y stick of
the old cargo aboard--the pirates saw to that--also our books and
papers. The guns are all at the bottom of the sea. We'll be a bit late,
but we can easily rig up a yarn to explain."

"But the Russians will talk."

"No fear, sir: they'd be too ashamed to own up the truth; ay, and afraid
as well, for what they did was piracy on the high seas--nothing less.
You take my tip for it, sir, one of these days we'll hear that the
_Nevski_ struck a reef."

"We'll have to tell the owners, though--what will they say?"

Maclean closed one eye. "The new _Saigon_ has triple-expansion engines,
sir. If I know anything of Mr. Keppel, he'll be better pleased with a
ship in the hand than a cause of action against the Russian Government."

"But our own men?"

"Why, sir, we have 7,000 rubles to share among them. They'll be made for
life."

"But I thought you said just now there were 15,000?"

"So I did, sir; but there's only you and Sievers and myself know how
much there is exactly: there was no call to shout it all over the ship.
And I've figured it out this way: You, as captain, are entitled to the
most, and you'll want all of four thousand to heal up the memory of that
crack you got on your skull properly. That'll leave two for Sievers to
do with as he likes, and two for me to buy Nellie--that's Mrs. Maclean
that is to be--just the sort of house she's set her heart on these ages
back. What do you say, sir?"

"What do I say, Maclean?" cried Captain Brandon, his eyes big with
excitement and surprise, too, perhaps. "Why, I say this: You are that
rare thing, a sensible, honest man! Tip us your flipper!"

II

ICE IN JUNE

A Playwright's Story

By FRED M. WHITE

"THAT," said Ethel Marsh judicially, "is the least stupid remark you
have made during our five weeks' acquaintance."

"Which means that I am improving," John Chesney murmured. "There is hope
even for me. You cannot possibly understand how greatly I
appreciate----"

The sentence trailed off incoherently as if the effort had been all too
much. It was hard to live up to the mental brilliance of Ethel Marsh.
She had had the advantage, too, of a couple of seasons in town, whilst
Chesney was of the country palpably. She also had the advantage of being
distractingly pretty.

Really, she had hoped to make something of Chesney. It seemed to her
that he was fitted for better things than tennis-playing and riding and
the like. It seemed strange that he sh