“What are you talking about? All right, Pink, make fast there! Who's running this schooner, you or me?” “Oh, I don't mean nothin', Cap'n; but seein' there ain't no particular hurry--” “No hurry! Why, man, I've got to lay alongside the Lakeville pier by Wednesday night, or break something. What's the matter with you, anyhow? Lost your nerve?” “No, I ain't lost my nerve. And you ain't got no call to talk that way to me, Dick Smiley.” “Here, here, Pete, none of that. We're going to pull out in just about two minutes. If you aren't good for it, I 'll wait long enough to tumble your slops ashore. Put your mind on it now--are you coming or not?” “Oh, I'm cornin', Cap'n, of course, but--” “Shut up, then.” The idlers on the wharf had not heard what was said, but they saw Roche change color and duck below for another pull at his flask. The tug swung out into the stream; the _Merry Anne_ fell slowly away from the wharf. “Call up those loafers, Pete,” shouted Smiley, as he rested his hands on the wheel. The two sailors, roused by a shake and an oath, scrambled drowsily upon the deck with red eyes and unsettled nerves, and were set to work raising the jib and double-reefing foresail and mainsail. Captain Peters sounded three blasts for the first bridge, and headed down-stream. Passing on through the narrow draws of the bridges and between the buildings that lined the river, the _Merry Anne_ drew near to the long piers that formed the entrance to the channel. And Roche, standing with flushed face by the foremast, looked out over the piers at the angry lake, now a lead-gray color, here streaked with foam, there half obscured by the driving squalls. His eyes followed the track of one squall after another as they tore their way at right angles to the surf. Already the _Anne_ had begun to stagger. At the end of the towing hawser the tug was nosing into the half-spent rollers that got in between the piers, and was tossing the spray up into the wind. One of the life-saving crew, in shining oilskins, was walking the pier; he paused and looked at them--even called out some words that the wind took from his lips and mockingly swept away. Roche looked at him with dull eyes; saw his lips moving behind his hollowed hands; looked out again at the muddy streaks and the whirling mist, out beyond at the two barges laboring on the horizon, gazed at the white and yellow surf. Then his eye lighted a little, and he made his way back to the wheel. “Don't be a fool, Dick,” he shouted. “Just look a' that and tell me you can make it. I know better. I'm an old friend, Dick, and I like you better'n anybody, but you mustn't be a dam' fool. Ain't no use bein' a dam' fool.” “Who are you talking to?” “Lemme blow the horn, Dick.'Taint too late to stop 'em. We can get back all right--start in the mornin'. Don't you see, Dick--”