the bottle for himself. They raised their glasses silently.

"Now that you're past the worst of it," remarked O'Neil, "I
suppose you'll turn in. You're getting old for a hard run like
this, Johnny."

Captain Brennan snorted. "Old? I'm a better man than you, yet.
I'm a teetotaler, that's why. I discovered long ago that salt
water and whiskey don't mix."

O'Neil stretched himself out in one of Brennan's easy-chairs.
"Really," he said, "I don't understand why a ship carries a
captain. Now of what earthly use to the line are you, for
instance, except for your beauty, which, no doubt, has its value
with the women? I'll admit you preside with some grace at the
best table in the dining-salon, but your officers know these
channels as well as you do. They could make the run from Seattle
to Juneau with their eyes shut."

"Indeed they could not; and neither could I."

"Oh, well, of course I have no respect for you as a man, having
seen you without your uniform."

The captain grinned in thorough enjoyment of this raillery. "I'll
say nothing at all of my seamanship," he said, relapsing into the
faintest of brogues, "but there's no denying that the master of a
ship has many unpleasant and disgusting duties to perform. He has
to amuse the prominent passengers who can't amuse themselves, for
one thing, and that takes tact and patience. Why, some people