Clang! clang! went the deep-toned bell below, and swoosh went the reversed propeller. The pilot's orders rattled like hail on a roof; she came round, and old Captain Price had a glimpse of a knot of frantic men at the taff-rail of the ship they barely cleared. Then, slowly they wedged her into the lock-mouth and hauled in.
"Close thing!" said the pilot, panting a little.
The old man let his son lean against the rail, and turned-to him.
"P'raps not," he said. "Pilot, what did I ring them engines with?" The other stared. "I had a hold of him with this hand of mine; I reached for the handle with my—other—hand."
"But," the pilot was perplexed—"but, Captain, you ain't got no other hand.."
"No!" Captain Price shook his head. "But I rang the engines with it all the same. I rang the Burdock out of a bump with it; and—" he hesitated a moment and nodded his head sideways at the limp, lolling body of his son—"I rang his honor off the mud with it."
The pilot cleared his brow; he simply gave the matter up. "And what about now?" he asked. "He ain't fit to be trusted with her?"
"No," said Captain Price firmly. "He's going to retire from the sea;
and till he does I'll sail as a passenger. And then I'll take the
Burdock again. She don't care about that old spar of mine, the
Burdock don't."