There were only three--the jib, foresail, and mainsail; and, patched, shortened, and distorted, they were a ridiculously ill-fitting suit for so trim a craft as the _Ghost_.
"But they'll work!" Maud cried jubilantly.

"We'll make them work, and trust our lives to them!" Certainly, among my many new trades, I shone least as a sail-maker.

I could sail them better than make them, and I had no doubt of my power to bring the schooner to some northern port of Japan.

In fact, I had crammed navigation from text-books aboard; and besides, there was Wolf Larsen's star-scale, so simple a device that a child could work it.
As for its inventor, beyond an increasing deafness and the movement of the lips growing fainter and fainter, there had been little change in his condition for a week.

But on the day we finished bending the schooner's sails, he heard his last, and the last movement of his lips died away--but not before I had asked him, "Are you all there ?" and the lips had answered, "Yes." The last line was down.