's SHE, Is? When are you going to
marry her?"

Issy grunted spitefully. "You ain't married yourself--not yit," he
observed, with concealed sarcasm.

The unsuspecting Bartlett laughed in triumph. "No," he said. "I'm not,
that's a fact; but maybe I'm going to be some of these days. It looked
pretty dubious for a while, but now it's all right."

"'Tis, hey? You're sure about that, be you?"

"Guess I am. Great Scott! what's that? Fog?"

A damp breath blew across the boat. The clouds covered the sky overhead
and the bay to port. The fog was pouring like smoke across the water.

"Fog, by thunder!" exclaimed Bartlett.

Issy smiled. "Hum! Yes, 'tis fog, ain't it?" he observed.

"But what'll we do? It'll be here in a minute, won't it?"

"Shouldn't be a mite surprised. Looks 's if twas here now."

The fog came on. It reached the Lady May, passed over her, and shut her
within gray, wet walls. It was impossible to see a length from her side.
Sam swore emphatically. The skipper was provokingly calm. He stepped to
the engine, bent over it, and then returned to the wheel.

"What are you doing?" demanded Bartlett.

"Slowin' down, of course. Can't run more'n ha'f speed in a fog like
this. 'Tain't safe."

"Safe! What do I care? I want to get to Trumet."

"Yes? Well, maybe we'll git there if we have luck."

"You idiot! We've GOT to get there. How can you tell which way to steer?
Get your compass, man! get your compass!"

"Ain't got no compass," was the sulky answer. "Left it to home."

"Why, no, you didn't. I--"

"I tell you I did. 'Twas careless of me, I know, but--"

"But I say you didn't. When you went uptown after that quahaug rake I
explored this craft of yours some. The compass is in that little closet
at the end of the cabin. I'll get it."

He rose to his feet. Issy sprang forward and seized him by the arm.

"Set down!" he yelled. "Who's runnin' this boat, you or me?"

The astounded passenger stared at his companion.

"Why, you are," he replied. "But that's no reason--What's the matter
with you, anyway? Have your dime novels driven you loony?"

Issy hesitated. For a moment chagrin and rage at this sudden upset of
his schemes had gotten the better of his prudence. But Bartlett was
taller than he and broad in proportion. And valor--except of the
imaginative brand--was not Issy's strong point.

"There, there, Sam!" he explained, smiling crookedly. "You mustn't mind
me. I'm sort of nervous, I guess. And yo