Wilbur took his determination in both hands, threw off his coat
and sandals, and went over the stern rail.

"Put your ear to the water," called Moran from above; "sometimes
you can hear their flukes."

It took but a minute to adjust the pintle, and Wilbur regained the
deck again, dripping and a little pale. He knew not what horrid
form of death might have been lurking for him down below there
underneath the kelp. As he started forward for dry clothes he was
surprised to observe that Moran was smiling at him, holding out
her hand.

"That was well done," she said, "and thank you. I've seen older
sailor-men than you who wouldn't have taken the risk." Never
before had she appeared more splendid in his eyes than at this
moment. After changing his clothes in the fo'castle, he sat for a
long time, his chin in his hands, very thoughtful. Then at
length, as though voicing the conclusion of his reflections, said
aloud, as he rose to his feet:

"But, of course, THAT is out of the question."

He remembered that they were going home on the next day. Within a
fortnight he would be in San Francisco again--a taxpayer, a
police-protected citizen once more. It had been good fun, after
all, this three weeks' life on the "Bertha Millner," a strange
episode cut out from the normal circle of his conventional life.
He ran over the incidents of the cruise--Kitchell, the turtle
hunt, the finding of the derelict, the dead captain, the squall,