we catch that ship."

He whirled and spurred up through the mud of the streets. Bill
Wheaton was snoring luxuriously when wrenched from his bed by a
dishevelled man who shook him into wakefulness and into a portion
of his clothes, with a storm of excited instructions. The lawyer
had neither time nor opportunity for expostulation, for Glenister
snatched a valise and swept into it a litter of documents from the
table.

"Hurry up, man," he yelled, as the lawyer dived frantically about
his office in a rabbit-like hunt for items. "My Heavens! Are you
dead? Wake up! The ship's leaving." With sleep still in his eyes
Wheaton was dragged down the street to the beach, where a knot had
assembled to witness the race. As they tumbled into the skiff,
willing hands ran it out into the surf on the crest of a roller. A
few lifting heaves and they were over the bar with the men at the
oars bending the white ash at every swing.

"I guess I didn't forget anything," gasped Wheaton as he put on
his coat. "I got ready yesterday, but I couldn't find you last
night, so I thought the deal was off."

Glenister stripped off his coat and, facing the bow, pushed upon
the oars at every stroke, thus adding his strength to that of the
oarsmen. They crept rapidly out from the beach, eating up the two
miles that lay towards the ship. He urged the men with all his
power till the sweat soaked through their clothes and, under their
clinging shirts, the muscles stood out like iron. They had covered
half the distance when Wheaton uttered a cry and Glenister