as the cause of a fresh grievance, but hastened
the eruption of his smouldering resentment toward life in general.

"What does this mean?" he roared to the sailor on watch. "Clear them
off--overboard, every one of them. What are you staring at?"

The sailor, who was a "Bostonian," an inheritance with the ship, opened
his mouth in favor of the unfortunate professor, but like his mates, he
stood in much awe of a master whose indulgence demanded implicit
obedience in return. Without further ado, he flung the skins into the
sea.

Rezanov, to do him justice, would not have acted otherwise had he risen
in the best of tempers. He had inflicted himself with the society of
the learned doctor that he might always have a physician and surgeon at
hand, as well as an interpreter where Latin was the one door of
communication. He should pay him handsomely, make him a present in
addition to the sum agreed upon, but he had not the least intention of
giving up any of the Juno's precious space to the vagaries of a
scientist, nor to submit to the pollution of her atmosphere.
Langsdorff was his creature, and the sooner he realized the fact the
better.

"Remember," he said to the sailor, "no more of this, or it will be the
worse for you-- What is this?" He had come upon a pile of ducks,
gulls, pelicans, and other aquatic birds. "Are these the cook's or the
professor's?"

"The professor's, Excellency."

"Overboard." And the birds followed the skins.

Rezanov turned to confront the white and trembling Langsdorff. The
naturalist was enfolded in a gorgeous Japanese dressing-gown, purple
brocade embroidered with gold, that he had surreptitiously bought in
the harbor of Nagasaki. To Rezanov it was like a red rag to a bull;
but the professor was oblivious at the moment of the tactless garment.
His eyes were glaring and the extended tip of his nose worked like a
knife trying to leap from its sheath. But although he occasionally
ventured upon a retort when goaded too far in conversation, he was able
to curb his just indignation when the Chamberlain was in a bad temper.
In that vague gray under winking stars in their last watch, Rezanov
seemed to tower six feet above him.

"Excellency," he murmured.

"Well?"

"My--my specimens."

"Your what?"

"The cause of science is very dear to me, Excellency."

"So it is to me--in its proper place. Were those skins yours?" His
voice became very suave. "I am sorry you should have fa