place among them, grasping one of the bars.

"Break down!" came the next order. Wilbur and the Chinamen
obeyed, bearing up and down upon the bars till the slack of the
anchor-chain came home and stretched taut and dripping from the
hawse-holes.

"'Vast heavin'!"

And then as Wilbur released the brake and turned about for the
next order, he cast his glance out upon the bay, and there, not a
hundred and fifty yards away, her spotless sails tense, her
cordage humming, her immaculate flanks slipping easily through the
waves, the water hissing and churning under her forefoot, clean,
gleaming, dainty, and aristocratic, the Ridgeways' yacht "Petrel"
passed like a thing of life. Wilbur saw Nat Ridgeway himself at
the wheel. Girls in smart gowns and young fellows in white ducks
and yachting caps--all friends of his--crowded the decks. A
little orchestra of musicians were reeling off a quickstep.

The popping of a cork and a gale of talk and laughter came to his
ears. Wilbur stared at the picture, his face devoid of
expression. The "Petrel" came on--drew nearer--was not a hundred
feet away from the schooner's stern. A strong swimmer, such as
Wilbur, could cover the distance in a few strides. Two minutes
ago Wilbur might have--

"Set your mains'l," came the bellow of Captain Kitchell. "Clap on
to your throat and peak halyards."