“For a man that’s just got even with Colonel Gideon Ward to the tune of fifteen thousand dollars, and with the check in your pocket, you don’t seem to be enjoyin’ the comforts of religion quite as much as a man ought to,” remonstrated Hiram.

“It’s wadin’ a puddle navigatin’ this way,” complained the Cap’n, his eyes on the penning shores of the reach; “and it makes me homesick when I think of my old four-sticker pilin’ white water to her bowsprit’s scroll and chewin’ foam with her jumper-guys.  Deep water, Hiram!  Deep water, with a wind and four sticks, and I’d show ye!”

“There’s something the matter with a man that can’t get fun out of anything except a three-ring circus,” said his friend, severely.  “I’m contented with one elephant these days.  It’s all the responsibility I want.”  His eyes dwelt fondly on the placid Imogene, couchant amidships.  Then he lighted a cigar, using his plug hat for a wind-break, and resumed his labors with the pencil.

“What be ye writin’—­a novel or only a pome?” inquired Cap’n Sproul at last.

“Log,” replied the unruffled Hiram.  “This is the first sea trip I ever made, and whilst I don’t know how to reeve the bowsprit or clew up the for’rad hatch, I know that a cruise without a log is like circus-lemonade without a hunk of glass to clink in the mix bowl.  Got it up to date!  Listen!”

He began to read, displaying much pride in his composition: 

“September the fifteen.  Got word that Cap’n Aaron Sproul had been cheated out of wife’s interest in timber lands by his brother-in-law, Colonel Gideon Ward.”

“What in Josephus’s name has that got to do with this trip?” demanded the Cap’n, with rising fire, at this blunt reference to his humiliation.

“If it wa’n’t for that we wouldn’t be on this trip,” replied Hiram, with serene confidence in his own judgment.

“Well, I don’t want that set down.”

“You can keep a log of your own, and needn’t set it down.”  Hiram’s tone was final, and he went on reading: 

“Same date.  Discovered Eleazar Bodge and his divinin’-rod.  Bought option on Bodge and his secret of Cap’n Kidd’s buried treasure on Cod Lead Nubble.  September the fifteen to seventeen.  Thought up plot to use Bodge to get even with Ward.  September the twenty-three.  Raised crew in Smyrna for cruise to Cod Lead, crew consistin’ of men to be depended on for what was wanted—­”

“Not includin’ sailin’ a vessel,” sneered the Cap’n, squinting forward with deep disfavor to where the members of the Smyrna Ancient and Honorable Firemen’s Association were contentedly fishing over the side of the sluggish Dobson.  “Here, leave hands off’m that tops’l downhaul!” he yelled, detecting Ludelphus Murray slashing at it with his jack-knife.  “My Gawd, if he ain’t cut it off!” he groaned.

Murray, the Smyrna blacksmith, growled back something about not seeing what good the rope did, anyway.