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The yacht–by name the Swallow–an old but shapely craft of some two hundred tons, lay just now a short cable’s length from the parent ship, with sails bent and all ready for sea; for by custom the annual cruise started on the day next after the prize-giving.

The question was: Would Link Andrew be allowed to go?

He would have sold his soul to go. He even meditated ways of suicide if the Commander, for a punishment, should veto his going. During the last three weeks he had run up an appalling tally of black marks, and yet it was generally agreed that the Commander would relent if Link would only keep his temper and behave with common prudence for another twenty-four hours.

But this was just what Link seemed wholly unable to do. He hated the ship, the officers, everything in life; and the hot July weather worked upon this hatred until it became a possessing fury.

III.

At dinner-time he very nearly wrecked his chance for good and all.

Shortly before noon a diminutive, mild-looking gentleman, noticeable for his childlike manner and a pair of large round spectacles, came alongside the Egeria in a shore-boat. It appeared that he bore a visitor’s ticket for the afternoon function and had arrived thus early by invitation of one of the Committee to take a good look over the ship before the proceedings began. Apparently, too, the Committee-man had sent Commander Headworthy no warning–to judge from that officer’s wrathful face and the curt tone in which he invited his visitor to luncheon.

The mild-looking gentleman–who gave his name as Harris–declined courteously, averring that he had brought a sandwich with him. The Commander thereupon turned him over to the Second Officer under whose somewhat impatient escort Mr. Harris made a thorough tour of the ship, peering into everything and asking a number of questions. The boys–whom he amused by opening a large white umbrella, green-lined, to shield him from the noonday sun on the upper deck– promptly christened him “Moonface.”

This Mr. Harris, still in charge of the Second Officer, happened along the gun-deck as they finished singing “Be present at our table, Lord,” and were sitting down to dinner. From their places they marched up one by one, each with his dinner-basin, to have it filled at the head of the table.

“Hallo, you, Andrew!” called out the Second Officer. “Fetch that basin along here. I want the gentleman to have a look at the ship’s food.”

Link came forward, stretched out a long arm, and thrust the basin under the visitor’s nose.

“Perhaps,” said he, “the toff would like a sniff at the same time? There’s Sweet Williams for a summer’s day!”

“There, that’ll do, Link! Go to your place, my lad, and don’t be insolent,” said the Second Officer hastily, with a nervous glance at Mr. Harris.

But Mr. Harris merely blinked behind his glasses.

“Yes, yes, to be sure,” he agreed. “Pork is tricky diet in such weather as we’re having!”

IV.

Half an hour later, having detached himself gently from his escort, Mr. Harris wandered back to the upper deck. It appeared to be deserted; and Mr. Harris, unfolding his umbrella against the sun’s rays, wandered at will.

In the waist of the vessel, on the port side, he came upon a dais and a baize-covered table with an awning rigged over them; and upon the ship’s Schoolmaster, who was busily engaged in arranging the prize-books.

“Good afternoon, sir!” The Schoolmaster, affecting to be busy and polite at the same time, picked out a book and held it up to view. “Smiles on Self Help,” he announced.

“You don’t say so!” answered Mr. Harris, halting. “But–I mean–they can’t very well, can they?”

“Eric, or Little by Little, by the late Archdeacon Farrar. My choice, sir: some light, you see, and others solid, but all pure literature. . . . They value it, too, in after life. Ah, sir, they’ve a lot of good in ’em! There’s many worse characters than my boys walking the world.”