, and I
call to mind many a time I'd give something to see it a bit blacker. Do
you know where you're at?"

"She's headin' about the same, but if ye don't mind, I'll be gettin' her
down gradual like to her torps'ls if the glass keeps a-fallin'. Short
commons, says I, on the edge o' the monsoon."

"Short it is, my boy. Get her down low. The more she looks like you, the
better she'll do, hey? What d'you think of that, Mr. Rolling? The shorter
the longer, the longer the shorter--see? The sooner the quicker, eh?
Supposen the question was asked you, Mr. Rolling, what'd you say, hey?
Why is Mr. Trunnell like a lady's bouquet, hey? Why is the little man
like a bunch of flowers? Don't insult him, Mr. Rolling. The sanitary
outfit of the cabin is all right. 'Tain't that. No, split me, it ain't
that. Think a minute."

Trunnell walked to and fro without a word, while the captain grinned. The
fellow at the wheel, Bill Spielgen, a square-cut man with an angular face
and enormous hands, stared sullenly into the binnacle.

"It's because he's a daisy," rapped out the skipper. "That's it, Mr.
Rolling, he's a daisy, ha, ha, ha! Split me, if he ain't, ho, ho, ho!
Shorten her down, Trunnell; you're a daisy, and no mistake."

There was a distinct smell of liquor in the light breeze, and as the
skipper came within the glare of the binnacle lamp I could see he was
well set up. Trunnell went to the break of the poop and called out for
the watch to clew down the fore and mizzen skysails. He was much upset at
the skipper's talk, but knew better than to show it. The captain now
turned his attention to the man at the wheel.

"How d'you head, Bill?" said he.

"West b' no'the," said Bill.

The skipper came to the wheel and stuck his lean face close to the
quartermaster's. His glinting eyes grew to two little points and his
hooked nose wrinkled on the sides as he showed his teeth while he drawled
in a snarling tone:--

"D'you set up for a wit, Bill, that you joke with your captain, hey? Is
that it, you square-toed, lantern-jawed swab? Would you like me to rip
you up the back, or lam some of the dirt out of your hide, hey? Is that
it? Don't make jokes at your captain, Bill. It's bad business."

Then he went on in a more conciliating tone:--

"Just remember that I'm a knight of a round table, or square one either,
for that matter, while I'm aboard this boat, and