The first officer said to himself, "In these seas?" But he obeyed and went down to the cargo hold where the alarm apparatus was stationed. Above the roar of the elements sounded seven short hoarse blasts, and a long one. The "all hands on deck" signal vibrated through the ship. The captain watched while sailors donned lifebelts, jumped to boat stations. Boats were swung out, and eased down by the rail. Passengers, herded by calm officers, came on to the deck. The ship gave another sickening roll. A lifeboat was dashed to matchsticks. "It's no use," the quartermaster said hoarsely. He gripped the rail, staring out over the raging sea, where mountainous waves were sending the S.S. _Wilcox_ to her doom. The captain said slowly, "I wish I were what Cadmus wished he was. I wish I could command the waves of the sea to vanish." ... An astounding thing happened. As if a gigantic beer skimmer had been run over the surface of the sea in all directions, the tops of the waves seemed abruptly to round. The troughs filled, the crests dropped. The roar of water against the flanks of the ship ceased. The waves ceased, though the wind still roared, and whined. The quartermaster's eyes widened in startled terror, and he looked askance at his captain. The captain said blankly, "God or the Devil or me!" The waves were gone. The S.S. _Wilcox_ ceased pitching. A sailor came up and told the captain that although the hole was still there, the water of the open sea visible through it had seemed to turn into a rigid surface that wouldn't let the water in. The ship was no longer sinking. As far as the eye could see the Atlantic Ocean was a calm smooth stretch of water, with the inflexible rigidity of glass.... * * * * * The champion of the world was saved by the bell. His excited, panic-stricken manager picked up a pitcher of water, and threw the entire contents in the heavy-weight's face. The entire contents was in the form of a hard sphere of water. The sphere struck the dazed, almost unconscious fighter on the forehead. It was the only case on record of a fighter being knocked out between rounds.... * * * * * "I am sorry you are not able to drink, when there is so much water around you. But you must not touch it, see? Olduk must not touch it either. Tell all your friends. Thank you," Olduk concluded. He bowed and turned away, leaving the station manager to do the rest. Then he placed his twelve foot body into a specially made chair, and waited. The waiting was not long. A knock came on the door, and the door was thrust open. Five men in civilian clothes stood there. "You, Olduk," said one in an ugly tone. "You're under arrest." The five men circled him. Olduk drew his cape tighter about him. "Very well," he complied, and led the way out of the room, thinking wistfully of his native planet. * * * * *