As the days went by the sounds of the violin became less and less loud,
till at last only a feeble scratching would meet Mr. Burns' ear as
he stood in the saloon listening outside the door of the captain's
state-room.

One afternoon in perfect desperation he burst into that room and made
such a scene, tearing his hair and shouting such horrid imprecations
that he cowed the contemptuous spirit of the sick man. The water-tanks
were low, they had not gained fifty miles in a fortnight. She would
never reach Hong-Kong.

It was like fighting desperately toward destruction for the ship and the
men. This was evident without argument. Mr. Burns, losing all restraint,
put his face close to his captain's and fairly yelled: "You, sir, are
going out of the world. But I can't wait till you are dead before I put
the helm up. You must do it yourself. You must do it now!"

The man on the couch snarled in contempt. "So I am going out of the
world--am I?"

"Yes, sir--you haven't many days left in it," said Mr. Burns calming
down. "One can see it by your face."

"My face, eh? . . . Well, put up the helm and be damned to you."

Burns flew on deck, got the ship before the wind, then came down again
composed, but resolute.

"I've shaped a course for Pulo Condor, sir," he said. "When we make it,