Captain Cable divided the watches so that the work might proceed
continuously. The dawn found the smaller steamer considerably lightened,
and her captain bright and wakeful at his post. All through the day the
transshipping went on. Cases of all sizes and all weights were slung out
of the capacious hatches of the one to sink into the dark hold of the
other vessel, and there was no mishap. Through the second night the
creaking of the blocks never ceased, and soon after daylight the three
men who had superintended the work without resting took a cup of coffee
together in the cabin of the _Olaf_.

"Likely as not," said Captain Cable, setting down his empty cup, "we
three'll not meet again. I have had dealings with many that I've never
seen again, and with some that have been careful not to know me if they
did see me."

"We can never tell," said Martin, optimistically.

"Of course," the captain went on, "I can hold me tongue. That's
agreed--we all hold our tongues, whatever the newspapers may be likely
to pay for a word or two. Often enough I've read things in the newspaper
that I could put a different name to. And that little ship of mine has
had a hand in some queer political pies."

"Yes," answered Martin, with his gay laugh, "and kept it clean all the
same."

"That's as may be. And now I'll say good-bye. I'll be calling on your
father for my money in three days' time--barrin' fogs. And I'll tell him
I left you well. Good-bye, Petersen; you're a handy man. Tell him he's a
handy man in his own langwidge, and I'll take it kindly."