Gates was on his way to call me when I came out, and one look at his broad smile required no further augury of good news. "We're arfter her hard, sir," he said, "and have been drawing up farst this hour gone. We'll be in hailing distance in another two hours, or less." "There's a good wind?" "Fair, sir. The mate, who's aloft, says that for some reason she's hauled down everything but mains'l and jib, and carn't be making any speed to speak of. Still, she's going along. We've quite some canvas set. He says there was noise enough to follow till about five bells of the morning watch; then she grew so still he wondered if she'd sunk. You'd better have breakfast, sir, for we'll be on her, as I say, in two hours or less." This was Tommy's idea when I met him with Monsieur in the cabin, but Tommy was always ready for breakfast. They had become reconciled--or, perhaps, I ought to say the professor seemed to have forgiven both of us handsomely. Gates sat down with us for there was much to talk about. In fact, the professor, in his uncontrollable and passionate appetite for grapefruit, had scarcely extruded a spray of its juice in our direction--the usual evidence with us that breakfast had seriously begun--when the question of how we should board the _Orchid_ was raised. The old skipper listened to my plan, then to Tommy's, and after these he turned to our little scientist, who waved a hand with no small degree of impatience, saying: "One is visionary, the other is crazy. One wants to blow her out of the water--with what? The other wants to do something no one can understand--and why? But they both agree upon killing everyone on board except a privileged lady. It is school-boy tomfoolery!" "Tomfoolery your grandmother," Tommy flared up. "What do you suggest that's any better--the utopian scheme you sprung on us last night?" "How do you know we have to board her?" Monsieur thrust half a biscuit in his mouth and took a long drink of coffee. "I have been thinking since; I have been on deck, and observed. There is wind, and we are catching up. Off there," he pointed toward something the cabin walls prevented us from seeing, "is land; low, gray-blue land. Now it can be done with cattle, but can it be done with yachts?" "Can what be done?" we asked. "We shall sail out, head her back, and drive her into the land until she sticks!" Never having heard of such a silly idea I looked at Gates, who was chuckling. "Oh, it might be done, sir," he laughed, "if she stood close enough to the islands. We might jockey her that way, foul her a bit, and make her go aground--or fight. But, Lor' bless you, she's sailing straight west across the Gulf, with nothing but a thousand miles of good water between her and the mouth of the Rio Grande!" "Get in front--butt her around," Monsieur cried. "If she does not like it, then let her, as you suggest, fight!"