The night wore on. Great activity with little result took place about the fire. Policemen, firemen and newspapermen viewed the scene with interest. Such prominent men as Obadiah Dale and Hezekiah Wilkins exchanged ideas over the fire with factory employees and laborers. It was Pat Murphy, a teamster, who solved the problem of rescue. As the eastern sky was lighted by the first streaks of the coming day, a mule team and a wagon in a few trips landed the passengers of the _Nancy Jane_. In accordance with the traditions of the sea, Mr. Quince stayed by his ship. The last load departed leaving him drying himself before the furnace. The reflection of the fire lighted up the deep lines of his face, its pensive look and the rhythmic movement of the powerful jaws, as the faithful mariner kept vigil upon the waters. But, as the rays of the rising sun turned the eastern horizon into gold, an early observer might have perceived Mr. Quince arise, stretch himself, and solace his palate with chewing tobacco. The same beholder might then have witnessed the riverman step overboard and wade slowly towards the shore, bearing his shoes, wrapped in his trousers, before him, while the morning breeze flapped the tails of his old flannel shirt about his thin legs. CHAPTER XV A MAN IN DISGRACE "Virginia, come here!" roared Obadiah on the morning after the trip up the river. There was a rough commanding note in his voice which made the girl spring to her feet, and, shaken by dread of impending calamity, with throbbing heart and startled eyes, hurry down stairs to where he awaited her in the living room. He stood before the great mantel. The morning paper was stretched between his hands, his nervous fingers crushing its edges. His face was flushed with passion and his eyes, as they met those of his daughter, were cruel in their anger. "Look here! See what you have done," he cried, in a voice which shook with the intenseness of his emotion. In his haste he tore a corner from the paper as he thrust it towards the trembling girl. She accepted the sheet as if she were in a dream. Never had he spoken so to her. Never had she seen him in such a rage. Fear of him--of the primitive masculinity of the man--clutched at her heart. Everything seemed unreal. It was as if she were in the midst of a horrible nightmare from which she might, if she would, release herself. She sank into a chair, the paper across her knees. As her eyes dropped, the print danced queerly for a moment before her vision cleared. There, she read in staring headlines, "The Wreck of the _Nancy Jane_."