he said, "and
that'll give you time for the two weeks vacation that you ought to have.
Then you can go back to Yale and pitch in till the next summer, when the
same job'll be ready for you. After you're through college for good, if
what you've learned about brokerin' ain't cured you of your likin' for
it--if you still want to go ahead with it for your life job, then--well,
then we'll see. What do you say?"

Stephen had a good deal to say, principally in the line of objection to
continuing his studies. Finding these objections unavailing, he agreed
to his guardian's proposition.

"All right," said the captain; "then you can go to work next Monday. But
you'll _have_ to work, and be just the same as any other beginner, no
better and no worse. There'll be no favoritism, and, if you're really
wuth your salt, you won't want any. Show 'em, and me, that you're wuth
it."

The novel, the wonderful tale which Captain Elisha was certain would
make its author famous, was finished that very day in June when Stephen
came back from New Haven. The question of title remained, and the
"clinic," now reenforced by Steve--whose dislike for Pearson
had apparently vanished with others of his former likes and
dislikes--considered that at several sessions. At last "The Man at the
Wheel" was selected, as indicating something of the hero's profession
and implying, perhaps, a hint of his character. Then came the
fateful task of securing a publisher. And the first to whom it was
submitted--one of the two firms which had already expressed a desire to
read the manuscript--accepted it, at what, for a first novel, were
very fair terms. During the summer there was proof to be read and
illustrations to be criticized. Captain Elisha did not wholly approve of
the artist's productions.

"Jerushy!" he exclaimed, "look at that mainmast! Look at the rake of it!
More like a yacht than a deep-water bark, she is enough sight. And the
fust mate's got a uniform cap on, like a purser on a steamboat. Make
that artist feller take that cap off him, Jim. He's got to. I wish he
could have seen some of my mates. They wa'n't Cunarder dudes, but they
could make a crew hop 'round like a sand-flea in a clam bake."

Or, when the picture happened to be a shore view:

"What kind of a house is that? Did you ever see a house like that
Down-East? I'll leave it to anybody if it don't look like a sugar man's
plantation I used to know down Mobile way. All that feller standin'
b