“Didn't Burkett say something about a magnet?” “He got off some kind of a joke about Fogg in the pilot-house and fog outside--but that the Fogg inside did the business. And he said something about Fogg's iron wishbone.” “So that was the way it was done--and done by the general manager of the line!” cried Mayo. “The general manager himself! It's no wonder I have smashed that suspicion between the eyes every time it bobbed up! I suspected--but I didn't dare to suspect! Is that some of your high finance, Bradish?” “No, it isn't,” declared the New-Yorker, with heat. “It's an understrapper like Fogg going ahead and producing results, so he calls it. The big men never bother with the details.” “The details! Taking away from me all I have worked for--my reputation as a master, my papers, my standing--my liberty. By the gods, I'm going to live! I'm going through those breakers! I'll face that gang like a man who has fought his way back from hell,” raged the victim. “This--this was none of my father's business! It could not have been,” expostulated Miss Marston. “Your father never knows anything about the details of Fogg's operations,” declared Bradish. “He ought to know,” insisted the maddened scapegoat. “He gives off his orders, doesn't he? He sits in the middle of the web. What if he did know how Fogg was operating?” “Probably wouldn't stand for it! But he doesn't know. And the Angel Gabriel himself wouldn't get a chance to tell him!” declared the clerk. “A put-up job, then, is it--and all called high finance!” jeered Mayo. “High finance isn't to blame for tricks the field-workers put out so that they can earn their money quick and easy. What's the good of pestering me with questions at this awful time? I'm going to die! I'm going to die!” he wailed. Miss Marston slid from the seat to her knees, in order that she might be able to reach her hand to Mayo. “Will you let this handclasp tell you all I feel about it--all your trouble, all your brave work in this terrible time? I am so frightened, Captain Mayo! But I'm going to keep my eyes on you--and I'll be ashamed to show you how frightened I am.” He returned the fervent clasp of her fingers with gentle pressure and reassuring smile. “Honestly, I feel too ugly to die just now. Let's keep on hoping.” But when he stood up and beheld the white mountains of water between their little boat and the shore, and realized what would happen when they were in that savage tumult, with the undertow dragging and the surges lashing, he felt no hope within himself. From the appearance of the coast he could not determine their probable location. The land was barren and sandy. There seemed to be no inlet. As far as he could see the line of frothing white was unbroken. The sea foamed across broad shallows, where no boat could possibly remain upright and no human being could hope to live.