that has liberated some belief matured in the course of meditative
years. He had indeed been making his confession of faith, had he only
known it; and its effect was to make Jukes, on the other side of the
door, stand scratching his head for a good while.

Captain MacWhirr opened his eyes.

He thought he must have been asleep. What was that loud noise? Wind? Why
had he not been called? The lamp wriggled in its gimbals, the barometer
swung in circles, the table altered its slant every moment; a pair of
limp sea-boots with collapsed tops went sliding past the couch. He put
out his hand instantly, and captured one.

Jukes' face appeared in a crack of the door: only his face, very red,
with staring eyes. The flame of the lamp leaped, a piece of paper flew
up, a rush of air enveloped Captain MacWhirr. Beginning to draw on the
boot, he directed an expectant gaze at Jukes' swollen, excited features.

"Came on like this," shouted Jukes, "five minutes ago . . . all of a
sudden."

The head disappeared with a bang, and a heavy splash and patter of drops
swept past the closed door as if a pailful of melted lead had been
flung against the house. A whistling could be heard now upon the
deep vibrating noise outside. The stuffy chart-room seemed as full of
draughts as a shed. Captain MacWhirr collared the other sea-boot on its
violent passage along the floor. He was not flustered, but he could not
find at once the opening for inserting his foot. The shoes he had flung
off were scurrying from end to end of the cabin, gambolling playfully
over each other like puppies. As soon as he stood up he kicked at them