Blow The Man Down. Holman Day

      Alma Marston's voice interrupted his somber appreciation of the significance of that ditty. “Are you up there, Boyd?” she asked, in cautious tones.

      He hurried to the head of the ladder and saw her at its foot, half hidden in the mists even at that short distance. He reached down his hand and she came up, grasping it.

      She was studying his expression with both eagerness and apprehension. “I couldn't stay away from you any longer,” she declared. “The fog is good to us! Father could not see me as I came forward. I must tell you, Boyd. He has ordered me to stay aft.”

      He did not speak.

      “Has he dared to say to you what he has been saying below about you?”

      “I don't think it needed any especial daring on your father's part; I am only his servant,” he said, with bitterness.

      “And he—he insulted you like that?”

      “I suppose your father did not look on what he said as insult. I repeat, I am a paid servant.”

      “But what you did was right! I know it must have been right, for you know everything about what is right to do on the sea.”

      “I understand my duties.”

      “And he blamed you for something?”

      “It was a bit worse than that from my viewpoint.” He smiled down at her, for her eyes were searching his face as if appealing for a bit of consolation.

      “Boyd, don't mind him,” she entreated. “Somebody who has been fighting him in business has been very naughty. I don't know just what it's all about. But he has so many matters to worry him. And he snaps at me just the same, every now and then.”

      “Yes, some men are cowards enough to abuse those who must look to them for the comforts of this world,” he declared.

      “We must make allowances.”

      “I'll not stay in a position where a man who hires me thinks he can talk to me as if I were a foremast hand. Alma, you would despise me if I allowed myself to be kicked around like a dog.”

      “I would love you all the more for being willing to sacrifice something for my sake. I want you here—here with all your love—here with me as long as these summer days last.” She patted his cheek. “Why don't you tell me that you want to stay with me, Boyd? That you will die if we cannot be together? We can see each other here. I can bring Nan Burgess on the bridge with me. Father will not mind then. Let each day take care of itself!”

      “I want to be what you want me to be—to do what you want me to do. But I wish you would tell me to go out into the world and make something of myself. Alma, tell me to go! And wait for me!”

      She laid her face against his shoulder and reached for his fingers, endeavoring to pull one of his arms about her. But both of his hands were clutching the rail of the bridge. He resisted.

      “Are you going to be like all the rest? Just money and trouble and worry?” She stretched up on tiptoe and brushed a kiss across his fog-wet cheek. “Are you asleep, my big boy? Yesterday you were awake.”

      “I think I am really awake to-day, and that I was dreaming yesterday. Alma, I cannot sneak behind your father's back to make love to you. I can't do it. I'm going to give up this position. I can't endure it.”

      “I say 'No!' I need you.”

      “But—”

      “I'll not give you up.”

      There was something dramatic in her declaration; her demeanor expressed the placid calm of absolute proprietorship. She worked his unwilling fingers free from the rail.

      “I love you because you can forget yourself. Now don't be like all the others.”

      He realized that a queer little sting of impatience was pricking him. The girl did not seem to understand what his manhood was prompting.

      “You mustn't be selfish, Boyd!”

      She put into words the vague thought which had been troubling him in regard to her attitude; and now that he understood what his thought had been he was incensed by what seemed his own disloyalty. And yet, the girl was asking him to make over his nature!

      “I'm afraid it's all wrong. These things never seem to come out right,” he mourned.

      “You are trying to turn the world upside down all at once—and all alone. Don't think so much, you solemn Yankee. Just love!”

      He put his aims about her. “I'm sailing in new waters. I don't seem to know the true course or the right bearings!”

      “Let's stay anchored until the fog lifts! Isn't that what sailors usually do?”

      He confessed it, kissing her when she lifted her tantalizing face from his shoulder.

      “Now you'll let the future alone, won't you?” she asked.

      “Yes.” But even while he promised he was obliged to face that future.

      Julius Marston, at the foot of the ladder, called to his daughter. “Are you up there?” he demanded, sharply.

      “Yes, father.”

      “Come down here.”

      She gave her lover a hasty caress and obeyed.

      Captain Mayo was obliged to listen. Marston, in his anger, showed no consideration for possible eavesdroppers.

      “I have told you to stay aft where you belong.”

      “Really, father, I don't understand why—”

      “Those are my orders! I understand. You don't need to understand. This world is full of cheap fellows who misinterpret actions.”

      Captain Mayo grasped the rails of the bridge ladder and did down to the deck without touching his feet to the treads. He appeared before the father and daughter with startling suddenness.

      “Mr. Marston, I am leaving my position on board here as soon as you can get another man to take my place.”

      “You are, eh?”

      “Yes, sir.”

      “You signed papers for the season. It is not convenient for me to make a change.” Marston spoke with the crispness of a man who had settled the matter.

      Captain Mayo was conscious that the girl was trying to attract his gaze, but he kept his eyes resolutely from her face.

      “I insist on being relieved.”

      “I have no patience with childishness in a man! I found it necessary to reprimand you. You'll probably know your place after this.” He turned away.

      “I have decided that I do not belong on this yacht,” stated Mayo, with an emphasis he knew the girl would understand. “You must get another master!”

      “I cannot pick captains out of this fog, and I allow no man to tell me my own business. I shall keep you to your written