"A bet's a bet and business is business," said Watchett. "We appointed to-morrow, and, bar lying out a gale from the north, with two anchors down and the cables out to the bitter end, I'll sail." His wife, who was as meek as milk, suggested humbly that it would be more interesting if he waited. "I ain't in this for interest; I'm in it for capital," said Watchett, grinning gloomily. "The more like a dead certainty it looks the better I shall be pleased." Mrs. Ryder darkened. "I don't think you're a sportsman," she said, rather shortly. "I ain't," retorted old Watchett; "I'm a seaman, and him that'd go to sea for sport would go to Davy Jones for pastime. You can tell Bill that I'll give him ten per cent. discount for cash now." As Mrs. Ryder knew that he never called her husband "Bill" unless he desired to be more or less offensive, she showed unmistakable signs of temper. "If I ever get half a chance to make you sorry, I will," she said. "Let it go at that," said Watchett, sulkily. "I got on all right with Bill before you took to going to sea with him." "He was too soft with you," said Bill's wife. "And a deal softer with you than I'd be," said Watchett. "Oh, please, please don't," cried Mary Watchett, in great distress. "I thought you were a gentleman," said Connie Ryder. [Illustration: "'I THOUGHT YOU WERE A GENTLEMAN,' SAID CONNIE RYDER."] "Not you," replied Watchett; "you never, and you know it. I'm not one and never hankered to be. I'm rough and tough and a seaman of the old school. I'm no sea dandy. I'm Jack Watchett, as plain as you like." "You're much plainer than I like," retorted his cousin's wife, "very much plainer." And though she kissed Mary Watchett she wondered greatly how any woman could kiss Mary Watchett's husband. "If I ever get a chance," she said. "But there, how can I?" She wept a little out of pure anger as she returned to the _Star of the South_. When she got on board she found the mate and second mate standing by the gangway. "Is there no chance of these men, Mr. Semple"? "No more than if it was the year '49 and this was San Francisco," said the mate, who was a hoary-headed old sea-dog, a great deal more like the old school than "plain Jack Watchett." "Why doesna the captain take they Greeks, ma'am?" asked McGill, the second mate, who had been almost long enough out of Scotland to forget his own language. "Because he doesn't like any but Englishmen," said Connie Ryder. "And Scotch, of course," she added, as she saw McGill's jaw fall a little. "I've been trying to get Captain Watchett to give us another day." "All our ship and cargo to a paper-bag of beans he didn't, ma'am," said Semple. "I--I hate him," cried Connie Ryder, as she entered the cabin. "She's as keen as mustard--as red pepper," said Semple; "if she'd been a man she'd have made a seaman."