But Davies did not “excel in azure feats.” The news of his good fortune reached him just as the brig, on which he was going to sail as first-mate, was taking in her cargo for the West Indies. He had signed his contract for the voyage, and, to the utter astonishment of the lawyer who managed the estates, he announced that he should carry it out. In vain did the man of affairs point out to his client that with the help of a cheque of £100 he could arrange the matter for him in ten minutes. Mr. Davies merely replied that the property could wait, he should go the voyage and retire afterwards. The lawyer held up his hands, and then suddenly remembered that there are women in the West Indies as in other parts of the world. Doubtless his queer client had an object in this voyage. As a matter of fact, he was totally wrong. Owen Davies had never interchanged a tender word with a woman in his life; he was a creature of routine, and it was part of his routine to carry out his agreements to the letter. That was all. As a last resource, the lawyer suggested that Mr. Davies should make a will. “I do not think it necessary,” was the slow and measured answer. “The property has come to me by chance. If I die, it may as well go to somebody else in the same way.” The lawyer stared. “Very well,” he said; “it is against my advice, but you must please yourself. Do you want any money?” Owen thought for a moment. “Yes,” he said, “I think I should like to have ten pounds. They are building a theatre there, and I want to subscribe to it.” The lawyer gave him the ten pounds without a word; he was struck speechless, and in this condition he remained for some minutes after the door had closed behind his client. Then he sprung up with a single ejaculation, “Mad, mad! like his great uncle!”