He forgot his joke and knew that he wanted to return to the sea. Doanes belonged at sea. Ashore things struck you funny--then, after they'd once got to you, hurt. He thought about how he used to come round this Point when Myrtie was a baby. As he passed this very spot and saw the town lying there in the sun he'd think about her, and how he'd see her now, and how she'd kick and crow. But now Myrtie wanted to go and visit him--_in the cemetery_. Oh, it was a joke all right. But he guessed he was tired of jokes. Except the one _great_ joke--joke that seemed to slap the whole of life right smack in the face. The tide was coming in. In--Out--Doanes and Doanes. In--Out--Him too. In--Out--He was getting wet. He'd have to move up higher. But--_why move?_ Perhaps this was as near as he could come to getting back to sea. Caught in the breakwater. That was about it--wasn't it? Rocks were queer things. You could wedge yourself in where you couldn't get yourself out. He hardly had to move. If he'd picked a place he couldn't have picked a better one. Wedge himself in--tide almost in now--too hard to get out--pounded to pieces, like the last vessel Doanes had owned. Near as he could come to getting back to sea. Near as he deserved to come--him freezing fish with ginnies. And there'd _be_ no fireless cooker! He twisted his shoulders to wedge in where it wouldn't be easy to wedge out. Face turned up, he saw something move on the great flat rock above the jagged rocks. He pulled himself up a little; he rose; he swung up to the big rock above him. On one flat-topped boulder stood Joe Doane. On the other flat-topped boulder stood the government goat. "Go to hell!" said Joe Doane, and he was sobbing. "Go to _hell_!" The government goat nodded her head a little in a way that wagged her beard and shook her bag. "Go home! Drown yourself! Let me be! Go 'way!" It was fast, and choked, and he was shaking. The goat would do none of these things. He sat down, his back to the government goat, and tried to forget that she was there. But there are moments when a goat is not easy to forget. He was willing there should be _some_ joke to his death--like caught in the breakwater, but he wasn't going to die before a _goat_. After all, he'd amounted to a little more than _that_. He'd look around to see if perhaps she had started home. But she was always standing right there looking at him. Finally he jumped up in a fury. "What'd you come for? What do you _want_ of me? How do you expect to get home?" Between each question he'd wait for an answer. None came. He picked up a small rock and threw it at the government goat. She jumped, slipped, and would have fallen from the boulder if he hadn't caught at her hind legs. Having saved her, he yelled: "You needn't expect _me_ to save you. Don't expect anything from _me_!"