t do any harm in this breeze," Farrar replied; "it isn't strong
enough to get anywhere with."

He was right. The boom gybed twenty times that morning, and the
Celebrity offered an equal number of apologies. Mr. Cooke and the Four
vanished, and from the uproarious laughter which arose from the cabin
transoms I judged they were telling stories. While Miss Thorn spent the
time profitably in learning how to conn a yacht. At one, when we had
luncheon, Mohair was still in the distance. At two it began to cloud
over, the wind fell flat, and an ominous black bank came up from the
south. Without more ado, Farrar, calling on me to give him a hand, eased
down the halliards and began to close reef the mainsail.

"Hold on," said the Celebrity, "who told you to do that?"

"I am very sure you didn't," Farrar returned, as he hauled out a reef
earing.

Here a few drops of rain on the deck warned the ladies to retire to the
cabin.

"Take the helm until I get my mackintosh, will you, Farrar?" said the
Celebrity, "and be careful what you do."

Farrar took the helm and hauled in the sheet, while the Celebrity, Mr.
Cooke, and the guests donned their rain-clothes. The water ahead was
now like blue velvet, and the rain pelting. The Maria was heeling to the
squall by the time the Celebrity appeared at the cabin door, enveloped in
an ample waterproof, a rubber cover on his yachting cap. A fool despises
a danger he has never experienced, and our author, with a remark about a
spanking breeze, made a motion to take the wheel. But Farrar, the
flannel of his shirt clinging to the muscular outline of his shoulders,
gave him a push which sent him sprawling against the lee refrigerator.
Well Miss Thorn was not there to see.

"You will have to answer for this," he cried, as he scrambled to his feet
and clutched the weather wash-board with one hand, while he shook the
other in Farrar's face.

"Crocker," said Farrar to me, coolly, "keep that idiot out of the way for
a while, or we'll all be drowned. Tie him up, if necessary."

I was relieved from this somewhat unpleasant task. Mr. Cooke, with his
back to the rain, sat an amused witness to the mutiny, as blissfully
ignorant as the Celebrity of the character of a lake squall.

"I appeal to you, as the owner of this yacht, Mr. Cooke," the Celebrity
shouted, "whether, as the person delegated by you to take charge of it,
I am to suffer indignity and insult. I have sailed larger yachts than
this time