“The skipper don’t like music, sir,” said Dan, looking regretfully after Captain Bluntt, who was disappearing in the chart house, leaving a cloud of smoke from his fragrant cigar in his wake. “Captain Bluntt said you might play if you wished, so please do not stop.” A little encouragement induced the dancer to resume his breakdown, and presently the fun was in full swing again. Another sailor took a turn, and then Dan suggested: “Now Jack Griggs sing us ‘Th’ Minnie Dart.’” “An’ you plays th’ tune,” assented Jack. Dan struck up a lively tune and Jack began to bellow the song, which began: “Th’ Minnie Dart were as fine a craft As ever sailed th’ sea; She were eighty ton, an’ a fore an’ aft, An’ as smart as she could be,” and closed with a weird description of the going down of the Minnie Dart with all her crew. The music at an end, Remington and Ainsworth lounged aft to smoke and chat, while they enjoyed a perfect evening. A full moon had risen, transforming the gentle swell of the sea into molten silver, and to the right, in hazy distance, lay in faint outline the Newfoundland coast. Paul strolled forward and soon became interested in watching the compass and the man at the wheel. “What course are you sailing?” he asked. The man made no reply. “Let me try it. I can handle the wheel all right,” he continued, attempting to take the spokes. At that moment Captain Bluntt observed him. “By the imps of the sea!” he roared, striding forward and grasping Paul’s arm with a steel-like grip that made the youth wince as he vainly struggled to free himself. “Keep away from that wheelhouse or I’ll heave you overboard. By the imps of the sea I will! Heave you overboard! Heave you overboard!” “I guess I can go where I want to,” answered Paul impudently, but none the less frightened. Without releasing his grasp, or deigning to reply, the Captain half led, half dragged, Paul to Remington. “This youngster must keep aft of the wheelhouse, sir! He was talking to the steersman, sir! Talking to him! I’ll not permit it, sir!” “I’m sorry,” apologized Remington. “I’m sure he didn’t understand that he was doing wrong, and he won’t do it again.” Captain Bluntt, mollified but still ruffled, returned to his duties, and Paul, almost in tears, lounged alone, amidships, sulking. Dan had witnessed the disciplining of Paul, and in the hope of smoothing matters presently wandered over to the lad, who was still sulking and nursing his injured dignity. “Th’ skipper’s wonderful gruff sometimes,” ventured Dan, “but he don’t mean nothin’. ’Tis sort o’ his way.” “Mr. Remington hired this old tub, and I’m his guest, and I guess I can go where I want to on it.” “’Tis an able craft, an’ no old tub,” resented Dan. “Th’ skipper is master at sea. ’Tis a rule of the sea.” “He isn’t my master.”