Five o'clock rolled down from the sun and plumped soundlessly into the sea. The golden collar widened into a glittering island; and a faint breeze that had been playing with the edges of the awning and swaying one of the dangling blue slippers became suddenly freighted with song. It was a chorus of men in close harmony and in perfect rhythm to an accompanying sound of oars dealing the blue writers. Ardita lifted her head and listened. "Carrots and peas, Beans on their knees, Pigs in the seas, Lucky fellows! Blow us a breeze, Blow us a breeze, Blow us a breeze, With your bellows." Ardita's brow wrinkled in astonishment. Sitting very still she listened eagerly as the chorus took up a second verse. "Onions and beans, Marshalls and Deans, Goldbergs and Greens And Costellos. Blow us a breeze, Blow us a breeze, Blow us a breeze, With your bellows." With an exclamation she tossed her book to the desk, where it sprawled at a straddle, and hurried to the rail. Fifty feet away a large rowboat was approaching containing seven men, six of them rowing and one standing up in the stern keeping time to their song with an orchestra leader's baton. "Oysters and rocks, Sawdust and socks, Who could make clocks Out of cellos?---" The leader's eyes suddenly rested on Ardita, who was leaning over the rail spellbound with curiosity. He made a quick movement with his baton and the singing instantly ceased. She saw that he was the only white man in the boat--the six rowers were negroes. "Narcissus ahoy!" he called politely. "What's the idea of all the discord?" demanded Ardita cheerfully. "Is this the varsity crew from the county nut farm?" By this time the boat was scraping the side of the yacht and a great bulking negro in the bow turned round and grasped the ladder. Thereupon the leader left his position in the stern and before Ardita had realized his intention he ran up the ladder and stood breathless before her on the deck. "The women and children will be spared!" he said briskly. "All crying babies will be immediately drowned and all males put in double irons!" Digging her hands excitedly down into the pockets of her dress Ardita stared at him, speechless with astonishment. He was a young man with a scornful mouth and the bright blue eyes of a healthy baby set in a dark sensitive face. His hair was pitch black, damp and curly--the hair of a Grecian statue gone brunette. He was trimly built, trimly dressed, and graceful as an agile quarter-back. "Well, I'll be a son of a gun!" she said dazedly. They eyed each other coolly. "Do you surrender the ship?" "Is this an outburst of wit?" demanded Ardita. "Are you an idiot--or just being initiated to some fraternity?" "I asked you if you surrendered the ship."