"Maybe it is--and maybe if you don't talk sense I'll heave you over the rail some fine day. Better give her a grain more fore-sheet. Man, but it's a wicked night." We made Canso after the worst day and night we had had in the Johnnie Duncan since she was launched. Outside Canso Harbor it looked bad. We didn't think the skipper would try to enter the harbor that black night, but he did. "Got to go in and get news," said Clancy, and in we went. It was as black as could be--squalls sweeping down--and Canso is not the easiest harbor in the world to make at night. I went ashore with Clancy to hear what the young woman might have to say. We found her in a place run by her father, a sort of lodging house and "pub," with herself serving behind the bar--a bold-looking young woman, not over-neat--and yet attractive in her way--good figure, regular features, and good color. "There, Joe, if you brought a girl like that home your mother would probably die of a broken heart, but there's the kind that a foolish man like Dave Warner would sell his soul for." Then Clancy explained while we were waiting for her to see us privately, "I don't know if she'll remember me, but I met her two or three times in Gloucester." When she came in she recognized Clancy right away. "How do you do, Captain Clancy?" "How do you do, Miss Luce? My friend, Mr. Buckley. Now what we've come for--but first, suppose we have a little something by way of sociability. A little fizzy stuff, say, and some good cigars, Miss Luce." She brought the wine and the cigars. Clancy pulled the cork, filled both glasses, pushed one glass toward the young woman and drew one to himself. "But, Captain, your friend hasn't any." "My friend," said Clancy, "doesn't drink. The last thing the doctor said to him before we came away was, 'Don't touch a drop of liquor or your life will pay the forfeit.' You see, Miss Luce, he's been a dissipated youth--drink--and having been dissipated and coming of delicate people, it's affected his health." "You don't tell me? I'm sure he doesn't look it." "No, he don't--that's a fact. But so it is." "Stomach?" she asked me. "No--heart," answered Clancy for me. "What they call an aneurism. You know what an aneurism is, of course?" "Yes-yes--oh, yes----" "Of course. Well, he's got one of them." "That's too bad. So he only smokes instead?" "That's all. Here, Joe, smoke up." "My, I always thought smoking was bad for the heart." "It is--for everything except aneurisms. Smoking's the death of aneurisms. Have another cigar, Joe. And Miss Luce, shall we exchange a health?" "But I never drank anything in all my life." "Of course not. But you will now, won't you? Consider the occasion and I'm sure you won't let me drink alone. And I've come so far to see you, too--only of course not--Well, here's to your good health, and may you live long and----"