“‘Liner,’ he says. ‘Yon’s her rocket. Ou, ay; they’ve waukened the gold-strapped skipper, an’—noo they’ve waukened the passengers. They’re turnin’ on the electrics, cabin by cabin. Yon’s anither rocket! They’re comin’ up to help the perishin’ in deep watters.’ “‘Gie me the glass,’ I said. But Bell danced on the bridge, clean dementit. ‘Mails-mails-mails!’ said he. ‘Under contract wi’ the Government for the due conveyance o’ the mails; an’ as such, Mac, ye’ll note, she may rescue life at sea, but she canna tow!—she canna tow! Yon’s her night-signal. She’ll be up in half an hour!’ “‘Gowk!’ I said, ‘an’ we blazin’ here wi’ all oor lights. Oh, Bell, ye’re a fool!’ “He tumbled off the bridge forward, an’ I tumbled aft, an’ before ye could wink our lights were oot, the engine-room hatch was covered, an’ we lay pitch-dark, watchin’ the lights o’ the liner come up that the _Grotkau_’d been signallin’ to. Twenty knot an hour she came, every cabin lighted, an’ her boats swung awa’. It was grandly done, an’ in the inside of an hour. She stopped like Mrs. Holdock’s machine; down went the gangway, down went the boats, an’ in ten minutes we heard the passengers cheerin’, an’ awa’ she fled. “‘They’ll tell o’ this all the days they live,’ said Bell. ‘A rescue at sea by night, as pretty as a play. Young Bannister an’ Calder will be drinkin’ in the saloon, an’ six months hence the Board o’ Trade ’ll gie the skipper a pair o’ binoculars. It’s vara philanthropic all round.’ “We’ll lay by till day—ye may think we waited for it wi’ sore eyes an’ there sat the _Grotkau_, her nose a bit cocked, just leerin’ at us. She looked paifectly ridiculous. “‘She’ll be fillin’ aft,’ says Bell; ‘for why is she down by the stern? The tail-shaft’s punched a hole in her, an’—we ’ve no boats. There’s three hunder thousand pound sterlin’, at a conservative estimate, droonin’ before our eyes. What’s to do?’ An’ his bearin’s got hot again in a minute: he was an incontinent man.