r--that
woman aft. Keep away from her. Take it from me, sir, she's a bad un. Got
a punch like a battering-ram. Did you ever get the big end of a
handspike jammed into your face by a big man, sir? Well, that's the kind
of a punch she has."

Billings departed, and Denman grinned maliciously while he ate his
dinner; and, after Billings had taken away the dishes--with more
comments on the woman's terrible punch--Denman went out into the
wardroom, intending to visit Miss Florrie. A glance overhead stopped
him, and sent him back. The lubber's point on the telltale marked due
west northwest.

CHAPTER XII

He sat down to think it out. Sampson had hinted at big things talked
about. Billings had spoken of a vote--to stay at sea or not. However,
there could have been no vote since Billings' last visit because of
their condition. But Forsythe had indubitably taken chronometer sights
in the morning, and, being most certainly sober, had doubtless worked
them out and ascertained the longitude, which, with a meridian
observation at noon, would give him the position of the yacht.

The "big things" requiring a vote were all in Forsythe's head, and he
had merely anticipated the vote. Not knowing their position himself,
except as indicated by the trade-wind clouds, Denman could only surmise
that a west northwest course would hit the American coast somewhere
between Boston and Charleston. But what they wanted there was beyond his
comprehension.

He gave up the puzzle at last, and visited Florrie, finding her dressed,
swathed in the bandage, and sitting in the outer apartment, reading.
Briefly he explained the occurrences on deck, and, as all was quiet now,
asked her to step up and investigate. She did so, and returned.

"Forsythe is steering," she said, "and two or three are awake, but
staggering around, and several others are asleep on the deck."

"Well," he said, hopefully, "Forsythe evidently can control himself, but
not the others. If they remain drunk, or get drunker, I mean to do
something to-night. No use trying now."

"What will you do, Billie?" she asked, with concern in her voice.

"I don't know. I'll only know when I get at it. I hope that Forsythe
will load up, too. Hello! What's up? Run up, Florrie, and look."

The engine had stopped, and Forsythe's furious invective could be heard.
Florrie ran up the steps, peeped out, and returned.

"He is swearing at some one," she said.

"So it seems," said Denman. "Let me