When he had replaced the papers--“It’s all right, Annie; I’ll come home on the _Empress_ to-morrow afternoon.” He made the announcement as positively as though the Asiatic liner were a street car; and then, with his last half hour at home before him, he went on mapping out the details of to-morrow evening’s festivities which they had planned in honor of their two grandchildren. He spoke with a confidence, as if there were five-o’clock whistles to call him home from his work on the high seas. But his wife made no move to pick up the two presents, which she herself had dressed in bright raiment; she sat still, gazing with patient eyes upon the leaping flames in the grate. Thirty years of married experience had planted in her soul abiding distrust concerning ocean home-comings. “After dinner,” he was saying placidly, “we’ll all come back to the sitting room; and we’ll have them here”--he pointed to the center table--“so they’ll see them as quick as they come through the door.” He heard her sigh. “Annie, I tell you I’ll be back on the _Empress_ in good time.” He made the statement as if its very utterance established it--a fact beyond all doubt or contradiction. He waved his large right hand in a gesture whose abruptness caused the tattooed dragon on his forearm to thrust its red-and-blue head out from under his spotless linen cuff. “Now that’s settled, lass. And be sure to remember the candles for the birthday cakes. Two cakes; same size; and the candles set in exactly the same.” He sighed comfortably in the depths of the leather-cushioned chair, and he talked on. There was fondness in his face now; it had come there when he called her “lass.” * * * * * A half hour later he elbowed his way through the hurrying throngs of homebound commuters in front of the ferry building, and climbed the stairs. In the office of the Bar Pilots’ Association, he found two fellow members just back from outside the Heads, immaculately overcoated, their shoes agleam with polish, bulky men, gray-haired. They talked with MacKenzie of tide and wind and pitfalls of the deep as workman talks to workman at the changing of the shifts. He nodded and answered tersely as he went on tying up the evening papers into a round bundle to take with him to the pilot boat. He glanced at the blackboard beside the secretary’s desk. Under the head of “Remarks” he read: Thick Outside. Sou’west Swell. Breaking Bar. These tidings, which would have forced a coastwise skipper to relieve his tense nerves by profanity, he accepted without comment. The fog and breakers brought him his bread and butter, after all. He saw the names of the pilots out there ahead of him. “Lea and Wills,” he chuckled. “They’re both of them always worrying for fear they won’t get ships back home.” “How about you?” the secretary demanded. “There’ll be ships enough, all right, to bring us all back before to-morrow evening,” he said, and departed.