* * * * * *

“Ninety-six days, Schenke, and here we are at the mouth of the Channel!” Old Burke had a note of regret in the saying.  “Ninety-six days!  Sure, this ship o’ yours can sail.  With a bit o’ luck, now, ye’ll be in Falmouth under the hundred.”

“So.  If de vind holds goot.  Oh, de Hedwig Rickmers is a goot sheep, no?  But if Ah dond’t get de crew of de poor lettle Hilda to work mein sheep, Ah dond’t t’ink ve comes home so quick as hundert days, no?’”

“God bless us, man.  Shure, it’s the least they cud do, now.  An’ you kaaping’ us in food an’ drink an’ clothes, bedad—­all the time.”

“Vat Ah do, Cabtin.  Ah leaf you starfe, no?”

“Oh.  Some men would have put into the Falklands and landed——­”

“Und spoil a goot bassage, eh?  Ach nein.  More better to go on.  You know dese men Ah get in ’Frisco is no goot.  Dem “hoodlums,” they dond’t know de sailorman vork.  But your beoble is all recht, eh!  Gott!  If Ah dond’t haf dem here, it is small sail ve can carry on de sheep.”

“Och, now, ye just say that, Schenke, ye just say that!  But it’s glad I am if we’re any use t’ ye.”

“Hundert days to Falmouth, eh?” Schenke grinned as he said it.  “Vat ’bout dot bett now, Cabtin?”

“Oh that,” said Burke queerly.  “You win, of course.  I’m not quite broke yet, Captain Schenke.  I’ll pay the twenty dollars all right.”

“No, no.  De bett is not von.  No?  De bett vass—­’who is de first on shore come,’ Heim?  Goot.  Ven de sheep comes to Falmouth ve goes on shore, you und me, together.  Like dis, eh?” He seized Burke by the arm and made a motion that they two should thus step out together.

Burke, shamefacedly, said:  “Aye, aye, b’ye.”

“Ah dond’t care about de bett,” continued the big German.  “De bett is noting, but, look here, Cabtin—­Ah tell you Ah look to vin dot Merchants’ Cup. Gott!  Ah vass verrickt ven your boys come in first.  Ach so!  Und now de Cup iss at de bottom of de Pacific.”  He sighed regretfully. “Gott!  I van’t t’ be de first Sherman to vin dot Cup too!”

The mate of the Rickmers came on the poop and said something to his captain.  Schenke turned to the old man in some wonderment. . . .  “Vat dis is, eh?  My mate tell me dot your boys is want to speak mit me.  Vat it is, Cabtin?  No troubles I hope?”

Burke looked as surprised as the other.  “Send them up, Heinrich,” he said.  We, the crew of the Hilda’s gig, filed on to the poop, looking as hot and uncomfortable as proper sailorfolk should do when they come on a deputation.  Jones headed us, and he carried a parcel under his arm.

“Captain Schenke,” he said.  “We are all here—­the crew of the Hilda’s gig, that you picked up when—­when—­we were in a bad way.  All here but poor Gregson.”