“Shut up!” he bellowed, catching him by the arm. “Who do you cal'late's goin' to hear you? Shut up! You come with me. I want you to pump. The old craft would do well enough if she was tight, but she's more'n likely takin' water like a sieve. You come and pump.” But Bennie had no notion of pumping. With a jerk he tore loose from the lightkeeper's grasp and ran to the stern, where he continued his howls for help. Seth was at his heels. “Stop that, I tell you,” he commanded angrily. “It don't do no good. If you don't want to go to the bottom you'll work that pump. Don't be such a clown.” The frantic genius paid no attention. His sister-in-law left the wheel and put her hand on his shoulder. “Please, Bennie,” she pleaded. “Please do as he says. He knows, and--” Bennie D. pushed her backward with savage force. “Mind your own business,” he yelled with an oath. “'Twas your foolishness got me into this.” Then, leaning over the rail, he called shrilly, “He--lp! I'm drowning! Help!” Mrs. Bascom staggered back against the wheel, which Seth had seized the instant she deserted it. “Oh!” she said, “you hurt me.” Her husband freed an arm and put it about her. “Are you much hurt, Emeline?” he asked sharply. “No--o. No, Seth. I--I guess I ain't really hurt at all.” “Good! Then you take this wheel and hold her just so. That's it. AND DON'T YOU DROP IT AGAIN. I'll attend to this feller.” His wiry fingers locked themselves in Bennie D.'s shirt collar. “I ordered you to pump,” said Seth. “Now then, you come and pump!” “Let go!” screamed his captive. “Take your hands off me, or--” The back of his head striking the deck put a period in the middle of his sentence. The next moment he was being dragged by the collar to the little hand pump amidships. “Pump!” roared the lightkeeper. “Pump! or I'll break your everlastin' neck. Lively now!” The dazed genius rose to his knees. “What--” he stammered. “Where--” “Right there in front of you. Lively, you lubber!” A well-directed kick helped to facilitate liveliness. “What shall I do?” wailed Bennie D., fumbling the pump brake. “How does it go?” “Up and down--so.” Seth jerked his victim's head up and down, by way of illustration. “Now, then,” he continued, “you pump till I say quit, or I'll--I swan to man I'll make a spare tops'l out of your hide!” He left the inventor working as he had not worked in the memory of man, and strode back to the wheel. Mrs. Bascom was clinging to the spokes for dear life. “I--I ain't dropped it, Seth,” she declared. “Truly I ain't.” “All right. You can drop it now. I'll take it myself. You set down and rest.” He took the wheel and she collapsed, breathless, against the rail. After a time she ventured to ask a question. “Seth!” she said, “how do you know which way to steer?”