Gray turned on him sharply. “Oh, nonsense!” he exclaimed. “What has put that absurd notion into your head?” “Know this coast.” “But we are far out at sea.” “Fifty miles from danger line, two hours ago. Thirty now.” “Are you sure?” “Certain.” “Do you mean to tell me that in three hours, or less, the ship may be a wreck?” “Will be,” said Tollemache. “Have a cigar,” and he passed a well-filled case to his companion. The American was beginning to take the silent one’s measure. He bit off the end of a cigar and lit it. “What’s at the back of your head?” he asked coolly. The other looked towards the Chileans. “Those chaps are rotters,” he said. “You think they will cut up rough? What can they do? We must all sink or swim together.” “Yes; but there are the women, you know. They must be looked after. You can count on me. Tell the chief steward—and the padri.” Gray felt that here was a man after his own heart, the native-born American having a rough-and-ready way of classifying nationalities when the last test of manhood is applied by a shipwreck, or a fire. “Got a gun?” he inquired. “Cabin. Goin’ for it first opportunity.” “Same here. But the captain will give us some sort of warning?” “Perhaps not. Die quick, die happy.” Then Gray smiled, and he could not help saying: “Tell you what, cousin, if you shoot as straight as you talk, these stewards will come to heel, no matter what happens.” “Fair shot,” admitted Tollemache, and he stalked off to his stateroom, while the Count was vociferating, for the last time: Quel bon p’tit roi c’était la! La, la! Between Elsie and de Poincilit the chorus made quite a respectable din. Few noticed that the saloon main companion had been opened again, until the sharp bark of a dog joining in the hand-clapping turned every eye towards the stairway. Captain Courtenay was descending. In front ran Joey, who, of course, imagined that the plaudits of the audience demanded recognition. Courtenay had removed his oilskins before leaving the bridge. His dark blue uniform was flecked with white foam, and a sou’wester was tied under his chin, otherwise his appearance gave little sign of the wild tumult without. Joey, on the other hand, was a very wet dog, and inclined to be snappy. When, in obedience to a stern command, he ceased barking, he shook himself violently, and sent a shower of spray over the carpet. Then he cocked an eye at the chief steward, who represented bones and such-like dainties. Courtenay, removing his glistening head-gear, advanced a couple of paces into the saloon. He seemed to avoid looking at any individual, but took in all present in a comprehensive glance. Elsie, who had exchanged very few words with him since the first afternoon she came on board, thought he looked worn and haggard, but his speech soon revealed good cause for any lack of sprightliness.