LINES FROM A MARINER'S ADVENTURES

_The Life Story of the Gallant Captain Aaron Sproul_

_Written by His Affectionate Wife_

"You can put down what's true," he said, continuing a topic that they
had been pursuing, "that boxin' the compass and knowin' a jib
down-haul from a pound of saleratus ain't all there is to a master
mariner's business, not by a blamed sight. Them passuls of cat's meat
that they call sailormen in these days has to be handled,--well, the
superintendent of a Sunday-school wouldn't be fit for the job, unless
he had a little special trainin'."

Louada Murilla, the point of her pencil at her lips, caught a
vindictive gleam in his eyes.

"But it seems awful cruel, some of the things that you--you--I
suppose you had to do 'em, Aaron! And yet when you stop and think
that they've got immortal souls to save--"

"They don't carry any such duffle to sea in their dunnage-bags,"
snapped the skipper. "Moral suasion on them would be about like
tryin' to whittle through a turkle's shell with a hummin'-bird's
pin-feather. My rule most generally was to find one soft spot on 'em
somewhere that a marlin-spike would hurt, and then hit that spot hard
and often. That's the only way I ever got somewhere with a cargo and
got back ag'in the same year."

"I suppose it has to be," sighed his wife, making a note. "It's like