“Can’t what?”

“Why, stayin’ out in that rain-storm has give him the most jeeroosly cold there’s been sence Aunt Jerushy recommended thoroughwort tea!  It’s right in his thro’t, and he ain’t got so much voice left as wind blowing acrost a bottle.  Can’t make a sound!  The bank folks ain’t goin’ to take any one’s say-so for him.  Not against a man like you that’s got thutty thousand dollars in the same bank, and a man that they know!  By the time he got it explained to any one so that they’d mix in, you can be at the bank and have it all done.”

“Well, he ain’t got cold in his legs, has he?” demanded the Cap’n, failing to warm to Hiram’s enthusiasm.  “It stands jest where it has been standin’.  There ain’t no reason why he can’t get to that bank as quick as I can.  Yes, quicker!  I ain’t built up like an ostrich, the way he is.”

“Well,” remarked Hiram, after a time, “a fair show and an even start is more’n most folks get in this life—­and you’ve got that.  The boss of this boat is goin’ to give you that much.  So all you can do is to take what’s given you and do the best you can.  And all I can do is stay back here and sweat blood and say the only prayer that I know, which is ‘Now I lay me down to sleep.’”

And after this bit of consolation he went back amidships to comfort the hungry Imogene, who had been unable to find much in the cuisine of a revenue cutter that would satisfy the appetite of elephants.

At half-past nine in the forenoon the cutter swept past Bug Light and into the inner harbor.  Hardly had the steamer swung with the tide at her anchorage before the captain’s gig was proceeding briskly toward Commercial Wharf, two men rowing and the man of the faded blue cap at the helm.  The antagonists in the strange duello sat back to back, astraddle a seat.  At this hateful contact their hair seemed fairly to bristle.

“Now, gents,” said Faded Cap, as they approached the wharf, “the skipper said he wanted fair play.  No scrougin’ to get out onto the ladder first.  I’m goin’ to land at the double ladder at the end of the wharf, and there’s room for both of you.  I’ll say ‘Now!’ and then you start.”

“You fellers are gettin’ a good deal of fun out this thing,” sputtered Cap’n Sproul, angrily, “but don’t you think I don’t know it and resent it.  Now, don’t you talk to me like you were startin’ a foot-race!”

“What is it, if it ain’t a foot-race?” inquired Faded Cap, calmly.  “They don’t have hacks or trolley-cars on that wharf, and you’ll either have to run or fly, and I don’t see any signs of wings on you.”

Colonel Ward did not join in this remonstrance.  He only worked his jaws and uttered a few croaks.

When the gig surged to the foot of the ladder, Colonel Ward attempted a desperate play, and an unfair one.  He was on the outside, and leaped up, stepped on Cap’n Sproul, and sprang for the ladder.  The Cap’n was quick enough to grab his legs, yank him back into the boat, and mount over him in his turn.  The man of the faded cap was nearly stunned by Ward falling on him, and the rowers lost their oars.