Days later, as the great steamer neared the dock, Mr. Potter stopped the purser, resplendent in lace and importance.

"My dear Sutton," he said, linking arms, "if it were not an impertinence I should like to make you a little present." He fluttered a small sheet of paper with edges on one side half perforated. "You see-you see, I've won everything, hands down, and I want you to share my good fortune, if you will." Mr. Phineas Sutton took the check and examined it coolly, without astonishment. He had never handled such a princely fee before. Then he leisurely tore it up, and tossed the white leaves overboard.

"This is not an insult, Mr. Potter," he said, laughing, "it is a privilege. You see, when

that idiot Eli sold U. S. Telegraph, I thought I knew my business and I bought. I borrowed every shilling I could lay my hands on--and bought, and bought, and bought. Well-you know the rest. I don't need to work any now, unless I want to; and it's due to you." The two men shook hands as men will when talk is superfluous.

"And now, Mr. Potter, when you come back a married man-as I guess you will fast enough you two shall occupy my cabinthat is, if you don't want to charter the whole ship."

Peleg Potter did not reply. By a bondless system older than Marconi's, and swifter than the "wireless," his thoughts had leaped into the paradise of his future.

W

THOMAS FOCAPIT

HEN the quick-rising tropic sun had cleft the velvet darkness into long, thin shadows, the Baronet and the Banker found the Countess and the Mate. Already the inquisitive ripples of the rising tide were washing back and forth the skirts of the Countess's pongee gown, now wantonly uncovering the graceful limbs, now deftly smoothing the silk-lace trimmings over the dainty feet, uncertain whether the filmy garment was to be regarded as a vanity or a shroud.

She was lying on her side, with one rounded arm half hidden in a tangled mass of hair that matched the sunrise; the other was clenched in the cold, iron grasp of Jordan Knapp, the mate, whose massive frame was sprawled face downward, his forehead resting on his other hand. Strewn along the beach were fragments of wreckage and the stove-up whale-boat, and all around was the soft, warm desolation of a South Sea isle. A few hundred yards off the beach the giant combers, opalescent in the early dawn, thundered across the reef and were shattered into wavelets of fairy hues. Half-way between the reef and the beach the broken water swirled around a slender, tapering topmast, from the truck of which was flying a torn burgee. When the bubbling spume of a breaking wave had passed, there suddenly rose to view the splintered stump of another mast and slack ends of shrouds that writhed around it like sea-snakes.

The Baronet carried a thin plank whittled shovelwise, the blade of which was frayed and splintered from contact with the hard

packed sand. The Banker carried a large sailor's bandana, caught up at the corners, and bulging from the personal effects that he had taken from the drowned sailors whom they had just interred. When he saw the Countess, a corner of the kerchief slipped from his fingers, and the pitiful little trinkets rolled unheeded across the shining sands. They tried to pry the Mate's stiffened fingers from their grip, and as they were doing so he suddenly gasped and awoke.

The Baronet handed him a little flask, and the Banker took the woman by the shoulders and dragged her above high-water mark. When he laid her down an eyelid fluttered. The Banker with a beating heart filled the hollow of his hands with sea-water. The Mate, leaning on his elbow, watched him sleepily-and divined his intention.

"Good Lord! she's had water enough; try a little sunshine and whisky!"

"We thought, of course, you were both drowned," murmured the Baronet. "Thought almost right," said the Mate; "might have been, so far as you were concerned. Why didn't you wait for her?"

"I don't know. I don't remember a great deal of what did happen. The boat was sinking as it was-did sink, in fact, before we had taken a dozen strokes," replied the Baronet, holding the flask to the Countess's lips. "Is he dead?" she asked feebly.

"No, dearest; I am here, safe and sound," said the Banker soothingly, as he chafed her hands.

"Oh, you! I do not mean you. I mean that

gran' man who plunge after me as I struggle in the sea. You-you go an' leave me to perish." "You are unjust, dear. I thought that you

were in the boat."

"Ah, yes-when I call to you from the vessel. But I do not ask you this; I ask you if he live?" "Yes, Celeste, here he is-and none the worse for his ducking," said the Baronet.

66

What happiness-mon Dieu! je suis très fatiguée. Why I have the so great wish to sleep?" The long lashes drooped drowsily over the deep violet eyes, and a gentle little sigh was lost in the soft breeze that fanned in from the sea.

The Mate, watching her apathetically, roused himself from his lethargy. "Let her sleep right where she is. Give me your coat." The Banker slipped it off, and the Mate folded it and placed it under the Countess's head. She smiled drowsily and reached out a fluttering little hand.

"Ah! it is you my preserver-mon cher ami!"

'There, there; you're all right now. Take a little nap; that's a good girl!" He rose stiffly to his feet, and stretched both great arms above his head.

The Baronet looked at him quizzically and smiled.

"Don't you think that you are a little proprietary in your manner, Knapp?" asked the Banker in a sulky voice.

The Mate brought down his arms, threw out his chest, and stared at him a moment. The deep lines on his face threw darker shadows, and the heavy brows came together.

"Who's got a better right?" he growled. "It seems to me that as I am her fiancé"You're a jim dandy fiancé. What made you leave her on the yacht?"

"Oh, well, we won't argue that point. But inasmuch as I am the owner and you

"Yes, I am not disputing that the schooner was your schooner, nor the mate your mate. But you've got no schooner left, and therefore no mate. Savvy?"

"But your pay goes on just the same," said

the Banker.

"Oh, does it? Well, I'm no sea lawyer, and I don't know whether I'm entitled to any more pay or not; but it seems to me that I am entitled to some salvage on this little craft that you abandoned in a sinking condition," and the Mate jerked his thumb at the Countess. "Oh, you do, eh? Well, you'd better stick to your pay, young man; it's more negotiable." The Mate studied the sand at his feet thoughtfully. "Got anything to eat?" he asked presently.

66

Uninhabited, of course. Wouldn't support a jack-rabbit so far as chow goes. And just about enough flotsam to ferry one away! Gentlemen, the situation has its drawbacks." Aw; we have observed that already," drawled the Baronet. "The island goes about as far as you can see in each direction. There is saved from the wreck of the yacht one lady, five men, one can of biscuits, one boat compass, one hatchet, one dipper, a jar of marmalade, and about a dozen matches-besides such uninventoried articles as may be scattered along the beach. Have you-awanything to suggest?"

"Darn little," said the Mate, who had finished his survey. "There isn't enough material to work on."

Better carry the camp to the Countess," said the Baronet. "It's more portable, and won't be disturbed by moving."

"How much of a camp have you got?" asked the Mate.

An artist, a Jap mess boy, and the articles before mentioned," replied the Baronet.

The Banker sat on the sand, and with his shovel shielded the Countess's eyes from the sun-rays. The Baronet led the Mate to the camp, where they found the Artist breakfasting on the sunrise tints over the sea, while the Jap, true to his professional instinct, was boiling some water in a biscuit tin. There seemed to be nothing beside the water to boil, but presently the Jap departed, and returned later with half of a very dead fish, some mollusks, and a large crab. Jordan Knapp eyed the crab with animosity.

"Don't cook that thing. The others may be safe, but that fish doesn't look like a good convalescent diet!"

"Maybe we can boil the ptomaines all out of him," said the Baronet; "and when the Countess wakes up, she'll want something more nourishing than wet biscuits."

"Well, since she hasn't been present at the autopsy it may be good for her," answered the Mate, doubtfully. "Boil up the whole business, barring the crab, and then thicken the mess with biscuit-crumbs."