“I can't say; depends on that gang of shovellers and the way they behave. They're a tough lot--jail-birds and tramps, most of 'em. If they get ugly there ain't but one thing left; that, I suppose, you won't object to.” The Captain paused for a moment in deep thought, glanced at the pin prick in the chart, and said with a certain forceful meaning in his voice: “No--not if there's no other way.” The Chief Engineer waited, as if for further reply, replaced his cap, and stepped out into the wind. He had got what he came for, and he had got it straight. With the closing of the door the Captain rolled up the chart, laid it in its place among the others, readjusted the thong of his so'wester, stopped for a moment before a photograph of his wife and child, looked at it long and earnestly, and then mounted the stairs to the bridge. With the exception that the line of his mouth had straightened and the knots in his eyebrows tightened, he was, despite the smoking-room critics, the same bluff, determined sea-dog who had defied the Manager the week before. II When Bonner, half an hour later, returned to the smoking-room (he, too, had caught the splash of the sea, the spray drenching the rail), the Bum Actor crossed over and took the seat beside him. The Texan was the only passenger who had spoken to him since he came aboard, and he had already begun to feel lonely. This time he started the conversation by brushing the salt spray from the Agent's coat. “Got wet, didn't you? Too bad! Wait till I wipe it off,” and he dragged a week-old handkerchief from his pocket. Then seeing that the Texan took no notice of the attention, he added, “What did the Captain want?” The Texan did not reply. He was evidently absorbed in something outside his immediate surroundings, for he continued to sit with bent back, his elbows on his knees, his eyes on the floor. Again the question was repeated: “What did the Captain want? Nothing the matter, is there?” Fear had always been his master--fear of poverty mostly--and it was poverty in the worst form to others if he failed to get home. This thought had haunted him night and day. “Yes and no. Don't worry--it'll all come out right. You seem nervous.” “I am. I've been through a lot and have almost reached the end of my rope. Have you got a wife at home?” The Texan shook his head. “Well, if you had you'd understand better than I can tell you. I have, and a three-year-old boy besides. I'd never have left them if I'd known. I came over under contract for a six months' engagement and we were stranded in Pittsburg and had hard work getting back to New York. Some of them are there yet. All I want now is to get home--nothing else will save them. Here's a letter from her I don't mind showing you--you can see for yourself what I'm up against. The boy never was strong.”