It was because she was a woman, and so different from the sea-creatures, that I resented her having received such harsh education in the school of the sea.
"I could not help remarking your father's--er, er _sang froid_ during the occurrence." I ventured.
"He never took his hands from his pockets!" she cried.
Her eyes sparkled as I nodded confirmation.
"I knew it! It's his way.

I've seen it so often.

I remember when I was twelve years old--mother was alone--we were running into San Francisco.
It was in the _Dixie_, a ship almost as big as this.

There was a strong fair wind blowing, and father did not take a tug.

We sailed right through the Golden Gate and up the San Francisco water-front.