“Van Steen says the flurry last night gave her a sort of nervous prostration,” answered O’Shea. “She is up and dressed now and taking it easy in her room. Maybe ye would like to duck in and hand her a few kind words.” “I sure would,” and Johnny Kent beamed. “Ladies like her are mighty refined and delicate and sensitive, and they’re liable to be took with this nervous prostration. I don’t blame her a bit, Cap’n Mike. Why, when we piled up on that reef and the gun-boat was fixin’ to shoot us all to hell-and-gone, I felt nervous myself. Honest I did.” “Go to it, Johnny, but don’t mention the fact that we are due to founder as the next act of this continuous performance.” It was really extraordinary to see how much animation came into the face of Miss Hollister when Johnny Kent poked his gray head inside the open door and grinned a bashful greeting. Never did a hero wear a more unromantic aspect, but the spinster had selected him as her own particular hero, nevertheless. He was rugged, elemental, as she had come to regard him, and, in fact, there was something uncommonly attractive to the discerning eye in the modest courage, inflexible devotion to duty, and simple kindliness of this grizzled old sea rover. “I’m ashamed that we had to give you such a scare last night, ma’am,” he began. “It’s a hoodooed voyage, any way you look at it. Why, Cap’n Mike and me ran a cargo into Hayti last summer and you would have enjoyed it. Stuff on the beach in three hours and a funny old stone fort bangin’ away at us just enough to keep all hands amused.” “But after this experience, you will not dream of going filibustering again, will you?” Miss Hollister asked him. Johnny Kent tugged at his gray mustache and looked rather blank as he ejaculated: “Why not? I ain’t fit for anything else. Of course, I get big wages for runnin’ these risks, and if I can ever save some money, I’m hopin’ to buy a farm down in Maine and raise chickens and such truck. That’s what I call really excitin’ and romantic.” Miss Hollister responded eagerly: “And a vegetable garden and cows, and----” “Yes, ma’am. And flowers in the front yard--hollyhocks, and asters, and peonies, and a lilac bush by the front door-step. I set and think about it a lot.” It did not appeal to the chief engineer as at all incongruous that the conversation should have taken this turn while the ship was slowly sinking beneath them. “I have been very successful with flowers,” brightly returned Miss Hollister. “I shall be delighted to send you some seeds and cuttings whenever you return to New England to live on that wonderful farm of yours.” “Thank you. Now when it comes to chickens, for all-round service there ain’t a bird to beat the Plymouth Rock. I subscribe to the _Poultry Journal_, and always bring it to sea to read----” The mate dodged out of the wheel-house to shout: “You’re wanted below, chief. The assistant sends up word that the loose coal is sucking into the pump and she’s chokin’ up.”