and crisp. 'Shove off, men.'

"He will never get over it. That dog stood for
the girl he'd lost, somehow. That's the captain's bell.
I'm wanted on the bridge. Good-night."

Again the cabin door swung free, letting in a blast
of raw ice-house air, the kind that chills you to the
bone. The gale had increased. Through the opening
I could hear the combers sweeping the bow and the
down-swash of the overflow striking the deck below.

With the outside roar came the captain, his tarpaulins
glistening with spray, his cap pulled tight
down to his ears, his storm-beaten face ruddy with
the dash and cut of the wind. He looked like a sea
Titan that had stepped aboard from the crest of
a wave.

If he saw me--I was stretched out on the sofa by
this time--he gave no sign. Opening his tarpaulins
and thrashing the water from his cap, he walked
straight to the cage, peered in, and said softly:

"Ah, my little man! Asleep, are you? I just
came down to take a look at the chart and see how you
were getting on. We're having some weather on the
bridge."