“‘No fear,’ says he; ‘’tis foolishness t’ think. It don’t come t’ nothin’.’ “‘But you _might_,’ says I. “‘Not in a moment o’ grace,’ says he. ‘An’, Tumm,’ says he, ‘at this instant, my condition,’ says he, ‘is one o’ salvation.’ “‘Then,’ says I, ‘you follow me, an’ we’ll do a tidy job with that there stays’l.’ “An’ out on the jib-boom we went. We’d pretty near finished the job when the _Three Sisters_ stuck her nose into a thundering sea. When she shook that off, I yelled t’ Botch t’ look out for two more. If he heard, he didn’t say so; he was too busy spittin’ salt water. We was still there when the second sea broke. But when the third fell, an’ my eyes was shut, an’ I was grippin’ the boom for dear life, I felt a clutch on my ankle; an’ the next thing I knowed I was draggin’ in the water, with a grip on the bobstay, an’ something tuggin’ at my leg like a whale on a fish-line. I knowed ’twas Botch, without lookin’, for it couldn’t be nothin’ else. An’ when I looked, I seed un lyin’ in the foam at the schooner’s bow, bobbin’ under an’ up. His head was on a pillow o’ froth, an’ his legs was swingin’ in a green, bubblish swirl beyond. “‘Hold fast!’ I yelled. “The hiss an’ swish o’ the seas was hellish. Botch spat water an’ spoke, but I couldn’t hear. I ’lowed, though, that ’twas whether I could keep my grip a bit longer. “‘Hold fast!’ says I. “He nodded a most agreeable thank you. ‘I wants t’ think a minute,’ says he. “‘Take both hands!’ says I. “On deck they hadn’t missed us yet. The rain was thick an’ sharp-edged, an’ the schooner’s bow was forever in a mist o’ spray. “‘Tumm!’ says Botch. “‘Hold fast!’ says I. “He’d hauled his head out o’ the froth. They wasn’t no trouble in his eyes no more. His eyes was clear an’ deep—with a little laugh lyin’ far down in the depths. “‘Tumm,’ says he, ‘I——’ “‘I don’t hear,’ says I. “‘I can’t wait no longer,’ says he. ‘I wants t’ know. An’ I’m so near, now,’ says he, ‘that I ’low I’ll just find out.’ “‘Hold fast, you fool!’ says I. “I swear by the God that made me,” Tumm declared, “that he was smilin’ the last I seed of his face in the foam! He wanted t’ know—an’ he found out! But I wasn’t quite so curious,” Tumm added, “an’ I hauled my hulk out o’ the water, an’ climbed aboard. An’ I run aft; but they wasn’t nothin’ t’ be seed but the big, black sea, an’ the froth o’ the schooner’s wake and o’ the wild white horses.” * * * * * The story was ended. A tense silence was broken by a gentle snore from the skipper of the _Good Samaritan_. I turned. The head of the lad from the Cove o’ First Cousins protruded from his bunk. It was withdrawn on the instant. But I had caught sight of the drooping eyes and of the wide, flaring nostrils. “See that, sir?” Tumm asked, with a backward nod toward the boy’s bunk. I nodded. “Same old thing,” he laughed, sadly. “Goes on t’ the end o’ the world.” We all know that. II—A MATTER OF EXPEDIENCY