descending the steps to his new acquaintance's aid, when there rose a
chorus of shouts from the wharf.

"The cops! the cops! Look out!"

That was the finishing touch. The next moment the three "mutineers" were
over the side and running as fast as their alcoholic condition would
permit down the wharf.

"Well, by George!" exclaimed Pearson.

Captain Elisha seemed to be coming out of a dream. He stood still, drew
his hand across his forehead, and then began to laugh.

"Well!" he stammered. "Well, I snum! I--I--Mr. Pearson, I wonder what on
earth you must think of me. I declare the sight of that gang set me back
about twenty years. They--they must have thought I was the new skipper!
Did you hear me tell 'em they couldn't mutiny aboard of me? Ho! ho!
Well, I am an old idiot!"

Pearson stuck his fist into the palm of his other hand. "I've got it!"
he cried. "I knew your name was familiar. Why, you're the mate that
handled the mutinous crew aboard Uncle Jim's bark, the Pacer, off
Mauritius, in the typhoon, when he was hurt and in the cabin. I've heard
him tell it a dozen times. Well, this IS a lucky day for me!"

Captain Elisha was evidently pleased. "So he told you that, did he?" he
began. "That WAS a time and a half, I--"

He was interrupted. Over the rail appeared a blue helmet, and an instant