lord returned. The monocle fixedly and significantly regarded
me. "Have another, Doctor," said the landlord, pointing to the empty
tankard. "How long were you in Macassar?" The doctor turned briskly to
his old friend, and began some chaff.

4

Ferguson, who had just come into port with a damaged propeller shaft, was
telling us how it was. This was his first expansive experience, and
there could be no doubt the engine-room staff of the _Torrington_ had
behaved very well. The underwriters had recognized that, and handsomely,
at a special meeting at Cornhill. Though Ferguson was young for a chief
engineer, his professional elders, who were listening to him, showed some
critical appreciation of the way he solved his problem. He was sitting
at a table of the _Negro Boy_, drawing a diagram on it, and they stood
round.

"There. That was where it was. You see what we had to do. It would not
have been so bad in calm weather, but we were labouring heavily, all the
way from Savannah. Our old man did not think it possible to do it. But
it was no good waiting for something worse to happen."

The matter grew too technical for me. There was cargo jettisoned, and
ballast tanks emptied aft. The stern of the _Torrington_ was lifted so
that her propeller at intervals was clear. Ferguson then went overside
on life-lines. When he was not submerged, he was trying to put his ship
right again; and when he became exhausted, one of his colleagues took his
place, to see whether, while escaping drowning, he could continue the
work of salvation. They all escaped, and the _Torrington_ put back to
Tampa for repairs, which her own engineers accomplished.

The demonstration was over, and Ferguson's story was lapsing into general
gossip. The party of men began to dissolve.

"Who do you think I saw at Tampa?" Ferguson asked Macandrew. "Old Purdy."

"What?" cried Macandrew. "Is he alive?"

Ferguson laughed. "Just about. What's he been doing? I thought he had
chucked the sea. It was in the Customs Office. I'd been there to make a
declaration, and in one of those long corridors there he stood, all
alone, with his hat in his hand, perhaps cooling his head. I hardly knew
him. He's more miserable than ever."

"Did he say anything?" asked Macandrew.

"About as much as usual. I didn't know him at first. He seemed rather
ill. The temples of that high forehead of his were knotted with veins.
It nearly gave me a headache