Mrs. Rout junior was disappointed. "H'm. H'm." She turned the page. "How
provoking! He doesn't say what it is. Says I couldn't understand how
much there was in it. Fancy! What could it be so very clever? What a
wretched man not to tell us!"

She read on without further remark soberly, and at last sat looking
into the fire. The chief wrote just a word or two of the typhoon;
but something had moved him to express an increased longing for the
companionship of the jolly woman. "If it hadn't been that mother must be
looked after, I would send you your passage-money to-day. You could set
up a small house out here. I would have a chance to see you sometimes
then. We are not growing younger. . . ."

"He's well, mother," sighed Mrs. Rout, rousing herself.

"He always was a strong healthy boy," said the old woman, placidly.

But Mr. Jukes' account was really animated and very full. His friend in
the Western Ocean trade imparted it freely to the other officers of his
liner. "A chap I know writes to me about an extraordinary affair that
happened on board his ship in that typhoon--you know--that we read of
in the papers two months ago. It's the funniest thing! Just see for
yourself what he says. I'll show you his letter."

There were phrases in it calculated to give the impression of
light-hearted, indomitable resolution. Jukes had written them in good
faith, for he felt thus when he wrote. He described with lurid effect
the scenes in the 'tween-deck. ". . . It struck me in a flash that
those confounded Chinamen couldn't tell we weren't a desperate kind of