“I’ve had my breakfast,” he said, taking out a cigarette.

Then Mr. Trevor got up.

“He demands, sir, to be delivered over to the authorities,” said he, “and you have no right to refuse him.  I protest strongly.”

“And you can protest all you damn please,” retorted my client; “this isn’t the Ohio State Senate.  Do you know where I would put you, Mr. Trevor?  Do you know where you ought to be?  In a hencoop, sir, if I had one here.  In a hen-coop.  What would you do if a man who had gone a little out of his mind asked you for a gun to shoot himself with?  Give it him, I suppose.  But I put Mr. Allen ashore in Canada, with the funds to get off with, and then my duty’s done.”

This speech, as Mr. Cooke had no doubt confidently hoped, threw the senator into a frenzy of wrath.

“The day will come, sir,” he shouted, shaking his fist at my client, “the day will come when you will rue this bitterly.”

“Don’t get off any of your oratorical frills on me,” replied Mr. Cooke, contemptuously; “you ought to be tied and muzzled.”

Mr. Trevor was white with anger.

“I, for one, will not go to Canada,” he cried.

“You’ll stay here and starve, then,” said Mr. Cooke; “damned little I care.”

Mr. Trevor turned to Farrar, who was biting his lip.

“Mr. Farrar, I know you to be a rising young man of sound principles, and Mr. Crocker likewise.  You are the only ones who can sail.  Have you reflected that you are about to ruin your careers?”

“We are prepared to take the chances, I think,” said Farrar.

Mr. Cooke looked us over, proudly and gratefully, as much as to say that while he lived we should not lack the necessities of life.

At nine we embarked, the Celebrity and Mr. Trevor for the same reason that the animals took to the ark,—­because they had to.  There was a spanking breeze in the west-northwest, and a clear sky, a day of days for a sail.  Mr. Cooke produced a map, which Farrar and I consulted, and without much trouble we hit upon a quiet place to land on the Canadian side.  Our course was north-northwest, and therefore the wind enabled us to hold it without much trouble.  Bear Island is situated some eighteen miles from shore, and about equidistant between Asquith and Far Harbor, which latter we had to pass on our way northward.

Although a brisk sea was on, the wind had been steady from that quarter all night, and the motion was uniform.  The Maria was an excellent sea-boat.  There was no indication, therefore, of the return of that malady which had been so prevalent on the passage to Bear Island.  Mr. Cooke had never felt better, and looked every inch a sea-captain in his natty yachting-suit.  He had acquired a tan on the island; and, as is eminently proper on a boat, he affected nautical manners and nautical ways.  But his vernacular savored so hopelessly of the track and stall that he had been