a folded paper gingerly by one corner, exhibiting profound respect for his minute burden.
“You ain't one of these yachting dudes—you're a skipper, ain't you?” asked the man.
“Yes, sir.”
“Well, then, I can talk to you, as one officer to another—and glad to meet one of my own breed. I'm first mate of the schooner Polly. Mr. Speed is my name.”
Captain Mayo nodded.
“And I need help and advice. This is the first tele-graft I ever had in my hands. I'd rather be aholt of an iced halyard in a no'easter! I've been sent ashore to telegraft it, and now she says she won't stick it onto the wire, however it is they do the blasted trick.”
Captain Mayo had already noticed that the messengers from the yachts were killing time by teasing the flustered young woman; it was good-humored badinage, but it was effectively blocking progress at that end of the line.
He felt a “native's” instinctive impulse to go to the relief of the young woman who was being baited by the merrymakers; the responsibility of his own errand prompted him to help her clear decks. But he waited, hoping that the yachtsmen would go about their business.
“From the Polly, Mr. Speed?” he inquired, amiably. “Is the Polly in the harbor? I didn't notice her in the fog.”
“Reckon you know her, by the way you speak of her,” replied the gratified Mr. Speed.
“I ought to, sir. She was built at Mayoport by my great-grandfather before the Mayo yards began to turn out ships.”
“Well, I swanny! Be you a Mayo?”
The captain bowed and smiled at the enthusiasm displayed by Mr. Speed.
“By ginger! that sort of puts you right into our fambly, so to speak!” The mate surveyed him with interest and with increasing confidence. “I'm in a mess, Cap'n Mayo, and I need advice and comfort, I reckon. I was headed on a straight tack toward my regular duty, and all of a sudden I found myself jibed and in stays, and I'm there now
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