While the dog was lapping a second supply, the _Kansas_ shifted again with a disconcerting suddenness. The water in the cabin swirled across the floor as the ship was restored to an even keel. The movement dislodged the packet of letters. It fell, and Elsie rescued it a second time. Christobal watched her with undisguised admiration. “Really,” he said, “I find you wonderful.” “Why?” Certainly she might be pardoned for seeking an explanation of any compliment just then. “Why? Por Dios! Excuse me, but that slipped out sideways. Just imagine any woman being able to attend to a dog and pick up a bundle of letters at the very instant the ship appeared to be slipping off into deep water!” “Is not that the best thing that can happen?” “My dear young lady, we should sink instantly.” “How do you know?” “Well—er—I don’t exactly know, but I assume that the hull was broken long since.” “I don’t see why you should take that for granted. These very movements seem to me to argue buoyancy. Somehow, I feel far safer here than if I were—” She was interrupted by the opening of the door, and the consequent roar of the gale. It was Walker, the engineer, a lank, swarthy man, with long black mustaches which drooped forlornly down the sides of his mouth. He shouted, with the inimitable accent of Tyneside: “Yo’ wanted, Docto’ Chwistobal. The captain thinks Mr. Boyle is bettaw.” “May I come, too?” asked Elsie. “No, missie. You bide he-aw.” “Please tell me before you go—is the ship full of water?” “She’s dwy as a bone,” said Walker. A sea splashed over him and sent a shower into the cabin. “A vewy wet bone,” he added, with a broad grin, for the Northumbrian had a ready wit though he had such a solemn jowl, and he could not pronounce an “r” to save his life. “Between you and the captain, I am beginning to be infected by belief,” said Christobal to Elsie. “Let me recommend you to close the door behind us.”