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“Oh, I don’t mind,” returned the other, smiling. “I want to get back to New York.”

Just before supper, and when the sun was crimsoning the water in the west, a “catspaw” came up and filled our sails. The boat moved slowly off. At supper Germond announced:

“Well, I go now.”

“Is there a steamer?”

“No, but I go on the other pilot-boat. I see her over there. The last man always leaves his boat and goes on one with more men. That allows this boat to go back for another crew.”

“Do you get the first steamer in, on the other boat?”

“Yes, I have the first turn.” I understood now why our crew, at the outset, objected to any pilots being taken on our boat. It delayed the return of those on board to New York. “Steward!” called Germond, finally, “tell one of the men back there to run up a signal for the other boat.”

“Ay! Ay! sir!” called back the steward.

At half after six the other pilot-boat drew near and Germond packed his sea clothes and came up on deck.

“Well, here she is, boys,” he said. “Now I leave you.”