Damn the dog, anyway!  And damn Galbraith too!  And as I froze on in the cab on that bleak pier-end, I damned myself as well, and the mad freak that had started me voyaging on a sailing-ship around the Horn.

By ten o’clock a nondescript youth arrived on foot, carrying a suit-case, which was turned over to me a few minutes later by the wharfinger.  It belonged to the pilot, he said, and gave instructions to the chauffeur how to find some other pier from which, at some indeterminate time, I should be taken aboard the Elsinore by some other tug.  This served to increase my irritation.  Why should I not have been informed as well as the pilot?

An hour later, still in my cab and stationed at the shore end of the new pier, the pilot arrived.  Anything more unlike a pilot I could not have imagined.  Here was no blue-jacketed, weather-beaten son of the sea, but a soft-spoken gentleman, for all the world the type of successful business man one meets in all the clubs.  He introduced himself immediately, and I invited him to share my freezing cab with Possum and the baggage.  That some change had been made in the arrangements by Captain West was all he knew, though he fancied the tug would come along any time.

And it did, at one in the afternoon, after I had been compelled to wait and freeze for four mortal hours.  During this time I fully made up my mind that I was not going to like this Captain West.  Although I had never met him, his treatment of me from the outset had been, to say the least, cavalier.  When the Elsinore lay