Two days later, as the steamer _Mariposa_ plied her customary route between Tahiti and San Francisco, the passengers ceased playing deck quoits, abandoned their card games in the smoker, their novels and deck chairs, and crowded the rail to stare at the small boat that skimmed to them across the sea before a light following breeze.

When Big John, aided by Ah Moy and Kwaque, lowered the sail and unstepped the mast, titters and laughter arose from the passengers.

It was contrary to all their preconceptions of mid-ocean rescue of ship-wrecked mariners from the open boat.
It caught their fancy that this boat was the Ark, what of its freightage of bedding, dry goods boxes, beer-cases, a cat, two dogs, a white cockatoo, a Chinaman, a kinky-headed black, a gangly pallid-haired giant, a grizzled Dag Daughtry, and an Ancient Mariner who looked every inch the part.

Him a facetious, vacationing architect's clerk dubbed Noah, and so greeted him.
"I say, Noah," he called.

"Some flood, eh?
Located Ararat yet ?" "Catch any fish ?" bawled another youngster down over the rail.
"Gracious! Look at the beer! Good English beer! Put me down for a case!" Never was a more popular wrecked crew more merrily rescued at sea.