“Take away the beef, stewardess,” he said in a natural tone, ignoring the question. “Steward. Steward there. You may take away. Mrs. Stukeley, I hope you’ll give us a song afterwards. If you’ll give us a song, and Mr. Iles a tune on his fiddle, I’ll bring in another treat, and we’ll all be merry.” “What treat have you for us, captain?” asked Margaret. “I’ve got a box of raisin-candy, from Ilo, in Peru,” he answered. “It’s said to be a great dainty; but some people find it too sweet. But only if you sing, Mrs. Stukeley.” “Oh, I’ll sing. I haven’t sung for a week now. I shall be delighted to sing.” “And you’ll sing, too, Mr. Stukeley?” “Oh, I vote we don’t sing. Let’s have cards. There’s no sense in caterwauling.” “I got a fine song,” said Mr. Iles, taking a pull at his glass of spirits. “What song is that?” said Perrin. “The lament of the old buccaneer, it’s called. It’s about a pirate who was hanged. B’gee. He’d been captain in a merchant ship after. But they hung him.” Captain Cammock asked the company if they would have any more duff. He himself had had more than enough. “Look at him blushing,” said Stukeley, nudging Iles. At this moment, there came loud cries from the deck, of “Watch there. Watch,” shouted by many voices cheerily. Then there were cries of “Haul in. Haul in. Haul in. Snatch it and run her up.” Then a silence, a sudden stamp of feet, and the voice of some one asking what was on the arming. “Sand and small shells,” came the answer of the boatswain. The diners at the cabin table seemed to see the man raising the heavy plummet to show the spoils stuck upon the grease. “Land o-o-o-h,” he cried. “Land o-o-o-h. Hooray.” Then the seamen, gathered in the waist, with the redness of the sunset on them, cast loose a gun at Mr. Cottrill’s order. As the cook, coming from the galley with a red-hot poker, called to the men to stand clear of the breech, Captain Cammock bowed to Olivia, raising his glass. “Mrs. Stukeley,” he said, “we’re in soundings. Your very good health. Soundings, gentlemen. You must all drink to soundings. Now then. There goes the gun. Three cheers.” There were no cheers in Stukeley, though he drank the toast. Half an hour later, after hearing a few songs, and a jig upon the fiddle, Captain Cammock sat smoking in his cabin. He struck his gong to call the steward. “Ask Mr. Iles to come here, please?” In a few minutes Mr. Iles appeared, followed by Stukeley, who had expected the summons. “Mr. Stukeley,” said the captain, “I shall be pleased to see you later. I wish to talk with Mr. Iles a moment.” “Thank you,” said Stukeley. “But I wish to hear what you’ve got to say to Mr. Iles.” “It doesn’t concern you, Mr. Stukeley.” Mr. Iles tittered. “Mr. Iles is my friend,” said Stukeley. “I’ll make it concern me.” “Mr. Stukeley. I don’t wish to be rude. But I command here. There’s the door.” “To hell with the door.” “Go on deck, Mr. Iles, till I send for you.” “Stay here, Iles. Look here, my old pirate----”