invocation to the wind softly between his teeth. "Blow, my little
breeze!"

"How's her head?" cried a bold and brassy voice, hailing the deck from
the cabin staircase.

"Anywhere you like, master; all round the compass."

The voice was followed by the man. The owner of the yacht appeared on
deck.

Behold Richard Turlington, Esq., of the great Levant firm of Pizzituti,
Turlington & Branca! Aged eight-and-thirty; standing stiffly and
sturdily at a height of not more than five feet six--Mr. Turlington
presented to the view of his fellow-creatures a face of the
perpendicular order of human architecture. His forehead was a straight
line, his upper lip was another, his chin was the straightest and the
longest line of all. As he turned his swarthy countenance eastward,
and shaded his light gray eyes from the sun, his knotty hand plainly
revealed that it had got him his living by its own labor at one time or
another in his life. Taken on the whole, this was a man whom it might
be easy to respect, but whom it would be hard to love. Better company at
the official desk than at the social table. Morally and physically--if
the expression may be permitted--a man without a bend in him.

"A calm yesterday," grumbled Richard Turlington, looking with stubborn
deliberation all round him. "And a calm to-day. Ha! next season I'll
have the vessel fitted with engines. I hate this!"

"Think of the filthy coals, and the infernal vibration, and leave your