t."

Hancock chuckled. "You fellows have no invention," he said; "no
resource at all, as I may call it. You stake on this race, and, when
the women beat you, you lie down and squeal. Well, you may thank me
that I'm built different: I bide my time, but when the clock strikes
I strike with it. I never did approve of women dressing man-fashion:
but what's the use of making a row in the house? 'The time is bound
to come,' said I to myself; and come it has. If you want a good
story cut short, I met the press-gang just now and turned 'em on to
raid the 'Sailor's Return': and if by to-morrow the women down there
have any crow over us, then I'm a Dutchman, that's all!"

"Bejimbers, Hancock," says Treleaven, standing up and looking uneasy,
"you carry it far, I must say!"

"Far? A jolly good joke, _I_ should call it," answers Hancock,
making bold to cross his legs again.

And with that there comes a voice crying pillaloo in the passage
outside; and, without so much as a knock, a woman runs in with a face
like a sheet--Sam Hockaday's wife, from the "Sailor's Return."

"Oh, Mr. Oke--Mr. Oke, whatever is to be done! The press has
collared Sally Hancock and all her gang! Some they've kilt, and
wounded others, and all they've a-bound and carried off and shipped
at the Quay-door. Oh, Mr. Oke, our house is ruined for ever!"

The men gazed at her with their mouths open. Hancock found his legs
somehow; but they shook under him, and all of a sudden he felt
himself turning white and sick.

"You don't mean to tell me--" he began.

But Pengelly rounded on him and took him by the ear so that he
squeaked. "Where's my wife, you miserable joker, you?" demanded
Pengelly.

"They c-can't be in earnest!"

"You'll find that I am," said Pengelly, feeling in his
breeches-pocket, and drawing out a clasp-knife almost a foot long.
"What's the name of the ship?"

"I--I don't know! I never inquired! Oh, please let me go, Mr.
Pengelly! Han't I got my feelings, same as yourself?"

"There's a score of vessels atween this and Cawsand," put in
Treleaven, catching his breath like a man hit in the wind, "and half
a dozen of 'em ready to weigh anchor any moment. There's naught for
it but to take a boat and give chase."

Someone suggested that Sal's own boat, the _Indefatigable Woman_,
would be lying off Runnell's Yard; and down to the waterside they all
ran, Pengelly gripping the tailor by the arm. They found the gig
moored there o