Now and then in her nervousness she would wipe her forehead with the back of her wrist as if it were wet, or press her two fingers deep into her swollen cheek.
Fogarty had followed close behind the doctor and now stood looking down at the crib with fixed eyes, his thin lips close shut, his square jaw sunk in the collar of his shirt.

There were no dangers that the sea could unfold which this silent surfman had not met and conquered, and would again.

Every fisherman on the coast knew Fogarty's pluck and skill, and many of them owed their lives to him.

To-night, before this invisible power slowly closing about his child he was as powerless as a skiff without oars caught in the swirl of a Barnegat tide.
"Why didn't you let me know sooner, Fogarty?
You understood my directions ?" Doctor John asked in a surprised tone.

"You shouldn't have left him without letting me know." It was only when his orders were disobeyed and life endangered that he spoke thus.
The fisherman turned his head and was about to reply when the wife stepped in front of him.
"My husband got ketched in the inlet, sir," she said in an apologetic tone, as if to excuse his absence.