eboat out of
the davits, smashed in the door of the dining saloon and flooded it,
gutted the galley, and drove the cook and the steward to the protection
of the engine room. The chief called up through the speaking tube:

"How's the boss making it, captain?"

"It's a wet passage for him, chief. I can hear his wife scream every
time we ship one."

"Serves her right for marrying the pest," the chief growled, and turned
away.

They crossed out, but at a cost that made Matt Peasley shudder, when he
left the bridge in charge of the mate and went below to take stock of
the damage. A new boat and four days' work for a carpenter gang--perhaps
eighteen hundred dollars' worth of damage, not counting the demurrage!
It was a big price to pay for one brief moment of triumph, but Matt
Peasley felt that it would have been cheap at twice the money. He passed
round on the starboard side of the vessel and found Mr. Skinner wet to
the skin and shivering.

"We're over," Matt announced cheerfully. "How did you like the going?"

"You villain!" Skinner cried passionately. "You'll never command another
ship in the Blue Star fleet, I'll promise you that."

"I know it, Skinner. But if I were you I'd go down in the engine room
and dry out while the cook and the steward straighten things round."

"I'll discharge you the moment we tie up at the dock in San Francisco,"
Skinner stormed.

"Oh, no, you won't," Matt assured him. "I've beaten you to it. I
resigned by wireless before we left the dock at Eureka."

That was a long, cold, cheerless trip for the Skinner family. The
Quickstep bucked a howling southeaster all the way down the coast, and
the Skinners were knocked from one end of their wet stateroom to the
other and slept not a wink. It was a frightful experience, and to add
to the discomfort of the trip Mrs. Skinner wept all the way. Eventually,
however, the Quickstep tied up at the wharf in San Francisco, and the
minute she was fast Matt Peasley, his accounts all made up to date and
his clothes and personal effects packed, sprang out on the dock.

"There's your ship, Skinner," he called to the general manager. "I'm
through." And he hastened away to the Blue Star office to settle up with
the cashier, while Mr. Skinner and his bride entered a taxicab and were
driven to their home. And two hours later when Mr. Skinner, warm and dry
at last, came down to the office to attend to the task of selecting a
new master for the Quickstep, he f