Nevertheless, I was
hurt sentimentally,--chiefly, I do believe, because of the very
hardness and unconcern with which she enunciated her view. It was
because she was a woman, and so different from the sea-creatures,
that I resented her having received such harsh education in the
school of the sea.
"I could not help remarking your father's--er, er sang froid during
the occurrence." I ventured.
"He never took his hands from his pockets!" she cried.
Her eyes sparkled as I nodded confirmation.
"I knew it! It's his way. I've seen it so often. I remember when I
was twelve years old--mother was alone--we were running into San
Francisco. It was in the Dixie, a ship almost as big as this. There
was a strong fair wind blowing, and father did not take a tug. We
sailed right through the Golden Gate and up the San Francisco water-
front. There was a swift flood tide, too; and the men, both watches,
were taking in sail as fast as they could.
"Now the fault was the steamboat captain's. He miscalculated our
speed and tried to cross our bow.
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