r way.

By the time they reached the Shell Road the gait of the dejected
Barnacles had dwindled to a deliberate walk which all of Lank's urgings
could not hasten. It was a soft July night with a brisk offshore breeze
and the moon had come up out of the sea to silver the highway and lay a
strip of milk-white carpet over the waves.

"Ahoy there, Lank!" shouted the bridegroom. "Can't we do better'n this?
Ain't hardly got steerage-way on her."

"Can't budge him, Cap'n. Hadn't we better shake-out the sprit-sail;
wind's fair abeam."

"Yes, shake it out, Lank."

Mrs. Bean's feeble protest was unheeded. As the night wind caught the
sail and rounded it out the flapping caused old Barnacles to cast an
investigating glance behind him. One look at the terrible white thing
which loomed menacingly above him was enough. He decided to bolt. Bolt
he did to the best of his ability, all obstacles being considered. A
down grade in the Shell Road, where it dipped toward the shore, helped
things along. Barnacles tightened the traces, the sprit-sail did its
share, and in an amazingly short time the odd vehicle was spinning
toward Sculpin Point at a ten-knot gait. Desperately Mrs. Bean gripped
the gunwale and lustily she screamed:

"Whoa, whoa! Stop him, Captain, stop him! He'll smash us all to pieces!"

"Set right still, Stashia, an' trim ship. I've got the helm," responded
the Captain, who had set his jaws and was tugging at the rope lines.

"Breakers ahead, sir!" shouted Lank at this juncture.

Sure enough, not fifty yards ahead, the Shell Road turned sharply away
from the edge of the beach to make a detour by which Sculpin Point was
cut off.

"I see 'em, Lank."

"Think we can come about, Cap'n?" asked Lank, anxiously.

"Ain't goin to try, Lank. I'm layin' a straight course for home. Stand
by to bail."

How they could possibly escape capsizing Lank could not understand
until, just as Barnacles was about to make the turn, he saw the Captain
tighten the right-hand rein until it was as taut as a weatherstay. Of
necessity Barnacles made no turn, and there was no upset. Something
equally exciting happened, though.

Leaving the road with a speed which he had not equalled since the days
when he had figured in the "The Grand Hippodrome Races," his sea-green
legs quickened by the impetus of the affair behind him, Barnacles
cleared the narrow strip of beach-grass at a jump. Another leap and he
was hock deep in the surf. Still anothe