man was getting fidgety, as this was one of the opposition
boats, and he expected soon to be quoting a competitive figure. To his
pleased surprise, the Old Man came over to leeward, and, after a last
wrangle about the hawser, took him on at the satisfactory figure of
three hundred dollars.

We put about, and the Mate had another little deal in burned paint.
Courses were hauled up, and the Active came along our starboard side to
pass the towing wire aboard. The paint hid the patch, and in the
manoeuvre of keeping clear of our whisker-booms, the smell escaped
notice, and the marks of our distress were not noticed by her crew. We
hauled the wire aboard and secured the end, and the _Active's_ crew
heard nothing significant in the cheer with which we set about
clewing-up and furling sail.

The afternoon was far spent when we reached the pilot schooner. She
was lying at anchor outside the bar, the wind having died away; and as
she lifted to the swell, showed the graceful underbody of an old-time
'crack.' The pilot boarded us as we towed past. Scarce was he over
the rail before he shouted to the Old Man, "What's the matter, Cap'n?
Guess she looks 's if she had a prutty hot cargo aboard."

"Hot enough, Pilot! Hot enough, b' Goad! We've bin afire forr'ard
these last seven days that we know of, and I'm no' sayin' but that I'm
glad t' see th' beach again."

"Wall, that's bad, Cap'n. That's bad. Ye won't make much this trip, I
guess, when the 'boys' have felt ye over.' He meant when the 'Frisco
sharps had got their pickings, and the Old Man chuckled audibly as he
replied.

"Oh, we'll chance that--aye, we'll chance that. It's no' so bad 's if
Cutbush was gettin' his figger."

"What's he gettin', anyway?"

"Oh, he's doin' verra well. He's doin' verra well," said the Old Man
evasively.

We were now approaching the far-famed Golden Gate, the talk of mariners
on seven seas. We boys were sent aloft to unrig the chafing gear, and
took advantage of our position and the Mate's occupation to nurse the
job, that we might enjoy the prospect. The blue headland and the
glistening shingle of Drake's Bay to the norrard and the high cliffs of
Benita ahead: the land stretching away south, and the light of the
westing sun on the distant hills. No wonder that when the Mate called
us down from aloft to hand flags there was much of our work left
unfinished.

At Benita Point we had a busy time signalling news of our condition