Billy Topsail, M.D.

"An' the wind was whippin' offshore, an' the snow was like dust in a man's eyes an' mouth, an' the landmarks o' Ragged Run was nothin' but shadows in a mist o' snow t' windward.

"Nobody knowed where Skinflint Sam was. Nobody thought about Sam. An' wherever poor old Skinflint was – whether safe ashore or creakin' shoreward against the wind on his last legs – he must do for himself. 'Twas no time t' succour rich or poor. Every man for himself an' the devil take the hindmost!

"Bound out, in the mornin', Bad-Weather Tom had fetched his rodney through the lanes. By luck an' good conduct he had managed t' get the wee boat a fairish way out. He had beached her there on the floe – a big pan, close by a hummock which he marked with care. And 'twas for Tom West's little rodney that the seven last men o' Ragged Run was jumpin'. With her afloat – an' the pack loosenin' inshore under the wind – they could make harbour well enough afore the gale worked up the water in the lee o' the Ragged Run hills.

"But she was a mean, small boat. There was room for six, with safety – but room for no more. There was no room for seven. 'Twas a nasty mess, t' be sure. You couldn't expect nothin' else. But there wasn't no panic. Ragged Run men is accustomed t' tight places. An' they took this one easy. Them that got there first launched the boat an' stepped in. No fight: no fuss.

"It just happened t' be Eleazer Butt that was left. 'Twas Eleazer's ill-luck. An' Eleazer was up in years an' had fell behind comin' over the ice.

"'No room for me?' says he.

"'Twas sure death t' be left on the ice. The wind begun t' taste o' frost. An' 'twas jumpin' up. 'Twould carry the floe far an' scatter it broadcast.

"'See for yourself, lad,' says Tom.

"'Pshaw!' says Eleazer. 'That's too bad!'

"'You isn't no sorrier than me, b'y.'

"Eleazer tweaked his beard. 'Dang it!' says he. 'I wisht there was room. I'm hungry for my supper.'

"'Let un in,' says one of the lads. ''Tis even chances she'll float it out.'

"'Well,' says Eleazer, 'I doesn't want t' make no trouble – '

"'Come aboard,' says Tom. 'An' make haste.'

"'If she makes bad weather,' says Eleazer, 'I'll get out.'

"We pushed off from the pan. 'Twas failin' dusk by this time. The wind blowed black. The frost begun t' bite. Snow come thick – just as if, ecod, somebody up aloft was shakin' the clouds, like bags, in the gale! An' the rodney was deep an' ticklish.

"Had the ice not kep' the water flat in the lanes an' pools, either Eleazer would have had to get out, as he promised, or she would have swamped like a cup. As it was, handled like dynamite, she done well enough; an' she might have made harbour within the hour had she not been hailed by Skinflint Sam from a small pan o' ice midway between."

Doctor Luke and Billy Topsail were intent on the tale.

"Go on," said Doctor Luke.

"A queer finish, sir."

"What happened?"

CHAPTER XXI

In Which a Crœsus of Ragged Run Drives a Hard Bargain in a Gale of Wind

"An' there the ol' codger was squattin'," Skipper Joe's tale went on, "his ol' face pinched an' woebegone, his bag o' bones wrapped up in his coonskin coat, his pan near flush with the sea, with little black waves already beginnin' t' wash over it.

"A sad sight, believe me! Poor old Skinflint Sam bound out t' sea without hope on a wee pan o' ice!

"'Got any room for me?' says he.

"We ranged alongside.

"'She's too deep as it is,' says Tom. 'I'm wonderful sorry, Skipper Sam.'

"An' he was.

"'Ay,' says Sam; 'you isn't got room for no more. She'd sink if I put foot in her.'

"'Us'll come back,' says Tom.

"'No use, Tom,' says Sam. 'You knows that well enough. 'Tis no place out here for a Ragged Run punt. Afore you could get t' shore an' back night will be down an' this here gale will be a blizzard. You'd never be able t' find me.'

"'I 'low not,' says Tom.

"'Oh, no,' says Sam. 'No use, b'y.'

"'Skipper Sam,' says Tom, 'I'm sorry!'

"'Ay,' says Sam; ''tis a sad death for an ol' man – squattin' out here all alone on the ice an' shiverin' with the cold until he shakes his poor damned soul out.'

"'Not damned!' cries Tom. 'Oh, don't say it!'

"'Ah, well!' says Sam; 'sittin' here all alone I been thinkin'.'

"''Tisn't by any man's wish that you're here, poor man!' says Tom.

"'Oh, no,' says Sam. 'No blame t' nobody. My time's come. That's all. But I wisht I had a seat in your rodney, Tom.'

"An' then Tom chuckled.

"'What you laughin' at?' says Sam.

"'I got a comical idea,' says Tom.

"'Laughin' at me, Tom?'

"'Oh, I'm jus' laughin'.'

'"'Tis neither time nor place, Tom,' says Sam, 't' laugh at an old man.'

"Tom roared. Ay, he slapped his knee, an' he throwed back his head, an' he roared! 'Twas enough almost t' swamp the boat.

"'For shame!' says Sam.

"An' more than Skinflint Sam thought so.

"'Skipper Sam,' says Tom, 'you're rich, isn't you?'