an old gin-sodden female derelict of the
streets. There were red patches all over her, from stem to stern, where
the last coat of waterproof black had blistered off. The brass of her
ports were green. Her name should have been Neglect. She was probably full
of smells; and Dennison was ready to wager that in a moderate sea her
rivets and bedplates whined, and that the pump never rested.

But it occurred to him that there must be some basis of fact in
Cunningham's pearl atoll, and yonder owner was game enough to take a
sporting chance; that, or he had been handsomely paid for his charter.

An atoll in the Sulu Archipelago that had been overlooked--that was
really the incredible part of it. Dennison had first-hand knowledge that
there wasn't a rock in the whole archipelago that had not been looked over
and under by the pearl hunters.

He saw the tramp's longboat come staggering across the intervening water.
Rag-tag and bob-tail of the Singapore docks, crimp fodder--that was what
Dennison believed he had the right to expect. And behold! Except that they
were older, the newcomers lined up about average with the departing--able
seamen.

The transshipping of the crews occupied about an hour. As the longboat's
boat hook caught the _Wanderer's_ ladder for the third time the crates and
casings were carried down and carefully deposited in the stern sheets.

About this time Cunningham appeared. He paused by the rail for a minute
and looked up at the Cleighs, father and son. He was pale, and his
attitude suggested pain and weakness, but he was not too weak to send up
his bantering smile. Cleigh, senior, gazed stonily forward, but Dennison
answered the smile by soberly shaking his head. Dennison could not hear
Cunningham's laugh, but he saw the expression of it.

Cunningham put his hand on the rail in preparation for the first step,
when Jane appeared with bandages, castile soap, the last of her stearate
of zinc, absorbent cotton and a basin of water.

"What's this--a clinic?" he asked.

"You can't go aboard that awful-looking ship without letting me give you a
fresh dressing," she declared.

"Lord love you, angel of mercy, I'm all right!"

"It was for me. Even now you are in pain. Please!"

"Pain?" he repeated.

For one more touch of her tender hands! To carry the thought of that
through the long, hot night! Perhaps it was his ever-bubbling sense of
malice that decided him--to let her minister to him, with the Cleighs o