"It's safer to run, Captain," he said, shouting in my ear. "Go below, sir; Chips and I will keep the deck."
As I could be of no use, I took his advice, and crawled into the bunk again, trying to assure myself that all was well. It had grown very dark, although it was but seven o'clock, and I had lain there but a half-hour or so, when the carpenter came rushing in. Even in the dim light I could see the terror in his blanched face.
"Heaven help us, Captain!" he said. "I've just sounded the well, sir, and there's three feet of water in the hold!"
[to be continued.]
IT CEASED PUBLICATION.
The editor of a petty newspaper in France was extremely sad. He sat in his office with bowed head and troubled brow. Long had he fought against Adversity's strides, but at last they had overtaken him, and now, with no money to bring out the future issue, his only alternative was to cease publishing. The once paying circulation had dwindled to a mere nothing, and the wielder of the blue pencil and scissors racked his brains for an honorable excuse for quitting. It took hours, and at last he jumped up.
"Jacques," he called to his printer, "we will get out one more issue, and that will be the last. I will devote every page of it to the festivities occasioned by the visit of the Czar of Russia, and on the head of the sheet put in large display type this line:
"In commemoration of his illustrious Majesty the Czar of Russia, this paper, always an exponent of the nation's welfare, will cease publication."