'We're doing very well, Will,' she said to her husband when the starboard watch went below, and the routine of the passage home commenced.
'It's early days,' replied Will Ryder. 'I fancy the Battle-Axe is in her best trim for a wind astern.'
But Mrs. Ryder didn't believe it.
'And if she is, she mayn't be so good when it comes to beating.'
She knew what she was talking about, and spoke good sense.
'It's going to be luck,' said Ryder. 'If either of us get a good slant that the other misses, the last will be out of it. But I wish I'd had those other two hands. The Star wants beef on the braces. Mr. Semple, as soon as possible see all the parrals greased and the blocks running as free as you can make 'em.'
And Semple did his best, as the crew did. But Mrs. Ryder had her doubts as to whether her husband was doing his. For once he seemed to think failure was a foregone conclusion.
'I think it must be his liver,' said Mrs. Ryder. 'I'll see to that at once.'
But instead of looking up the medicine-chest she came across the Pacific Directory.
'I never thought of that,' she said. 'He's never done it: now he shall.'