s rich with
pickin's. Do you know there's millions made out of the day-bree and
refuse of a big city? How about an ocean's day-bree, just chew on that
notion a turn; an' as fur a lookout, lemmee tell you, son, cast your
eye out yon," and he swept the sea with a forearm; "nothin', hey, so it
looks, but lemmee tell you, son, there ain't no manner of place on
the ball of dirt where you're likely to run up afoul of so many
things--unexpected things--as at sea. When you're clear o' land lay to
this here pree-cep', 'A million to one on the unexpected.'"

The next day fell almost dead calm. The hale, lusty-lunged nor'wester
that had snorted them forth from the Golden Gate had lapsed to a zephyr,
the schooner rolled lazily southward with the leisurely nonchalance of
a grazing ox. At noon, just after dinner, a few cat's-paws curdled the
milky-blue whiteness of the glassy surface, and the water once more
began to talk beneath the bow-sprit. It was very hot. The sun spun
silently like a spinning brass discus over the mainmast. On the fo'c'sle
head the Chinamen were asleep or smoking opium. It was Charlie's watch.
Kitchell dozed in his hammock in the shadow of the mainsheet. Wilbur was
below tinkering with his paint-pot about the cabin. The stillness was
profound. It was the stillness of the summer sea at high noon.

The lookout in the crow's nest broke the quiet.

"Hy-yah, hy-yah!" he cried, leaning from the barrel and calling through
an arched palm. "Hy-yah, one two, plenty, many tortle, topside, wattah;
hy-yah, all-same tortle."

"Hello, hello!" cried the Captain, rolling from his hammock. "Turtle?
Where-away?"

"I tink-um 'bout quallah mile, mebbee, four-piecee tortle all-same
weatha bow."

"Turtle, hey? Down y'r wheel, Jim, haul y'r jib to win'ward," he
commanded the man at the wheel; then to the men forward: "Get the dory
overboard. Son, Charlie, and you, Wing, tumble in. Wake up now and see
you stay so."

The dory was swung over the side, and the men dropped into her and
took their places at the oars. "Give way," cried the Captain, settling
himself in the bow with the gaff in his hand. "Hey, Jim!" he shouted to
the lookout far above, "hey, lay our course for us." The lookout nodded,
the oars fell, and the dory shot forward in the direction indicated by
the lookout.

"Kin you row, son? asked Kitchell, with sudden suspicion. Wilbur smiled.

"You ask Charlie and Wing to ship their oars and give me a pair." The
Capta