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they passed South Shore Light, at sun-up, the skipper of the Provincetown was startled to see, on his own deck, the first mate of the rival North Star. However, he maintained enough of his Yankee aplomb to observe the ritual following all physical contests that take place in America, by inquiring most solicitously after "the other fellow."

He was duly reassured. To the best of Ben's belief and knowledge, they were enjoying excellent health.

The skipper took note of the plural, also of the bruised cheek and hair clotted with blood.

"So they was they—huh!"

Thus conservatively expressing his sympathy and admiration, he called to the man at the wheel to "starb'r'd" his helm, meanwhile doing the same for the brown ballast in his cheek.

"If it's a foul wind that blowed ye aboard," he further observed, "it's turned out fair. Rogers, y' know, has the scurvy, and when I found he wahn't aboard, I gave Harris his berth, an damme if Harris didn't just go an break his leg. So the berth's yours, seein' ye've shipped with us," he paused to port his ballast again, the peculiar sucking, rotary 47