"Why, yes," said the holder-on, "we fear that, too. Good Lord, she may have the contagion now!" It gave him grim amusement to note that the grandson's face was as quiet as the old man's, yet as hard and heavy as any of the _Antelope's_ big castings. He thought how much better it were to have this chap for an adherent than opponent. "Yet you're all willing," slowly pressed Hugh, while--with their pull on the paper increasing--they here and the commodore and Watson yonder returned the bow of the bishop as he came from below and passed on up to the sick-room--"you're willing to send the cholera aboard the _Antelope_?" "Willing, my God, no, sir! compelled!--to risk it--for the sake of Gideon Hayle and his people and of you and yours, in a great public interest centring in you and them." The speaker smilingly tapped the hard-pulled document so lately urged upon the grandfather. "We couldn't _write_ that--in this paper. When I've explained _that_ I'll hand you _this_--don't pull it." "Well, then, let go of it," said Hugh, with a light jerk which put it wholly into his possession. The senator's eyes blazed, but when he saw that Hugh's, though as much too wide as his own, looked out of a face as set and hard as ever, he recovered his suavity, puffed his cigar, waved it abroad, and said: "That's all right. Take that to the captain at once, will you?" "No," replied Hugh, the wrestler's nimble art being as far, far away from him as the "happy land" of the children's hymn, which the cornet was essaying below. "No?" questioned the tolerant senator. "No." Small knots of passengers, the squire in one, the general in another, had drawn within eavesdropping range and Hugh lowered his voice. "Not till I hear what you couldn't write," he said. "When you've explained _that_ I'll hand him _this_. No one's in his room, come there." As they reached its door and the senator passed in, Hugh was joined by the grandfather and Watson and detained some moments in private council, with Watson as chief speaker. Then the commodore returned leisurely forward toward the captain's chair while Watson sought the texas roof and pilot-house, and Hugh shut himself in with the senator. They sat with the writing-table between them. "I wish," said the senator, "I had a son like you. I'd say: 'My son, the worst notion in this land to-day is that always the first thing to do is fight, and that the only thing to fight with is hot shot. Don't you believe it! Don't think every man's your enemy the moment he differs with you. He may be your best friend. And don't think every enemy wants to stab you in the back.' But, Lord! I needn't offer a father's advice to you, with such a father--and grandfather--as you've got.