he gale. "But I guess
I'd as lief have it this way. It's better than a flat sea an' fog, which
is mostly the alternative this time o' year. The Atlantic don't offer
much choice about now. She's like a shrew woman. Her smile ain't ever
easy. An' when you get it you've most always got to pay good. She can
blow herself sick with this homeward bound breeze for all I care."

"That's all right," Bull shouted back at him. "Guess you've lost your
sense of the ease of things working this coast so long. It 'ud be me for
the flat sea and fog all the time. I like my chances taken standing
square on two feet. So long."

He passed below, beating his hands for warmth. And as he went he glanced
back at the sturdy, oil-skinned figure clinging to the rail of the
bridge. The man's far-off gaze was fixed on the storm-swept sky, reading
every sign with the intimate knowledge of long years of experience. It
was a reassuring figure that must have put heart into the veriest
weakling. But Bull Sternford needed no such support. In matters of life
and death he was without emotion.

He scrambled his way to the leeward side of the engines where a certain
warmth and shelter was to be had, and where a number of hardly tested
deck chairs were securely lashed. It was the resting place of those few
beset passengers who could endure no longer the indifferent, odorous
accommodation of the _Myra's_ saloon. Only one chair was occupied. For
the rest the deck was completely deserted.

Bull's first glance at the solitary passenger was sufficient. The gleam
of red hair under the fur cap told him all he wanted to know, and he
groped his way along the slippery deck, and deposited his bulk safely
into the chair beside Nancy McDonald.

"Say," he cried, with a cheerful grin, as he struggled with his rug,
"this sort of thing's just about calculated to leave a feller feeling
sympathy with the boy who hasn't more sense than to spend his time
trying to climb outside more Rye whisky than he was built to hold. It
makes you wonder at the fool thing that lies back of it all. I mean the
fuss going on out yonder."

Nancy smiled round from amidst her furs.

"It does seem like useless mischief," she agreed readily. Then she
laughed outright. "But to see you crawling along the deck just now,
grabbing any old thing for support, and often missing it, was a sight to
leave one wondering how much dignity owes to personality, and how much
to environment. Guess environment's an