“Gloucester! Oh, Jane, isn’t it great?” Frances said to Jane as they stood on either side of the mast while the “Boojum” was picking her way into the harbor.

Both sides of the harbor were lined with schooners. The sky was barely perceptible through the rigging of the ships, so tightly were they wedged in around the docks. At Provincetown the cruisers had learned of the fishermen’s strike but they had not realized that it meant that the entire fishing fleet of Gloucester would be riding at anchor in the harbor.

“Gloucester’s sky line isn’t anything but masts, is it?”

“No, but look Jane! They just let the sails go any way and they are all spilling in the water and look at all those Irishman’s pennants,” and Frances pointed out innumerable ropes let to drag in the water.

“The crews must have dropped anchor and dashed ashore without doing a single thing towards snugging ship. I suppose there is lots to be said for the fishermen, but I don’t see how they could bear to leave those dandy schooners all messy like that. And whew! smell the fishy smell.”

Jane and Frances had learned really to love the sea and to have deep feeling for the ships. It actually hurt them to see these sturdy fishing boats so deserted.

“Why, do you know, Frances, it seems just as cruel to me as if I had given Atta Boy a hard run and turned him into his stall and left his saddle and bridle on and rushed off without rubbing him down and forgotten to feed him and everything. It doesn’t seem human,” Jane grew quite indignant.

“Did you notice that long black schooner, the ‘Josephine R,’ how she was pulling on her anchor chain, looked as if she wasn’t going to stick around much longer and stand for this careless treatment? I’ll bet she is an imperious lady.”

There was no sign of life on any of the many boats riding at anchor. The sun had set and each one should have shown a riding light, but none did, nor did it seem likely that they would. Yet it seemed that each boat was in itself alive and indignantly complaining to its neighbor of the careless treatment it had received at the hands of the crew. As Frances said, the “Josephine R” looked as though she had no intention of putting up with such inconsideration.

Jane had been at the wheel all afternoon with Breck near enough and ready to help her if she got off her course or if she wanted any of the sails hauled in. Mr. Wing had said that Jane was farther advanced in her nautical education than any of the other girls because she had come to the stage where she not only knew when something was wrong about the sails but she knew just what to do to make it right and could get almost as much out of the “Boojum” as its owner could.

The silent Breck had become quite talkative, responding to Jane’s naturalness as everyone else always did. He had told her about Gloucester and some of the amusing tales about the sportiness of the Gloucester fishermen even while they were hard at work off the Grand Banks. They had both read Kipling’s “Captains Courageous” and Jane was eager to know more of the delightful little town, and the sturdy independent people who lived in it.

“They know the sailing game better than anybody else in the world and you can tell a Gloucester crew and ship a long ways off just by the way she sails. And the risks they take! When most captains give order to put in a reef or two these Gloucester chaps just crack on more canvas and walk away. And they know all these waters like you would know your own top drawer,” he had told her.

And she had laughed at this last and answered that that showed how little he knew about her, because neither she nor anyone, not even a Gloucester fisherman, could sail through the conglomerate mess in her uncharted top drawer.

Then she had asked how he happened to know so much about Gloucester and had bitten her lip the minute she had said it, for that was the one thing she had meant not to do, question him about himself.

But Breck had answered her with a smile and a vague “Oh, I stayed here once.”

As she stood beside Frances, she mentally ran over the little talks she had had with Breck and realized more acutely how clever he was, how quick his perception, and keen his observation of people were. How she would have loved to have him take her through Gloucester and show her all the narrow little streets that ran back from the water, and which he had pictured so vividly to her. “Why are things as they are?” she asked herself. “I know Breck would like to ask me to go ashore with him tonight because he almost said so and yet he won’t because he is in Mr. Wing’s employ as a deck hand. As if that would make any difference, and anyway, I know he isn’t just an ordinary deck hand! He is twice as nice as anybody I have ever known and if he doesn’t ask me, I’ve a good mind to ask him to take me myself.”

“Jane! Jane! do stop dreaming, and let’s go below and get supper. That’s the second time Mabel has called us,” said Frances, giving her a little shake. “If I didn’t know you weren’t I would certainly say you were in love. Anyway you have all the symptoms.”

During supper, Jane determined that she would not let ridiculous little conventionalities prevent the promoting of her new found friendship with Breck. Clandestine meetings and common intrigue were entirely foreign to her straightforward self and so she decided that she would just tell the others that she was going to ask Breck to set her ashore and go with her to telegraph Aunt Min her next post office address.

“And Breck has been to Gloucester before and, while we are ashore, I am going to come right out and ask him if he won’t take me through some of those little narrow streets on the water front,” she confided to Mr. Wing up on deck directly after supper.

“Yes, I would if I were you,” Mr. Wing advised her. “I think Breck is thoroughly interesting, and to be bromidic, he is one of ‘nature’s gentlemen’ if not one of society’s. Besides, from little things he let drop one night when we were on the same watch, I believe he took this job for some definite reason other than for self-support. Often I have wished he would mix a bit more with us. You are the only one of the girls he even notices. Sometimes I think he isn’t awfully happy—anything you can do with him or for him, Plain Jane, will be heartily approved by the skipper, I can assure you.”

Their conversation was stopped by the appearance of Breck through the galley hatch. “If you are ready, Miss Pellew, I will be very glad to take you to the Western Union,” he said very formally.

“Heavens!” thought Jane, “he is all stiff again. How can I unbend him so he will be limber as he was this afternoon. I will begin with some clever, original remark about the weather.”

But Breck anticipated her by saying politely, “When we get up as far north as Portland, I expect we will see some northern lights.” Then warming to his subject he continued, “I believe you said you had never been north before. I do hope we have a chance to see the lights then, because I know you would love them.”

“Unswallowing his poker already,” mentally commented Jane. “This trip will no doubt turn out all right.” Aloud she said frankly, “Breck, I love to talk to you. You always sound as if you had knocked about such a lot—just what I always wanted to do and would have done, no doubt, if I hadn’t been born Jane instead of John.”

Breck smiled at this open compliment and again compared her with his blasÉ sister and her group of friends suffering from a heavy boredom. “A bit too much, according to some people’s way of thinking,” he answered rather grimly.

“Well, of course, half of the world doesn’t approve of what the other half does and disapproval makes an almost impassable barrier against understanding, but let’s hurry to the telegraph office and then you will poke around this funny little place with me, won’t you?” Jane demanded as they clambered up the wharf ladder.

“I am hoping for several replies to messages I sent at the last port,” Breck told her as they walked along the narrow sidewalk that went past old and battered warehouses and sail lofts.

“Everything even on land at Gloucester has got to do with sea, ships or sailors in some way,” Jane said as she observed the different signs in the shop windows, advertising sailors’ outfits, slickers, rubber boots reaching to the hip and sou’westers.

At the Western Union office, Jane sat down to write her message to Aunt Min and Breck went to the desk. Jane heard him ask if any telegrams for Allen Breckenridge had been received. The clerk gave him two after the usual frantic search through the files. Over the first one he read Jane saw him knot his brows into a frown and she was much relieved when the frown changed into a broad grin at the perusal of the second message.

“Allen Breckenridge,” Jane thought, “what a peach of a name. I always thought Breck was a mighty little name for such a big man. I wish to goodness he would tell me why he is doing what he is. And I wish I wasn’t so awfully much interested in him.”

“Are you finished now?” he smiled down at her, “because if you are, let’s get out on the street. All the men off the boats are wandering around, looking at the barometers in the different shop windows, just as if they were interested in the weather now as when on board their schooners. Poor chaps, I reckon they are at a loss for something to do. These New Englanders don’t know the gentle art of loafing like the Southerners do.”

“Why Breck,” laughed Jane. “How can you, when you know I am from old Kentuck’? Aren’t you ashamed?”

“But you are different, you know, certainly different from my notion of the southern girl. I had always thought of them as lying around in hammocks and eating chocolates during the day and refusing heartbroken young men’s proposals most of the night.”

“But they don’t refuse all the young men apparently because I had to give exactly nine wedding presents this spring. And, besides, I eat an awful lot of candy,” Jane objected.

“Anyway, I’ll say it again. You are different. Do you mind if I compliment you in rather a horsy way? You handle yourself better than any girl I ever saw. I would give a lot to see you on a horse too, by the way.”

“Thanks, Breck! That is one of the nicest things I ever had said to me and, of course, I don’t mind, why should I?”

“Oh, just the difference in our positions,” Breck answered, looking at her very keenly with his clear gray eyes.

“That is the first thing I have heard you say that I didn’t like. ‘Position’ is a ridiculous word and one I don’t choose to recognize. And, in the second place, you know perfectly well that I was obliged to hear you ask for messages for Allen Breckenridge, so you evidently aren’t exactly what you seem, not that it is anything either for or against you.”

“Forgive me, I knew you would feel like that, but I just wanted to be sure. Allen Breckenridge is my name, but it seems an awful lot of name to sail under so I just chopped it off to suit me. Wonder what the family would say to the mutilation of the name.” Breck chuckled at the thought.

“If they are at all like the Kentucky Breckenridges, I can tell you. They would dilate their nostrils and pinch in their lips and say, ‘Really, it doesn’t seem possible that anyone could do such a ridiculous thing!’” Jane imitated the family hauteur.

“I can see that you know them all right,” Breck said. “They are a funny bunch, aren’t they?” His face took on the grave look that it so often wore and that had caused Mr. Wing to confide in Jane that he did not believe Breck was very happy.

It was a look that Jane hated to see there because she was so powerless to help him. She could not comfort him in ignorance of his trouble and her dread of intruding in his private affairs kept her from trying to discover it. Jane put her arm through his and said, “It’s getting late, Breck, we had better go back.”

Not until they were again on board the “Boojum” did either of them realize that, after all, they had seen very little of Gloucester.