The Maria had a cabin, which was finished in
hard wood and yellow plush, and accommodations for keeping things cold.
This last Mr. Cooke had insisted upon.

The skipper Mr. Cooke had hired at Far Harbor was a God-fearing man with
a luke warm interest in his new billet and employer, and had only been
prevailed upon to take charge of the yacht for the month after the offer
of an emolument equal to half a year's sea pay of an ensign in the navy.
His son and helper was to receive a sum proportionally exorbitant. This
worthy man sighted Mohair on a Sunday morning, and at nine o'clock
dropped his anchor with a salute which caused Mr. Cooke to say unpleasant
things in his sleep. After making things ship-shape and hoisting the
jack, both father and son rowed ashore to the little church at Asquith.

Now the butler at Mohair was a servant who had learned, from long
experience, to anticipate every wish and whim of his master, and from
the moment he descried the white sails of the yacht out of the windows
of the butler's pantry his duty was clear as daylight. Such was the
comprehension and despatch with which he gave his commands that the
captain returned from divine worship to find the Maria in profane hands,
her immaculate deck littered with straw and sawdust, and covered to the
coamings with bottles and cases. This decided the captain, he packed his
kit in high dudgeon, and took the first train back to Far Harbor, leaving
the yacht to her fate.

This sudden and inconsiderate departure was a severe blow to Mr. Cooke'
who was so constituted that he cared but little about anything until
there was danger of not getting it. My client had planned a trip to Bear
Island for the following Tuesday, which was to last a week, the party to
bring tents with them and rough it, with the Maria as headquarters. It
was out of the question to send to Far Harbor for another skipper, if,
indeed, one could be found at that late period. And as luck would have
it, six of Mr. Cooke's ten guests had left but a day or so since, and
among them had been the only yacht-owner. None of the four that remained
could do more than haul aft and belay a sheet. But the Celebrity, who
chanced along as Mr. Cooke was ruefully gazing at the graceful lines of
the Maria from the wharf and cursing the fate that kept him ashore with
a stiff wind blowing, proposed a way out of the difficulty. He, the
Celebrity, would gladly sail the Maria over to Bear Island provided
anothe