In which Micky tucks the son of a Marquis in his bed and mixes some drinks and the news.
FOR possibly ten seconds—a period which seemed like so many hours to both of them—Cloud and Micky struggled on the trembling stern of the Pavonia. Then as the turtle-back rose towards the moon on a huge roller, they slipped, lost their footing instantly, and plunged head foremost towards the deck-house. Had the Pavonia’s stern been dropping into the hollow of the waves instead of lifting upon the swell, they would as certainly have shot in the other direction and been sucked down into the green, weltering whirlpool that roared and foamed behind the chains. But by some instinct Micky had timed his rush to the second, and now they came sliding inwards over the stern, cursing, clawing and feebly striking at each other until Cloud 's head hit squarely against one of the stanchions that held the guard-rail in place and his adversary man-
