Now, what had happened was simply that, in the strain before the actual break at the deck, the bronze shaft had been thrown out of line. So it bound against the bearing through the mast. It was but a quarter hour’s work to saw above and below the bend. I couldn’t get the shaft to exact trueness, of course; but the line from engine coupling to shaft log ran fair enough, so that, before a half hour was up, I sent old Steve to deck. Then followed the jangle of the bell right alongside me, and I started the engine. There came immediately a gurgle along the planking. The _Ruby Light_ was once more under way. I was soon joined in the engine room again by old Steve. “How’s she runnin’?” he inquired, as he bit off a chew of plug, mumbling over the process of getting the exact break. “Sweet enough,” I replied, “though she ought not to be driven any too long with even that bit of a crook.” I indicated the bend in the shaft. “A long spell would wear the stern bearing out of----” “Which the same’s just wot I was a-tellin’ the old man just now. Kind o’ struck him like, too, I reckon; fer I hearn him shift the course sommat ter the Stevens lad.” “Shift the course?” I queried, masking my interest as much as possible, but not enough to keep the old fellow from hedging on his tongue. He shifted the topic abruptly. “And now, laddie, I guess as how there ain’t no more occasion ter keep you from deck, though the same which you done down here was mighty good,” he said meaningly. I acknowledged the appreciation with a shrug, gave him a cordial “So long,” and sought the deck. Fog is even more whimsical than woman. And the quick survey I gave to the weather, as I stood a minute by the engine-room hatch, showed that this one had about made up its mind to lift again. At any rate, it was distinctly thinner. I started aft along the cluttered deck toward Stevens, who was again at the wheel, but before I reached his side, Stroth had joined him from the main companionway. The owner gave a critical scan to starboard, then spoke a word to Stevens, with a nod at the binnacle, and slowly the spokes went over to port. This, just as I was about to join them. “I hope your hand is all right, sir,” said I, in genuine solicitude. “Right as a trivet,” he replied, holding it forward for inspection. “Isn’t all that gauze and stuff just shipshape and Bristol-fashion, though? I tell you, Stella’s a trump when it comes to the nursing game. You see, those convent sisters she’s been with these three years are----” He stopped himself, and inquired sharply: “How’re things with the motor?” “Well enough, if you don’t run it too long that way.” “So old Steve tells me. Well, how long do you think----” I anticipated his thought. “She could run without much trouble for twelve hours or thereabout,” was my verdict. His brow cleared perceptibly as he cried: “Good enough--and long enough!” He nodded to Stevens, as though in confirmation of some point, before he added to me: