"Blast me, can't you even guess what she once was?" went on Briggs,
relentlessly. "Well, young feller, that dirty old scow--as you call
her--is the _Golden Bough_!"

The passenger only blinked. The name meant nothing to him. But it did
to me.

"The _Golden Bough_!" I echoed. "Surely you don't mean the _Golden
Bough_?"

"But I do," said Briggs. He waved his hand. "There she is--the
_Golden Bough_. All that is left of the finest ship that ever smashed
a record with the American flag at her gaff. She's a coal hulk now,
but once she was the finest vessel afloat. Eh, Captain?"

Captain Shreve nodded affirmation. Then he turned to the writing guy,
and courteously salved the chap's self-esteem.

"Small wonder you overlooked her build; it takes a sailor's eye for
such things. And really, your description strikes home to me. We are
all workhorses, are we not, we of the sea? And time breaks down us
all, man and ship." The Old Man was staring at the hulk, and his voice
was sorrowful. "Aye, but time has used her cruelly! What a pity--she
was so bonny!"


The writing guy perked up at this. "Well, you know, I see her through
a layman's eyes," he explained. "And she does look so old, and dirty,
and commonplace----"