ounted the stairs. He waited, and in about
five minutes she came down, and, no doubt seeing his shadow on the door,
tapped gently. He promptly opened it, and she said:

"Leave the door open and I will throw you my things in a minute. They
are drinking up there."

"Drinking!" he mused, as he waited. "Well, perhaps I can get a gun if
they drink to stupidity."

Soon Florrie's hand opened the door, and the garments came through.
Denman had little trouble now in donning them, and, with his head tied
up as before, he passed through the captain's apartment to the deck. It
was a mild, sunshiny morning, with little wind, and that from the
northeast. White globes of cloud showed here and there, and Denman knew
them for the unmistakable sign of the trade winds. But he was more
interested in matters on deck. All hands except Billings, who was
singing in the galley, and Munson, one of the wireless men, were
clustered around the forward funnel; and there were several bottles
circulating around. Forsythe, with a sextant in his hand, was berating
them.

"Go slow, you infernal ginks," he snarled at them, "or you'll be so
drunk in an hour that you won't know your names. Ready--in there,
Munson?"

"Yes," answered Munson from the pilot-house.

Forsythe put the sextant to his eye, and swept it back and forth for a
few moments.

"Time," he called suddenly, and, lowering the sextant, looked in on
Munson.

"Got it?" asked Munson.

"Yes; and have it down in black and white." Forsythe made a notation
from the sextant on a piece of paper.

"Now, again," said Forsythe, and again he took a sight, shouted, "Time,"
and made another notation.

Then he went into the pilot-house and Munson came out and made the
shortest cut to the nearest bottle.

"He's taken chronometer sights," mused Denman, as he leaned against the
companion hood. "Well, he's progressing fast, but there never was a
doubt that he is a scholar."

He went down, and through a crack of the door obtained Miss Florrie's
permission to keep the cloak and skirt for the morning, as he wanted to
see later how the drinking was progressing. Florrie consented, and he
went to his room to wait.

As he waited, the sounds above grew ominous. Oaths and loud laughter,
shouts, whoops, and grumblings, mingled with Forsythe's angry voice of
command, came down to him through the open deadlight. Soon he heard the
thumping of human bodies on deck, and knew there was a fight going on.

A f