‘Is there anything wrong with the piece as O’Connor suggests!’ said I, much enjoying the old chap’s sourness, which I may say was not a little in harmony with my mood that afternoon. ‘Couldn’t tell if ye offered me all ye was worth. My business ain’t guns. I shipped to do my bit and my bit I’ll _do_, but the line’s chalked a mighty long way this side o’ hordnance.’ I walked on to the forecastle to inspect the gun for myself. O’Connor watched me with the whole round of his face, broad and purple as the rising moon. The gun was of an elderly fashion, but it looked a very substantial weapon, with a murderous grin in the gape of it and a long slim throat that warranted a venomous delivery. The kink the Irishman spoke of was altogether in his eye. I returned to the quarterdeck, relighted my cigar, stowed myself comfortably away in the chair I had at an earlier hour procured for Miss Jennings, and pulling from my pocket a little handy edition of one of Walter Scott’s novels, was speedily transported leagues away from the ocean by the spells of that delightful wizard. Thus passed the afternoon. Miss Jennings remained below, and Wilfrid lay hid in his cabin. It was very pleasant weather. The sky was a clear blue from line to line, with just a group of faint bronze-browed clouds of a dim cream at the horizon looming in the azure air far away down in the north-west. The wind was cool though salt, a pleasant breeze from the east with a trifle of northing in it, and very steadily the yacht travelled quietly over the plain of twinkling waters, cradled by a soft western heaving. She made no stir forwards saving now and again a sound as of the pressure of a light foot upon tinderish brushwood; every sail that would draw was packed on her, to her triangular lower studdingsail, the reflection of which waved in the tremulous blue like a sheet of quicksilver, fluctuating as it drained downwards. Still it was dull work. I would often break away from Scott to send a glance at the skylight where I could just get a peep at the ruddy glow of Miss Laura’s hair, as she sat at the table with her maid near her, and heartily wished she would join me. Crimp’s company was like pickles, a very little of it went a long way. Had etiquette permitted I should have been glad to go amongst the men and yarn with them, for I could not doubt there was a store of amusing experiences lying behind some of the rugged hairy countenances scattered about the decks. Indeed no summons ever greeted my ear more cheerfully than the first dinner bell; for whether one has an appetite or not, sitting down to a meal on board ship is something to do.