The far voice of an unseen joker announced that he could find his way through the fog all right, but was afraid he had not strength enough to push his boat through it. But Mayo knew his waters in that harbor, and found his way to the wharf. His real difficulties confronted him at the village telegraph office. The visiting yachtsmen had flooded the place with messages, and the flustered young woman was in a condition nearly resembling hysteria. She was defiantly declaring that she would not accept any more telegrams. Instead of setting at work upon those already filed she was spending her time explaining her limitations to later arrivals. Captain Mayo stood at one side and looked on for a few moments. A gentle nudge on his elbow called his attention to an elderly man with stringy whiskers, who thus solicited his notice. The man held a folded paper gingerly by one corner, exhibiting profound respect for his minute burden. “You ain't one of these yachting dudes--you're a skipper, ain't you?” asked the man. “Yes, sir.” “Well, then, I can talk to you, as one officer to another--and glad to meet one of my own breed. I'm first mate of the schooner _Polly_. Mr. Speed is my name.” Captain Mayo nodded. “And I need help and advice. This is the first tele-graft I ever had in my hands. I'd rather be aholt of an iced halyard in a no'easter! I've been sent ashore to telegraft it, and now she says she won't stick it onto the wire, however it is they do the blasted trick.” Captain Mayo had already noticed that the messengers from the yachts were killing time by teasing the flustered young woman; it was good-humored badinage, but it was effectively blocking progress at that end of the line. He felt a “native's” instinctive impulse to go to the relief of the young woman who was being baited by the merrymakers; the responsibility of his own errand prompted him to help her clear decks. But he waited, hoping that the yachtsmen would go about their business. “From the _Polly_, Mr. Speed?” he inquired, amiably. “Is the Polly in the harbor? I didn't notice her in the fog.” “Reckon you know her, by the way you speak of her,” replied the gratified Mr. Speed. “I ought to, sir. She was built at Mayoport by my great-grandfather before the Mayo yards began to turn out ships.” “Well, I swanny! Be you a Mayo?” The captain bowed and smiled at the enthusiasm displayed by Mr. Speed. “By ginger! that sort of puts you right into _our_ fambly, so to speak!” The mate surveyed him with interest and with increasing confidence. “I'm in a mess, Cap'n Mayo, and I need advice and comfort, I reckon. I was headed on a straight tack toward my regular duty, and all of a sudden I found myself jibed and in stays, and I'm there now and drifting. Seeing that your folks built the _Polly_, I consider that you're in the fambly, and that Proverdunce put you right here to-night in this telegraft office. Do you know Cap'n Epps Candage?” Mayo shook his head.