he crew since
the hurricane that the world was not swept clean of ships. Two hours
later the tug was standing by, her captain hailing the _San Gardo_
through a megaphone.

"Run in to New Orleans!" he shouted.

"I cleared for Galveston, and I'm going there," the _San Gardo's_
captain called back.

"No, you ain't neither."

"I'd like to know why, I won't."

"Because you can't,"--the answer carried distinctly across the
waves,--"there ain't no such place. It's been washed clean off the
earth."

The _San Gardo_ swung farther to the west and with her engine pounding
at every stroke, limped on toward the Mississippi.

At five o'clock a Port Eads pilot climbed over the side, and taking the
vessel through South Pass, straightened her in the smooth, yellow waters
of the great river for the hundred-mile run to New Orleans.

When the sun hung low over the sugar plantations that stretch in flat
miles to the east and west beyond the levees, when all was quiet on land
and water and ship, Neville walked slowly to the forecastle.

"Sullivan," he called, "come with me."

Dan climbed down from his bunk and came to the door; the big stoker
searched Neville's face with a changed, sobered look.

"I've been wantin' all this time to go to 'im. How's he now, sir?"

"He's dying, Sullivan, and has asked for you."

Outside Neville's quarters Dan took off his cap and went quietly into
the room.

Larry lay with closed eyes, his face ominously white.

Dan crept clumsily to the berth and put his big hand on Larry's
shoulder.

"It's me, Mouse. They wouldn't leave me come no sooner."

Larry's head moved slightly; his faded eyes opened.

Dan stooped in awkward embarrassment until his face was close to Larry.

"I come to ask you--" Dan stopped. The muscles of his thick neck moved
jerkily--"to ask you, Mouse, before--to forgit the damn mean things--I
done to you, Mouse."

Larry made no answer; he kept his failing sight fixed on Dan.

After a long wait Sullivan spoke again.

"An' to think you done it, Mouse, for me!"

A light sprang to Larry's eyes, flooding his near-sighted gaze with
sudden anger.

"For you!" The cry came from his narrow chest with jarring force. "You!
_You!_" he repeated in rising voice. "It's always of yourself you're
thinkin', Dan Sullivan!" He stopped, his face twitching in pain; then
with both hands clenched he went on, his breast heaving at each word
hurled at Dan:

"Do you think I followed you from