a Portygee. But I hit him too hard. It was a case of mutiny. I reckon
I could have proved it was mutiny, with the witnesses. But I hit him
hard."

"Did he--?" gasped his wife.

"He did," replied the Cap'n, shortly, and was silent for a time.

"The thing for me to have done," he went on, despondently, "was to
report it, and stood hearin'. But it was six weeks after we'd dropped
him overboard--after the funeral, ye know--before we reached port.
And there was a cargo ashore jest dancin' up and down to slip through
the main hatch as soon as t' other one was over the rail--and freights
'way up and owners anxious for results, and me tryin' for a record,
and all that, ye know. All is, there wa'n't nothin' said by the crew,
for they wa'n't lookin' for trouble, and knowed the circumstances,
and so I lo'ded and sailed. And that's all to date."

"But they say 'murder will out.'" Her face was white.

"It wa'n't murder. It was discipline. And I didn't mean to. But either
his soft spot was too soft, or else I hit too hard. What I ought to
have done was to report when my witnesses was right handy. Since I've
settled and married and got property, I've woke up in the night,
sometimes, and thought what would happen to me if that Portygee's
relatives got track of me through one of the crew standin' in with
'em--blabbin' for what he could git out of it. I have to think about
those things, now that I've got time to worry. Things looks different
ashore from what they do aflo't, with your own ship under you and
hustlin' to make money." He gazed round the room again, and seemed