white, but that still,
two-legged, upright and garmented, were beyond all peradventure gods.
Likewise, had he been capable of such generalization, he would have
decided that the white-gods had not yet all of them passed into the
nothingness. As it was, he realized all this without being aware that he
realized it.

But there was no Skipper. He sniffed down the forecastle hatch, sniffed
into the galley where two Chinese cooks jabbered unintelligibly to him,
sniffed down the cabin companionway, sniffed down the engine-room
skylight and for the first time knew gasoline and engine oil; but sniff
as he would, wherever he ran, no scent did he catch of Skipper.

Aft, at the wheel, he would have sat down and howled his heartbreak of
disappointment, had not a white-god, evidently of command, in
gold-decorated white duck cap and uniform, spoken to him. Instantly,
always a gentleman, Jerry smiled with flattened ears of courtesy, wagged
his tail, and approached. The hand of this high god had almost caressed
his head when the woman's voice came down the deck in speech that Jerry
did not understand. The words and terms of it were beyond him. But he
sensed power of command in it, which was verified by the quick withdrawal
of the hand of the god in white and gold who had almost caressed him.
This god, stiffened electrically and pointed Jerry along the deck, and,
with mouth encouragements and urgings the import of which Jerry could
only guess, directed him toward the one who so commanded by saying:

"Send him, please, along to me, Captain Winters."

Jerry wriggled his body in delight of obeying, and would loyally have
presented his head to her outreaching caress of hand, had not the
strangeness and difference of her deterred him. He broke off in
mid-approach and with a show of teeth snarled himself back and away from
the windblown skirt of her. The only human females he had known were
naked Marys. This skirt, flapping in the wind like a sail, reminded him
of the menacing mainsail of the _Arangi_ when it had jarred and crashed
and swooped above his head. The noises her mouth made were gentle and
ingratiating, but the fearsome skirt still flapped in the breeze.

"You ridiculous dog!" she laughed. "I'm not going to bite you."

But her husband thrust out a rough, sure hand and drew Jerry in to him.
And Jerry wriggled in ecstasy under the god's caress, kissing the hand
with a red flicker of tongue. Next, Harley Kennan direct