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A counter-current now swept through the ship. If anything was really the matter the Captain would not be dancing jigs, nor would he leave the bridge for his meals. This, like all other counter-currents–wave or otherwise–tossed up a bobble of dispute when the two clashed. There was no doubt about it: Carhart had been “talking through his hat”–“shooting off his mouth”–the man was “a gas bag,” etc., etc. When appeal for confirmation was made to the Texan and the Actor, who now seemed inseparable, neither made reply. They evidently did not care to be mixed up in what Bonner characterized with a grim smile as “more hot air.”

All through the meal the Captain kept up his good-natured mood; chatting with the widow who sat on his right, the baby in her lap; making a pig of a lemon and some tooth-picks for the boy, who had crawled up into his arms; exchanging nods and smiles down the length of the table with several new arrivals, or congratulating those nearest to him on their recovery after the storm, ending by carrying both boy and baby to the upper deck–so that he might “not forget how to handle” his own when he got back, he laughed in explanation.

III

Luncheon over, the passengers, many of whom had been continuously in their berths, began to crowd the decks. These soon discovered that the ship was not on an even keel; a fact confirmed when attention was called to the slant of the steamer chairs and the roll of an orange toward the scuppers. Explanation was offered by the Texan, who argued that the wind had hauled, and being then abeam had given her a list to starboard. This, while not wholly satisfactory to the more experienced, allayed the fears of the women–there were two or three on board beside the widow–who welcomed the respite from the wrench and stagger of the previous hours.

Attention was now drawn by a nervous passenger to a gang of sailors under the First Officer, who were at work overhauling the boats on the forward deck, immediately under the eyes of the Captain who had returned to the bridge, as well as to an approaching wall of fog which, while he was speaking, had blanketed the ship, sending two of the boat gang on a run to the bow. The fog-horn also blew continuously, almost without intermission. Now and then it too would give three short, sharp snorts, as if of warning.

The passengers had now massed themselves in groups, some touch of sympathy, or previous acquaintance, or trait of courage but recently discovered, having drawn them together. Again the Captain passed down the deck. This time he stopped to light a cigarette from a passenger’s cigar, remarking as he did so that it was “as thick as pea soup on the bridge, but he thought it would lighten before morning.” Then halting beside the chair of an old lady who had but recently appeared on deck, he congratulated her on her recovery and kept on his way to the boats.

The widow, however, was still anxious.

“What are they doing with the boats?” she asked, her eyes following the Captain’s disappearing figure.

“Only overhauling them, madam,” spoke up the Texan, who had stationed himself near her chair.

“But isn’t that unusual!” she inquired in a tremulous voice.

“No, madam, just precaution, and always a safe one in a fog. Collision comes so quick sometimes they don’t have time even to clear the davits.”

“But the sailors are carrying up boxes and kegs and putting them in the boats; what’s that for?” broke in another passenger, who had been leaning over the forward rail.

“Grub and water, I guess,” returned the Texan. “It’s a thousand miles to the nearest land, and there ain’t no bakery on the way that I know of. Can’t be too careful when there’s women and babies aboard, especially little fellows like these–” and he ran his hand through the boy’s curls. “The Captain don’t take no chances. That’s what I like him for.”