"Why, nothing else than put the masts back into the _Ghost_ and sail away." "Humphrey!" she exclaimed.
And I felt as proud of my conception as if it were already a fact accomplished.
"But how is it possible to be done ?" she asked.
"I don't know," was my answer.

"I know only that I am capable of doing anything these days." I smiled proudly at her--too proudly, for she dropped her eyes and was for the moment silent.
"But there is Captain Larsen," she objected.
"Blind and helpless," I answered promptly, waving him aside as a straw.
"But those terrible hands of his! You know how he leaped across the opening of the lazarette." "And you know also how I crept about and avoided him," I contended gaily.
"And lost your shoes." "You'd hardly expect them to avoid Wolf Larsen without my feet inside of them." We both laughed, and then went seriously to work constructing the plan whereby we were to step the masts of the _Ghost_ and return to the world.
I remembered hazily the physics of my school days, while the last few months had given me practical experience with mechanical purchases.

I must say, though, when we walked down to the _Ghost_ to inspect more closely the task before us, that the sight of the great masts lying in the water almost disheartened me.

Where were we to begin?
If there had been one mast standing, something high up to which to fasten blocks and tackles! But there was nothing.

It reminded me of the problem of lifting oneself by one's boot-straps.