Had she not heard the signal for the lead? No, in the excitement she had not, though both Ramsey and "California" had, there being to them an unfailing poetry in the casting of the lead, whether by day or, as now, by the glare of a torch basket let down close to the water under the starboard freight guards. At one end of the breast-board the two ladies, at the other the actor and the Californian, looked out and down. The boat's builder had left his seat and stood with Hugh at the forward rail. From the freight guards, far below, the leadsman, unseen up here except to experienced "poetic vision," sent up a long-drawn chant telling the fathoms of depth shown on the sounding-line that flew forward from his skilled hand into the boat's moonlight shadow, plunged to the river's bed, vibrated past his feet in the glare of the pine torch, stretched aft while he chanted, and was recovered in dripping coils and hove again. "Mark under wa-ater, twai-ai-ain." As the notes resounded Hugh looked up to the pilots and in his quietest speaking voice repeated: "Mark under water, twain." But our concern here is mainly with those for whom the scene, the calls, veiled two private conversations. Three or four times the one melodious cry, following as many casts, rose from below, and each time, with all its swing and melody left out, Hugh passed it on up to the pilots. Between the strains Gilmore said softly to "California": "My dear fellow, no. Every time we show ourselves their partisans we make heavier hauling for them. They'd tell us so, only that--don't you see?--they can't even do that. It would be _infra dig._" But in fact Ramsey was just then telling something much like that to his wife. "Yes," admitted the Californian, full of a new scheme, yet always generous, "and that was a ten-strike, your wife, after supper, taking Miss Hayle away from Hugh and Gideon in such gay style. Did you see how't sort o' eased the old man's mind?" The leadsman's cry changed and so came twice or thrice, Hugh as often repeating it to the pilots, while Ramsey and Mrs. Gilmore, though hearkening, whispered busily. "Shoaling," commented Mrs. Gilmore to Ramsey. "Not seriously," said the river-wise Ramsey. "Go on. What did you get out of him at last?" She had a merry sparkle. Once more the far-below cry rose to them and was restated by Hugh without color or thrill. Ramsey well knew that so it was always sung and spoken, yet she remarked: "Hear that absurd difference--in those two voices." "That's the difference between him and other men, Ramsey; even between him and your father." She liked that, though now she felt bitter toward him for not being more like ordinary mortals. "Go on," she lightly repeated. "If he won't make words happen with me I must take him second-hand." "You naughty girl! He'll tell you all you'll let him." "Oh, I'll let him, all he'll tell me. What did he say?" "He said the very best was, that under all your mantle of new charms----"