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"That ought to help some," said Colin, "and you see my coming didn't hurt anything. Just think if I had missed all that fun!"

"It turned out all right," the old whaler said, "but I tell you it was a narrow squeak. They'll have been worryin' on board, though, if any one has been able to see that we were hitched up to a gray whale."

"Isn't there any danger with other whales?"

"Wa'al, you've got to know how to get at 'em, of course. But all you've got to do is to keep out o' the way. There's no whale except the California whale that'll charge a boat. I did know one chap that was killed by a humpback, but that was because the whale come up suddenly right under the boat and upset it—they often do that—an' when one of the chaps was in the water the whale happened to give a slap with his tail an' the poor fellow was right under it."

Colin was anxious to start the old whaler on some yarns of the early days, but as the boat was nearing the ship he decided to wait for an opportunity when there would be more time and the raconteur would have full leeway for his stories.

"Forty-five-footer, sir," called Hank, as they came up to the ship. "Gray devil, sir."

The captain lifted his eyebrows in surprise, for he had not thought of a California whale so far north, but he answered in an offhand way:

"More sport than profit in that. Did you have a run for your money, Colin?"

"I certainly did, Captain Murchison," the boy answered.

"All right, tell me about it some time. Hank, you're on board just in the nick of time. I found out what the trouble was with the carriage of the gun and repaired it while you were amusing yourselves out there. Get in lively, now, there's work to do."

The men scrambled on board rapidly, and the boat was up in the davits in less than a minute, while the yards were braced round, and under sail and steam the Gull headed north.

"There's four whales in sight, Hank," said the captain; "humpbacks, I think, and two of them big ones."

"If they'll bunch up like that, sir," the gunner said, "we may make a good trip out of it yet."

"I hope so," the skipper answered, and turning on his heel, he went to the poop. Thither Colin followed him and told him all the story of the whale. The captain, who was an old friend

of Colin's father when they both lived in a lumbering town in northern Michigan, was greatly taken aback when he found how dangerous the boat-trip had been, but he did not want to spoil the boy's vivid memories of the excitement.

"I suppose," he said, "that you want to go out as gunner next time."

Colin shook his head.

"I'm generally willing to try anything, Captain Murchison," he replied, "but I'm content to let Hank look after that end."

"Hank's an unusual man," the captain said quietly. "I rather doubt if any other man on the Pacific Coast could have won out with a gray whale. I'd rather have him aboard than a lot of mates I know, and as a gunner, of course, he's a sort of petty officer."

The canvas began to shake as the boat turned on its course after the whales, catching the skipper's eye, and he roared out orders to shorten sail.

"Clew up fore and main to'gans'ls," he shouted; "take in the tops'ls. Colin, you go and furl the fore to'gans'l, and if the men are still busy on the tops'l yards, pass the gaskets round the main to'gans'l as well."

"Aye, aye, sir," the boy answered readily, for

he enjoyed being aloft, and he clambered up the shrouds to the fore-topgallant yard and furled the sail, taking a pride in having it lie smooth and round on the top of the yard.

"What's the difference between a 'finback' and a 'humpback,' Hank?" asked the boy, after the canvas had been stowed, the vessel under auxiliary steam having speed enough to keep up with the cetaceans, "are they 'right' whales?"

"Neither of 'em," the gunner replied: "there's two kinds of right whale, the bowhead and the black, and both have fine whalebone, an' that, as you know, is a sort of strainer in the mouth that takes the place of teeth. Humpbacks an' finbacks are taken for oil, an' they look quite different. A humpback is more in bulk an' has only a short fin on the back, it's a clumsy beast an' throws the flukes of the tail out of the water in soundin'. Now, a finback is built more for speed an' has a big fin on the back—that's where it gets its name. The big sulphurbottom is a kind of finback, an' is the largest animal livin'. I've seen one eighty-five feet long!"

"Where does the sperm whale come in?" asked Colin.

"It's got teeth, like the gray whale," was the

reply, "but you never find it in cold water. Sperm whalin' is comin' into favor again. But those two over there—the ones we're after, are finbacks. You can tell by the spout, by the fin, by not seein' the flukes of the tail, an' by the way they play around, slappin' each other in fun."

Three hours were spent in the fruitless chase after this little group of whales. Then Hank, who had been standing in the bow beside the gun, watching every move of the cetacean during the afternoon, suddenly signaled with his hand for "full speed astern," by this maneuver stopping the ship squarely, as a whale—a medium-sized finback—came up right under the vessel's bow. The reversed screws took the craft astern so as to show the broad back about twenty-five feet away, and Hank fired.

The crashing roar of the harpoon-gun was followed by a swirl as the whale sounded for a long dive, but a moment later there came a dull, muffled report from the water, the explosive head of the harpoon, known as the 'bomb,' having burst. For a minute or two there was no sound but the swish of the line and the clank of the big winch as it ran out, while the animal sank to the bottom.

There was a moment's wait, and then Hank, seeing the line tauten and hang down straight, called back:

"We can haul in, sir; I got him just right."

Compared to the excitement of the chase in the open boat this seemed very tame to Colin, and he said so to the captain, when he went aft, while the steam-winch gradually drew up the finback whose end had come so suddenly.

"My boy," was the reply, "I'm not whaling for my health. Other people have a share in this, besides myself and the crew, and what they're after is whales—not sport. The business isn't what it was; in the old days whale-oil was worth a great deal and whaling was a good business. Then came the discovery of petroleum and the Standard Oil Company soon found out ways of refining the crude product so that it took the place of whale-oil in every way and at a cheaper price."

"But I thought whalebone was what you were after!" said Colin in surprise.

"It was for a time," the captain answered, "after the oil business gave out. But within the last ten years there have been so many substitutes for whalebone that its value has gone down.

There's a lot of whalebone stored in New Bedford warehouses that can't be sold except at a loss."

"Well, if the oil is replaced and whalebone has no value, what is to be got out of whaling now, then?" the boy queried.

"Oil again," was the reply; "for fine lubricating work there's nothing as good. It's queer, though, how things have changed around. Fifty years ago, New Bedford was the greatest whaling port in the world, ten years ago there wasn't a ship there, they had all gone to San Francisco. Now 'Frisco is deserted by whalers, and the few in the business have gone back to the old port."

In the meantime,