“Well, but, Captain Joe,”—­protested Marrows.

“Don’t you ‘well’ me.  Well, nothin’.  You’re bad as him.  Go and dig a hole and both on ye git in it!”—­and he pushed through the crowd on his way to his house, I close at his heels.

The wife, who but that moment had heard the glad news of the rescue from the lips of a deck hand, now hurried after the captain and laid her hand on his arm.  Her eyes were red from weeping; strands of gray hair strayed over her forehead and cheeks; her lips were tightly drawn; the anxiety of the last few hours had left its mark.

“Don’t go, Captain Joe, till I kin speak to ye,” she pleaded, in a trembling voice,—­speaking through fingers pressed close to her lips.

“No,—­I don’t want to hear nothin’.  She’s all right, I tell ye,—­tighter ’n a drum and not a drop of water in her.  Got some of my men aboard and we’ll unload her to-morrow.  You go home, old woman; you needn’t worry.”

“Yes, but you must listen,—­please listen.”

She had followed him up the dock and the two stood apart from the crowd.

“Well, what is it?”

“I want to thank ye,—­and I want—­”

“No, you don’t want to thank nothin’.  She’s all right, I tell ye.”

She had tight hold of his arm now and was looking up into his face, all her gratitude in her eyes.

“But I do,—­I must,—­please listen.  You’ve helped us so.  It’s all we have.  If we’d lost the sloop I’d ‘a’ give up.”

The captain’s rough, hard hand went out and caught the woman’s thin fingers.  A peculiar cadence came into his voice.

“All ye have?  Do you think I don’t know it?  That’s why I was under her bowsprit.”

“Against orders”

“Here comes Captain Bogart—­we’ll ask him,” said the talkative man.

His listeners were grouped about one of the small tables in the smoking-room of the Moldavia, five days out.  The question was when the master of a vessel should leave his ship.  In the incident discussed every man had gone ashore—­even the life-saving crew had given her up:  the master had stuck to his post.

The captain listened gravely.

“Yes—­if there’s one chance in a thousand of saving her.  Regulations are pretty plain; can’t forget ’em unless you want to,” and he walked on.

That night at dinner I received a message to come to the captain’s cabin.  He had some coffee that an old Brazilian had sent him.  His steward hailed from Rio, and knew how to grind and boil it.

Over the making the talk veered to the inquiry in the smoking-room.

“When ought a commander to abandon his ship, Captain?” I asked.

“When his passengers need him.  Passengers first, ship next, are the orders.  They’re clear and exact—­ can’t mistake ’em.”

“You speak as if you had had some experience.”  A leaf from out the note-book of a live man doing live things is as refreshing as a bucket of cool water from a deep well.