By a violent effort, Wang pulled himself out of the delicious stupor and sat up on the edge of the bunk. The drug had not fully overcome him; in a long lifetime, he had never exceeded the moderate daily pipeful that would put him to sleep for only half an hour. "Steward, I can’t permit this any longer. You’ve left your door open, and stunk up the whole cabin with the damned stuff" "I s’pose close him, Cappen. Maybe wind swing him open" "You didn’t close it! You don’t finish anything, now-a-days. It’s got to stop, I tell you. I can see what the trouble is. This devilish opium is getting the best of you. It’s got to stop—and the best way to stop, is to begin now.... Give me all the opium you’ve got" "Yes, sir, Cappen" The import of the captain’s words brought the old Chinaman to his senses with a rush. He got up unsteadily, went to his chest, and began fumbling in the lower corner. Soon he brought out a number of small square packages done up in Chinese paper. "Cappen, what you do with him?" Captain Sheldon snatched the packages from the steward’s hand. "I’m going to throw it all overboard! If you’ve got any more of the stuff hidden away, you’re not to smoke it—do you understand? I won’t have such a mess in my cabin" "Cappen, no can do!" Wang was panting; a shrill note of anguish came into his voice. He reached out a trembling hand toward the precious drug. "Yes, you can, and you will. It’s nothing but a nasty, degenerate habit. You’re too old for such things. It’s making you dirty and careless. Brace up, now—show that you’re good for something. You used to be the best steward in the fleet. I’m only trying to help you out. If things were to go on like this much longer, I’d have to find a new steward in Hong Kong" Captain Sheldon, struggling to regain control of himself after the outburst of temper, stamped off through the after cabin. Wang heard him go up the companion. He sat down again on the edge of the bunk, a crumpled heap, inert and silent, his eyes dulled by a fear beyond any he had yet known. For fifty years he had smoked daily that tiny pipeful of opium. With all that life had brought him, could he summon strength for this new and terrible ordeal? *II* Fire, like the rain, falls on the just and the unjust alike, and eats up a tall ship at sea as readily as it guts a splendid castle. They were half way across from Luzon to the China coast, only a few hundred miles from Hong Kong and the end of the passage, when the blaze was discovered in the fore hold, already well under way. Quickly it became unmanageable. Through a day and a night of frantic effort the whole ship’s company fought the flames, retreating aft inch by inch while destruction followed them relentlessly under decks. In the gleam of a dawn striking across a smooth sea and lighting up the pale faces gathered on the top of the after house, it became apparent that the ship was doomed.