The Cap’n had an almost divine sense of how much was right for Psyche—heeled over with green spume coming aboard, ripping down a fairway with all sails set. That was living large. In his mind, he was skipper of a China Tea Clipper, driving his crew to make a large profit for a record passage. 

The Cap’n might have had an almost divine sense for what would work for his boat. But when it came to the crew, they looked towards him and saw Captain Bligh. The mutiny was in the air. They’d been looking for an hour long Sunday sail. 

The daughter, my wife, led the deputation to the quarter deck. ” Daddy, we’re wet and tired.” The other mutineers, my brother in law and I stood close behind her, nodding in agreement. “We want to turn towards home.” He looked glumly, and I could see his mouth set and the beginning of a “grumble you may, but go you shall” talk coming. You didn’t mutiny on board the Psyche!

Then my wife said, ” Mommy will be mad if we’re late for dinner.”

“Oh.” He said. ” Prepare to come about.”

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