eeble scratching would meet Mr. Burns' ear as
he stood in the saloon listening outside the door of the captain's
state-room.

One afternoon in perfect desperation he burst into that room and made
such a scene, tearing his hair and shouting such horrid imprecations
that he cowed the contemptuous spirit of the sick man. The water-tanks
were low, they had not gained fifty miles in a fortnight. She would
never reach Hong-Kong.

It was like fighting desperately toward destruction for the ship and the
men. This was evident without argument. Mr. Burns, losing all restraint,
put his face close to his captain's and fairly yelled: "You, sir, are
going out of the world. But I can't wait till you are dead before I put
the helm up. You must do it yourself. You must do it now!"

The man on the couch snarled in contempt. "So I am going out of the
world--am I?"

"Yes, sir--you haven't many days left in it," said Mr. Burns calming
down. "One can see it by your face."

"My face, eh? . . . Well, put up the helm and be damned to you."

Burns flew on deck, got the ship before the wind, then came down again
composed, but resolute.

"I've shaped a course for Pulo Condor, sir," he said. "When we make it,
if you are still with us, you'll tell me into what port you wish me to
take the ship and I'll do it."

The old man gave him a look of savage spite, and said those atrocious
words in deadly, slow tones.

"If I had my wish, neither the ship nor any of you would ever reach a
port. And I hope you won't."

Mr. Burns was profoundly shocked. I believe he was positively frightened
at the time. It seems, however, that he managed to produce such an
effective laugh that it was the old man's turn to be frightened. He
shrank within himself and turned his back on him.

"And his head was not gone then," Mr. Burns assured me excitedly. "He
meant every word of it."

"Such was practically the late captain's last speech. No connected
sentence passed his lips afterward. That night he used the last of his
strength to throw his fiddle over the side. No one had actually seen
him in the act, but after his death Mr. Burns couldn't find the thing
anywhere. The empty case was very much in evidence, but the fiddle
was clearly not in the ship. And where else could it have gone to but
overboard?"

"Threw his violin overboard!" I exclaimed.

"He did," cried Mr. Burns excitedly. "And it's my belief he would have
tried to take the ship down with him if it h