THE PORT ROCK BOAT

The Port Rock boat was due _to_ leave her dock. The first mate made his
way to the upper deck. He found his captain in the pilot-house, studying
the barometer.

"Freight all aboard, sir."

"All right," nodded the captain; "but did you hear about the storm flags
being up?"

"So I heard, sir."

"M-m! Close that door. It's cold." The mate closed the door; but almost
immediately the captain raised a window and gazed down the harbor. "It
looks bad to me," he said after a while.

"It is a bad-looking night," assented the mate.

"A wicked night!" barked the captain; and gathering one end of his
moustache between his teeth, began to chew on it.

The mate pursed his lips. "What will I do, sir?"

The captain stopped chewing his moustache. "It all comes down to dollars
and cents. Use our judgment and stay tied up to the dock here and it's
go hunt another berth. Do you want to hunt another job?"