“To make American bottoms worth while the whole of Europe will have to be busy doing something else with their ships.” “All right! Then they'll be doing it,” returned Marston. “It would have to be a war--a big war.” “Very well! Maybe that's the answer.” “But there never can be another big war. As a financier you know it.” “I have made some money by adhering to the hard and fast rules of finance. But I have made the most of my money by turning my back on those rules and listening to my instinct,” was Marston's rejoinder. “I don't want to over-influence you, gentlemen. I don't care to discuss any further what you may consider to be dreams. I am not predicting a great war in Europe. Common sense argues the other way. But I am going into this ship-merger proposition with every ounce of brains and energy and capital I possess. The man who gets in my way is trying to keep these two hands of mine off millions!” He shook his clutched fists above his head. “And I'll walk over him, by the gods! whether it's Tucker or anybody else. We have had some good talks on the subject, first and last. I'm starting now to fight and smash opposition. What do you propose to do in the matter, gentlemen?” They were silent for a time, looking at one another, querying without words. Then out of their knowledge of Julius Marston's uncanny abilities, remembering their past successes, came resolve. “We're in with you to the last dollar,” they assured him, one after the other. “Very well! You're wise!” He unlocked a drawer of his desk and secured a code-book. He pressed a buzzer and the secretary came hurrying from his stateroom. “We'll open action, gentlemen, with a little long-distance skirmish over the wire.” He began to dictate his telegrams. VI ~ AND WE SAILED O Johnny's gone to Baltimore To dance upon that sanded floor. O Johnny's gone for evermore; I'll never see my John no more! O Johnny's gone! What shall I do? A-way you. H-e-e l-o-o-o! O Johnny's gone! What shall I do? Johnny's gone to Hilo. --Old Hauling Song. The taciturn secretary fumbled his way forward and delivered to Captain Mayo a little packet securely bound with tape. “Orders from Mr. Marston that you take these ashore, yourself. They are important telegrams and he wants them hurried.” The master called his men to the dinghy, and they rowed him away through the fog. It was a touchy job, picking his way through that murk. He stood up, leaning forward holding to his taut tiller-ropes, and more by ears than his eyes directed his course. A few of the anchored craft, knowing that they were in the harbor roadway, clanged their bells lazily once in a while. Yacht tenders were making their rounds, carrying parties who were paying and returning calls, and these boats were avoiding each other by loud hails. Small objects loomed largely and little sounds were accentuated.