To all of which the dog, who had found a dry corner, would respond with a smile and a tail-wag. What? Joey couldn’t smile! Make a friend of a fox-terrier and learn what a genuine, whole-hearted, delighted-to-see-you grin he will favor you with: he can smile as unmistakably as he can yawn. If deeper emotions peeped up in Courtenay’s soul, he crushed them resolutely. Men of the sea do not cultivate heroics. They leave sentiment to those imaginative people who evolve eery visions of a storm in the smug comfort of suburban villas. When the _Kansas_ lay on the shoal Courtenay was certain that the ship was lost, or he would never have dispatched some of his passengers and crew in the only boat available. He acted to the best of his judgment then; he was acting similarly now in abandoning the last resource of a raft in order to keep the vessel on her present course. But, then or now, he paid no heed whatever to the obvious fact that he and the second engineer, and at least one of the male passengers, must be the last to quit the ship. That was the code of all true sailor-men—the women first, then the male passengers and crew followed by the officers, beginning at the junior in rank. There could be room for no hesitancy or dispute—it was just a sailor-like way of doing one’s duty, in the simple faith that the recording angel would enter up the log. The long wait in the darkness would have broken many a man’s nerve, but Courtenay was not cast in a mold to be either bent or broken by fear. When his cigar was not in his mouth he whistled, he hummed snatches of songs, and delivered short lectures to Joey on the absurdity of things in general, and the special ridiculousness of such a mighty combination of circumstances centering on one poor ship as had fore-gathered to crush the _Kansas_. Ever since he was aroused from sleep by the stopping of the screw, his mind had dwelt on the unprecedented nature of the break-down. Even before he discovered its cause he was wondering what evil chance bad contrived to cripple the engine at such a moment—in the worst possible place on the map. “Joey!” he said suddenly, his thoughts reverting to a chance remark made to him in Valparaiso by Isobel’s father, “what did Mr. Baring mean by saying there was a difficulty about the insurance?” Joey gave it up, but he cocked his ears and looked towards the door. Christobal entered. “Boyle will recover,” he said, when he had wiped the spray off his face. “He had a narrow escape; the knife just grazed the spinal cord. The shock to the dorsal nerves induced temporary paralysis, and that rather misled me. He is much better now. Under ordinary conditions he would be able to get about in a few days. As it is, he will probably live as long as any of us.” Christobal waved a hand towards the external void. He was not sailor enough to realize the change in the weather. “That is good news,” said Courtenay. “I thought you would like to know. How are things up here?”