"Yes, she did. So did Francis Lee, superintendent of the Mica Quarry Company at Port-of-Waves. So have a dozen men who work in the quarry. Oh, you needn't laugh, young man. It's an old story here, and anybody can tell you about the harbor-master." "The harbor-master!" I exclaimed. "Yes, that slate-colored thing with gills, that looks like a man--and--by Heaven! _is_ a man--that's the harbor-master. Ask any quarryman at Port-of-Waves what it is that comes purring around their boats at the wharf and unties painters and changes the mooring of every cat-boat in the cove at night! Ask Francis Lee what it was he saw running and leaping up and down the shoal at sunset last Friday! Ask anybody along the coast what sort of a thing moves about the cliffs like a man and slides over them into the sea like an otter--" "I saw it do that!" I burst out. "Oh, did you? Well, _what was it?_" Something kept me silent, although a dozen explanations flew to my lips. After a pause, Halyard said: "You saw the harbor-master, that's what you saw!" I looked at him without a word. "Don't mistake me," he said, pettishly; "I don't think that the harbor-master is a spirit or a sprite or a hobgoblin, or any sort of damned rot. Neither do I believe it to be an optical illusion." "What do you think it is?" I asked. "I think it's a man--I think it's a branch of the human race--that's what I think. Let me tell you something: the deepest spot in the Atlantic Ocean is a trifle over five miles deep--and I suppose you know that this place lies only about a quarter of a mile off this headland. The British exploring vessel, _Gull_, Captain Marotte, discovered and sounded it, I believe. Anyway, it's there, and it's my belief that the profound depths are inhabited by the remnants of the last race of amphibious human beings!" This was childish; I did not bother to reply. "Believe it or not, as you will," he said, angrily; "one thing I know, and that is this: the harbor-master has taken to hanging around my cove, and he is attracted by my nurse! I won't have it! I'll blow his fishy gills out of his head if I ever get a shot at him! I don't care whether it's homicide or not--anyway, it's a new kind of murder and it attracts me!" I gazed at him incredulously, but he was working himself into a passion, and I did not choose to say what I thought. "Yes, this slate-colored thing with gills goes purring and grinning and spitting about after my nurse--when she walks, when she rows, when she sits on the beach! Gad! It drives me nearly frantic. I won't tolerate it, I tell you!" "No," said I, "I wouldn't either." And I rolled over in bed convulsed with laughter. The next moment I heard my door slam. I smothered my mirth and rose to close the window, for the land-wind blew cold from the forest, and a drizzle was sweeping the carpet as far as my bed.